NationStates Jolt Archive

The almost-empty halls of the Stronghold echo with footsteps. A dark figure stalks the hallways, heading purposefully for a target only it knew of. It carries itself with poise, with dignity. The figure seems unaware of the heavy armour that it wears, or of the cape that hangs listlessly around its back.

Only on second glance does the figure show itself to be almost shuffling, the blackened armour reveal itself to be splattered with rust, the cape to be tattered. The figure rapidly becomes less an inspiring figure, and more a frightening one.

Briefly, the figure looks in a mirror, pulling up its helmet. What it sees is obviously alarming, because it then screams. Screams with rage and hatred, a sound that crosses planes and worlds. It then lunges forward, striking the reflective surface with one mailed fist.

Pausing, the figure listens. Whatever it hears almost frightens it, as it starts to move faster, heading for a door at the end of the hall.

One quick kick, and the door falls down, revealing a set of stairs. It's but a matter of seconds before the figure reaches its destination. And when it does, it stops once more, looking around the old familiar sights. Smelling that old smell of blood and death. Just for a moment, though, as it turns and slowly starts to walk towards a statue at the end.

A statue of the Virgin Mary. Also blood-splattered, but it is evident that its owner, whoever that was, tried to clean it. Giving a slight bow of respect, our figure pushes it aside and into a recess of the wall, before pulling out a single ruby.

The Figure holds out its hand then, and gives a soft cry. Suddenly, a large sword, a Zweihander, appears where none had been before. The cry grows louder and louder, taking on an almost musical cadence...

the figure slams the ruby into the hilt and holds the sword in both hands, holding it to his chest. There is a moment of blurring...then he spins around and slices the head off the Gheist which had been sneaking up behind him.

That was the signal the mindless fiends were waiting for. More of them charge down the stairs for the interloper, throwing themselves towards him. Throwing themselves forward to death. And every time one of them is killed (killed much like a human would kill a fly), it makes it even more difficult for the others. Where blood splatters, the armour is cleansed. Slowly, the wraith returns himself to a passable approximation of full strength, splattered with the hearts and blood of the gheists.

One gheist is left. Wounded, dying, it gibbers in fear when Alexander's mailed fist clenches around its throat, pulling it up to stare into that helmet. Two sharp blue fires, like ice, glare out, meeting the eyes of the gheist and suddenly drawing its soul in.

The gheist falls limply to the ground. It's body isn't quite dead yet.

But its soul is lost.

With hardly a movement, the wraith pulls forth a portal. Not a smooth, easy portal like those of the void. But a venemous cancer that draws in at reality, that seems almost to decay that around it.

And Alexander Edourdovich Black, once Tsar of the Divine Imperium of Novar Ohan and the Sunset Isles, steps through.

~~

Lightning cracks as the Wraith appears in the cemetary. He sniffs the air, and then he raises his hands, and begins to sing...

All around him, the Earth churns as low voices join in. Plaintive moans fill the air as the dead awaken. Alexander smiles behind his dark helmet. Come, my children... we will take this broken orb, and make of it beautiful order...

Soon, the streets of the city are filled with screams...

~~

Alexander walks up onto his new throne, and gives a curt nod. Its former occupant had made of it a frightful mess when he had been...removed. But the Wraithlord doesn't care. He sits down, and closes his glowing red eyes as the power flows through him and into the palace and out onto the street...

And the city begins to change... I will call forth the greatest heroes in the lands... and destroy them. Thus shall my army swell... He snaps his fingers. I believe I ordered a drink? one of the skeletons brings him his goblet. Good. Maybe not today... maybe not even tomorrow... but my influence will spread... And those who come to fight will join my army

One of the skeletons coughs. "My lord, how will people know to come to fight?" it says, in a raspy voice. "I mean, this city is in a desert..."

Please. You're displaying your ignorance... just send some wights out to tell people not to come into the Desert of Death... put up posters warning people away... pay bards to go out and tell adventurers how horrible this place is and how they should stay the hell away... we'll have more loincloth-clad morons than any decent society needs, but we can use their corpses for muscle work.

"His lordship is most wise."

AND SO, DID THE WORD SPREAD ACROSS THE LANDS... THAT THE DESERT OF DEATH WAS EVIL AND NASTY AND FULL OF UNPLEASANTNESS AND THAT ALL DECENT AND REASONABLE PEOPLE SHOULD KEEP AWAY.

NEEDLESS TO SAY, HORDES OF LOINCLOTH CLAD MORONS INSTANTLY SWARMED TO THE SITE. SOMETIMES IT MAKES YOU SAD.

Tell me, overseer... we need any more big ugly guards in black armour? Division 7 caught these guys in the old scullery yards.

"I apologise for ever doubting you, my lord."

((Well, if you clear it with me first you, too, can be a servant of the Wraithlord. If you don't want to be a musclebound lummox whose brain is in his jockstrap. Or the like. I can do two of them.))

Sir Lycis thrust the doors of the tavern open. "I am Sir Lycis O'stren, a Cavalier of Light!" He announced, loudly. "I have come to defeat the evil that dwells in the place which shall not be named!" He was tall, and what could be seen of him bespoke of a handsome man beneath the armour and cape. On his chest was a sunburst. "Who will stand with me?"

Just like all the others...

The place was remarkably quiet. The bartender just polished his glass. "You'd be the fifth this week, boy. I don't know why the Wraithlord doesn't install a revolving door..."

"Or put up signs," a customer said.

"Ah! But did they have the secret to defeating him, pried from the very maw of hell itself? Learnt from ancient inscriptions across the world?"

"They said they did. Since, you know, he's still around... I think he's the one who carves them."

Lycis wilted. "Well... that... that's just great." he sighed, and took off his helmet. Lightly cropped brown hair fell across his eyes before he waved it out of his face "I mean... I come all this way..."

((Grumbles...))

"I am Sir Lycis O'stren, a Cavalier of Light!" He announced, loudly. "I have come to defeat the evil that dwells in the place which shall not be named!" He was tall, and what could be seen of him bespoke of a handsome man beneath the armour and cape. On his chest was a sunburst. "Who will stand with me?"

She almost choked on her beer. She swallowed the cold drink hard and felt it settle in her empty stomach. She had been here for several weeks and how many times now did she hear a similar saying to this? Way too many. She was getting annoyed by the thought of someone who would actually think they could go against this evil. They had no idea and all had failed. She could have warned them, but she choose not to.

She sat at the counter near the bartender. She wore an oversized black cape with the hood pulled up and down to sheild her identity. Most of the occupants in the bar knew the figure was a female because of the thin sature buried beneath the surface or that of a scrunny male, which most likely would not hang out a bar known for misfits and warriors.

Her identity had been hidden from everyone in the bar and for good reason. Reason that soon would be displayed. She knew what she looked like and she didn't want to frighten those around her. A chill went up her spine and chased back down it to retreat to the bottom. She got up and walked to the open fireplace. A small flame was kindling, but not producing much heat.

This bar was not known to be quiet and it was eerie as she walked to the dugout. Her soft boots could be heard padding against the hard ground. Thump, thump, thump. The light from the fire reflected and was like it was caught in her eyes. Several men dropped their mugs, which spilled over the wooden tables. She didn't blink. They were too scared to blink. Eyes of an animal, a chaotic animal, who had been threatened.

Two pale white hands, hands of a female, came out from under the black sleeves and reached up for the hood. All eyes were on the dark figure, as if they couldn't be elsewhere. The silence was deafening and they all wished someone else would make a noise, even the sound of air whoosing in and out a the body would have releaved them from the horrific silence of the moment.

No movement, except for the lady in black. She pulled off the black cape and it floated like a fallen leaf to the ground and settled around her feet. Her feet covered in soft tan leather. The site to their eyes was something many had not seen in ages, or not at all. A woman of such beauty, but such danger.

Alyssandra Culmano, meaning black in the elven tongue, stood exactly six feet tall. She weighed about 110 pounds, most of her body was muscle and ever movement she went through her tone could show for it. She had long legs, which were the same complexion as the rest of her body, a pale white. The sun's rays had done no damage to her perfect skin tone. Her boots went up to her mid-thigh and she wore the same leather for her clothing. A pair of cut small shorts revealed nice assets, it also revealed a small pale blue moon on the inner thigh of her left leg and a small bright yellow star on the opposing thigh. Resting below her hips was a band made of small baby's breath flowers and autumn leaves in arrangement. Her flat stomach also held a crystal in her navel. Securing her ample bossom was a top that did not restrict her movement and allowed to give a hint of what her mother had given her. Her face oval in shape shown an expression of either boredom and one that could not be read by others. Her thin pale pink lips were in a straight line. Above her lips was a small button nose, turned slightly upwards. Her eyes were another striking feature for her. Wide and daring. They were brown, but with yellows swirling inside. It also appeared that the light danced about within it. As the light increased in her eyes, so did the fire in the open cove. She saw the men's look of shock and she smiled slightly, I have got you were I want you. Her perfectly drawned eyebrows arched in a careless way. Just as soon as they same the smile, it had disappeared, like forgotten ghosts of a lost city. On her forehead was another tattoo. It was a dark blue half moon, where a star was in the circle of the hidden moon. Also, across her forehead was a crown made of the same flowers and leaves. Her pointed ears held the sides up. Dark caramel hair framed her face and fell in waves down past her shoulders, cascading around her bossom and back.

On her back was a bag carrying necessaties, a bow, and arrors. Her right hand gripped a long knife. It was silver and reflected the scared looks of the men in the room. At the end was dried blood. She watched their eyes frantically move from the tip of the sword to her and back again.

She walked back to the bar, this would be the test that all had failed, we shall see how he does. She moved with the grace and aura of a swan, but also as dangerous as a tiger ready to strike at any moment. She stopped at one man and sliced her sword inches from his exposed neck. She saw the air move him slightly backward and saw his adam's apple sationary for several seconds and with much work finaly move again. She looked down and saw on his pants a darker shade of blue and smiled. Such weak men.

Moments later she was back at her original spot. The bartender had continued to polish the mugs as if by habit. He had not moved from his spot. Several men who had been nearby her hurried away and joined a table. She stared at her mug of beer.

Smack.

Her sword struck the counter and flung back and forth from the force of exertion she had put on it. She heard several gasps. She pulled it out of the wooden top and pulled off the tip a fly.

"I guess I am insect control."

The bar broke out into a laughter, but it was a nervous uncontrolled laughter. That night all the men would let her leave first for fear she might follow them. Some would fantasy and others would have nightmares. She only did this to test another worthless warrior. Why did she try?

<------------ Humbly Requests Lummox Status. Me takes orders good, boss!

Worse case scenario, consider this el taggo for future enjoyment. ;-)

<Bravo! Good show!>

((GAH?! How do I top that?...um... Wow... err...))

Sir Lycis softly rose to his feet, his tall form casting shadows across the bar. His red cape floated in the air as he strode softly to the bar, his helm once more in place and the visor down. A single armour-fisted gauntlet slapped down onto the bar next to the woman, and a metalic voice echoed from within his helmet. "Madame, it is hardly polite practice to demonstrate your inherent superiority to those around you in a manner such as that." His voice sounded like the buzzing of hundreds of angry bees.

He growled, and took the helm off, putting it on the bar table. "Stupid thing... just wear it for the look." He politely sat down one or two bars away from the half-elf, and gestured for a glass of wine.

The bartender put the glass in place. "That will be 55 IM, sir... it doesn't do to let you adventurers start up a tab..." everyone in the bar laughed at that, even Sir Lycis.

The knight then rose to his feet, removed his glove, and backhanded the importune bartender. "So, you doubt me?"

"Well... yes, sir. As a matter of fact we do." the bartender rubbed his cheek, and fingered the baton under the bar, but thought better of it. That was a very large sword on the man's back.

"Cowards. I will bet you all 3000 IM that I can put an end to the evil." Lycis murmured, softly. "What say you?" he unhooked a purse on his belt and threw it to the floor. "If I lose my bet... then you lose nothing except the lives of your grandchildren. If I win... well, it will all even up. What do you say?"

The bartender sweated slightly, but forced out a grin. "Um... well, you're quite confident... on behalf of the village, I accept." Everyone in the bar cheered. They knew when something would be entertaining...

"Excellent. Now... who's going to help me?" the cheering stopped. "Right. Well, it's nice to see people giving back to the community, that's all I have to say." he sighed and, depressed once more, collapsed back onto his seat.

A couple of swarthy men silently exited from the bar, carrying a small cage...

~~

Skeletal Overseer #45, Aerial Information Bureau, unhooked the scroll from the raven's leg. "Interesting..." it said, in a rattly voice. "We've got a knight coming..."

<------------ Humbly Requests Lummox Status. Me takes orders good, boss!

Worse case scenario, consider this el taggo for future enjoyment. ;-)

((Granted.))

There were walls around him, damp, moss-covered blocks of hewn stone that defied even his great strength. He sat on his cot in the middle of the room, voraciously attacking the food in front of him. Unsure and uncaring whether this had been some wild beast or even a hapless human, the massive figure crunched down through the fat and gristle, cracking the large bone and sucking out the marrow with loud slurping noises. Later, after his midday meal was done, he would sleep, rising only to eat again, or to perform a service for his dread master, the Wraithlord.

So went Thag'Rul's life.

In the wispy spider-web of his memory, Thag recalled that he was not always as he was today. Something black happened, black and dark and evil in intent, that changed him from what he was into the horror that he had become. Brutish best described him, a hulking mass of hair-covered slabs of muscle, with hands the size of shovels, fingers thick as sausages and ending in rapier-sharp claws. His small head was vaguely humanoid, though his nose was more snout than anything. If you lived long enough to look into his eyes, you might see a spark of intelligence, empathy and wisdom.

You'd be mistaken: Thag just had bad gas.

As his buttocks belched their noxious fumes, Thag picked the big thigh-bone clean, tossing the remains in a pile in the corner. Stretching, he lay down on his dingy cot and pulled the ratty cover over him. Quickly, he fell into a deep sleep, the sound of his elephantine snores dancing and mingling with the steady rumbling of his bowels. He slept the sleep of the contented, and dreamed of the fools he would soon be slaying. He loved heroes...deep-roasted, with a hint of garlic.

Varedius pulled his cloak tight against the chill wind as he stumbled his way through the village. He was a shade under six feet tall and, as the expression goes, thin as a rake. Despite his emaciation he was grinning into the cold night air, and had a twinkle in his blue eyes. A gleam ran along the iris and the blue changed the green. The old man straightened and his wrinkles smoothed. His staff shivered and changed from his distinctive gold-bound quarterstaff to a silvery trident and the tome under his arm - the Varedius Codex, a magical book sought after by the greatest magi in the known universe - shrunk and changed until it appeared as a mere journal.

Now standing straight and youthful the ancient archmage pushed open the tavern door and walked in, blue robe open to reveal segmented armour fashioned from magestone. A magestone band holds back his long sandy hair, leaving it to fall from the back of his head to halfway down his back held in place only by a series of magestone bands, making the fall of hair look almost like a second spine.

He notices the two out-of-place people at the bar and the peasant locals. Ignoring the two who stick out like gems on a dirt road, he walks to the bar - also ignoring the peasants who stare at his rich clothing. His walk suggests that he has not a care in the world, and no concern about any who should see him.

Once at the bar he orders a drink, and, eyes shimmering with power, murmers a few words to the barman, whose expression becomes glazed for a moment before he returns to his work without asking for payment.

[[OOC: If you don't object to having a mage along...]]

A young man not many years removed from his boyhood watched from the bar the hectic events occurring. First the enchanting elf’s execution of the fly, the cavaliers boast, the powerful mage's entrance, then he heard the knight's offer.

This was exactly what he was looking for, to join a party on a quest. It was the goal to which he had strived to attain since he sent out from the dusty archives of the academy two years ago. Since he was eight years old he devoted himself to the Philosophical Guild of the Phoenix. The Guild's mission was to collect and learn knowledge, all knowledge good and arcane. Most of his guild merely spent decades in the archives rediscovering lost knowledge. Ever since he earned the rank of Adept he took the road less traveled that of procuring knowledge from the world at large. The potential was much greater but so was the inherent danger.

He stood and pulled back the hood of his well worn travelers cloak revealing his youthful face and black curly hair and answered the knights call.

"I will join you on your quest good sir!" he pledged his voice only cracking slightly.

((Tag))

What time period is this? (So I could develop my character, if I am allowed to join)

The door to the tavern swung open once more, revealing a massive figure standing in the doorway. The huge man stood in the doorway for a moment, then walked up to the bar, his heavy boots "clomping" with each step he took.

The newcomer was huge, standing nearly 7 feet tall, and the large antlered helm he wore made him appear even larger. He was wearing a breastplate of dark steel, decorated with images of savage beast and monsters. His arms were relatively unprotected, save for steel guards on his forearms and the spiked guantlets he wore. He wore a heavy cloak of some sort of animal hide as well, which an educated observer would recognize as the hide of a giant wolf. The man was heavily armed; a pair of large maces hung from his belt, and he was resting a very large and wicked looking axe on his right shoulder. There was also a spear on his back.

The heavy axe made a loud "thump" as he set it down and took a seat at the bar.

"Ale please," he said in a gruff, deep voice. "The strongest you have."

The big warrior reached up and removed his helmet, revealing his face. The man had a dark brown goatee and moustache, and blue eyes. He had a long scar running vertically from just below his left eye to his jawline, and his expression was grim. His most interesting feature however, was his hair, or lack of it rather. The warrior's head was clean shaven, with strange designs tattooed in black ink on his head.

After paying for his ale, the man glanced over at the others of his trade sitting near him. A slight nod of his head was all the greeting he offered. He drained his glass in two gulps, then passed his mug back for a refill.

There were walls around him, damp, moss-covered blocks of hewn stone that defied even his great strength. He sat on his cot in the middle of the room, voraciously attacking the food in front of him. Unsure and uncaring whether this had been some wild beast or even a hapless human, the massive figure crunched down through the fat and gristle, cracking the large bone and sucking out the marrow with loud slurping noises. Later, after his midday meal was done, he would sleep, rising only to eat again, or to perform a service for his dread master, the Wraithlord.

So went Thag'Rul's life.

In the wispy spider-web of his memory, Thag recalled that he was not always as he was today. Something black happened, black and dark and evil in intent, that changed him from what he was into the horror that he had become. Brutish best described him, a hulking mass of hair-covered slabs of muscle, with hands the size of shovels, fingers thick as sausages and ending in rapier-sharp claws. His small head was vaguely humanoid, though his nose was more snout than anything. If you lived long enough to look into his eyes, you might see a spark of intelligence, empathy and wisdom.

You'd be mistaken: Thag just had bad gas.

As his buttocks belched their noxious fumes, Thag picked the big thigh-bone clean, tossing the remains in a pile in the corner. Stretching, he lay down on his dingy cot and pulled the ratty cover over him. Quickly, he fell into a deep sleep, the sound of his elephantine snores dancing and mingling with the steady rumbling of his bowels. He slept the sleep of the contented, and dreamed of the fools he would soon be slaying. He loved heroes...deep-roasted, with a hint of garlic.

"Poke him with a stick!"

"Dude, this is zombie work."

"He ate the last zombie, fool!"

It was unfortunate, mused the wight as he observed them, that skeletons maintained their previous personas. Oh, they were loyal... but most of them were so stupid... Just like people, really. But the wight had more important things to worry about. His master had directed him to awaken the beast.

Of course, the wight wasn't going in there. That was skellie work. Actually going in there could get a guy hurt.

Varedius pulled his cloak tight against the chill wind as he stumbled his way through the village. He was a shade under six feet tall and, as the expression goes, thin as a rake. Despite his emaciation he was grinning into the cold night air, and had a twinkle in his blue eyes. A gleam ran along the iris and the blue changed the green. The old man straightened and his wrinkles smoothed. His staff shivered and changed from his distinctive gold-bound quarterstaff to a silvery trident and the tome under his arm - the Varedius Codex, a magical book sought after by the greatest magi in the known universe - shrunk and changed until it appeared as a mere journal.

Now standing straight and youthful the ancient archmage pushed open the tavern door and walked in, blue robe open to reveal segmented armour fashioned from magestone. A magestone band holds back his long sandy hair, leaving it to fall from the back of his head to halfway down his back held in place only by a series of magestone bands, making the fall of hair look almost like a second spine.

He notices the two out-of-place people at the bar and the peasant locals. Ignoring the two who stick out like gems on a dirt road, he walks to the bar - also ignoring the peasants who stare at his rich clothing. His walk suggests that he has not a care in the world, and no concern about any who should see him.

Once at the bar he orders a drink, and, eyes shimmering with power, murmers a few words to the barman, whose expression becomes glazed for a moment before he returns to his work without asking for payment.

[[OOC: If you don't object to having a mage along...]]

[[Mmmmm... arcane mastery of powers beyond mortal comprehension... defence stat exceedingly low... small turnip... the last was random. Mages are always welcome along! God loves mages!]]

Sir Lycis watched the young man carefully. Any time anyone walked into a place in such an innocent manner... it was too good to be true. The cavalier's eyes watered as he looked at what was almost certainly a wizard. Still, there was no need to be prejudiced towards first assumptions. Any number of people could be wearing magestone, besides wizards. Just because he couldn't think of any...

Still, if the person wasn't going to talk to him, he didn't see a reason to bother him. Like his old master had once said, "Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are quick to anger and can turn you into a toad."

A young man not many years removed from his boyhood watched from the bar the hectic events occurring. First the enchanting elf’s execution of the fly, the cavaliers boast, the powerful mage's entrance, then he heard the knight's offer.

This was exactly what he was looking for, to join a party on a quest. It was the goal to which he had strived to attain since he sent out from the dusty archives of the academy two years ago. Since he was eight years old he devoted himself to the Philosophical Guild of the Phoenix. The Guild's mission was to collect and learn knowledge, all knowledge good and arcane. Most of his guild merely spent decades in the archives rediscovering lost knowledge. Ever since he earned the rank of Adept he took the road less traveled that of procuring knowledge from the world at large. The potential was much greater but so was the inherent danger.

He stood and pulled back the hood of his well worn travelers cloak revealing his youthful face and black curly hair and answered the knights call.

"I will join you on your quest good sir!" he pledged his voice only cracking slightly.

Sir Lycis turned around and raised an eyebrow. He didn't see the lad as the type of person who would wander into the desert of death. Still, he'd accept a monkey if it was willing to travel with him against the Wraithlord. But there were forms to follow...

"And tell me, young man! What skills would you bring on this quest?" Sir Lycis queried.

((Tag))

What time period is this? (So I could develop my character, if I am allowed to join)

Medievalish, I suppose. Wretchengard, I might have to run before I get to work on your post... I'll write it up when I get back.

Alyssandra rested her hand on her chin, an unlikely pose for her, but she was bored and getting antsy. She, however, did not respond to the knight, which was very much like her. Arrogant to the core.

Inside something stirred and sent quivers along her nervous systems, it was irritated. Shivers went across her body, dropping her temperature a few degrees. She was cold, but this was not from the exterior environment. The bar was hot and beginning to smell like dirty boots that had been walked in for months in the boiling hot desert and with more bodies coming in the more the odor got worse and overpowering. She was cold from the interior. Nature was being meddled with. Being an elf she was apart of nature and she felt the effects it did. Nature was strong and resillant and so was she. However, she was only half elf and she could adapt in various ways.

Someone was messing with nature's body, the bones of the earth, the composition that she thrived on. The essence that lived there. He was gaining power and she needed to end this. There would be no time to find others. She would not wait. Patience is a virtue in the eye of the beholder and she did not see this fit anymore. She could not wait and feel him drain the very embodiment of earth and the occupants.

She threw acouple coins on the table and the once silent bar engulfed the sound of metal against wood. She stood up. Eyes on her.

Eyes never left her. She felt the wraithlord knew. She felt he knew her little secret. It is impossible. She had to leave and now. She went into her leather bag on her back and pulled out a long brown metal necklace with a crystalike tear shaped jewel encrusted in it. She placed it in Sir Lycris' hand and closed his hand around it.

The brown necklace resembled that of her hair and the jewel of a single tear that had fallen from her very eyes. She spoke not a single word, assuming he had enough intelligence to know it was a good-luck charm, personally made from her.

She walked out the door, leaving her cape inside. She no longer needed to hide. She knew there were some minions here and he would know sortly of her coming. The air meet her with a welcome and a slap. Warm at first and then cold in the there after.

She looked to the sky, black except for the little amount of the light that broke through and sparkled in the distant. Soon he shall know the truth and the world as we know it shall be molded.

The travel would be long, I might as well start now. Off in the distant forest eyes could be seen watching and she was ready. Ready for the unexpected.

OOC: I'll just assume it's around the 14th or 15th century, does that sound reasonable? There were still knights then...


A cloaked figure stood on the hill across from the tall ominous gate of the dark city, that stood in the middle of the desolate desert as a black beacon of evil. A myriad of guards walked to and fro on their patrol routes on top of the heavily fortified walls, that cast an erie shadow that crawled on the desert floor as the full desert moon shone its light across the area.

The traveller was wearing a long black cloak that had the elite Janissary insigina, of the Ottoman Sultanate, sewed with golden thread over the cloak's left breast. Underneath he wore a chainmail shirt which was covered by several layers of brown, gold, and green printed robes. At his waist hung a saber, whose hilt was in layed with gold and small red gems. Covering his head was meticulously wrapped in several lenghts of cloth, that protected his face from the elements but did not impede his line of sight. A simple white turban topped his head. In addition to his saber, he was carrying a simple travelling bundle, that had become considerably empty due to his journey through the desert. The only things that really separated him from other travellers was the golden Janissary insignia and the arquebus that was slung over his shoulder and across his chest, but hidden underneath his black travelling cloak.

As the traveller approached the gates, the desert wind buffeted him, causing his cloak and travelling bundle to bellow in the wind. But the traveller kept on his march, unaffected by the wind.

"Lo! Guard, open the gate so that I may enter!" yelled the traveller.

"What business do you have here!" replied the guard in a hoarse voice.

"I am but a traveller in need of some rest!"

"Have you not heard the evils of this place! Turn back at once!"

"But I cannot. It has taken me a good 5 days of travel to reach this place, from the last oasis! I must rest and replenish my supplies before I may continue on my journey to Antares, which is still a 2 week journey from here!"

"This is your last warning wanderer! Leave now!" returned the guard, brandishing his broad sword, completely ignoring what the wanderer had said.

"I am but a lowly traveller! I ask again, let me enter! I will not cause any trouble!"

"Fine! Once you have rested, leave at once! This is your final warning!" yelled the guard.

The guard signaled another guard at the base of the gate, who then pulled a large wooden lever. As the lever neared the ground, the black gate opened, revealing the dead dark city, whose inhabitants have retired inside their homes. Several buildings still emitted small rays of light through their blacked out and barred windows. The traveller slowly entered the gates, glancing over to his right to see a balding guard who propped himself up with his broad sword.

A strange silence had engulfed the city. The howling desert winds and the occasional laughter and yells from the local tavern broke the erie silence.

The traveller, deciding on first checking into the tavern, continued his slow walk towards the tavern's direction. Just then, a figure of a woman exited the tavern. The traveller's sharp eyes quickly focused their attention on her, but seeing no immediate danger he loosened up and continued on his way. But He had an unexplainable urge to say something.

"Young lady!" yelled the traveller. "Are you familiar with this city? I am in need for directions."

"Poke him with a stick!"

"Dude, this is zombie work."

"He ate the last zombie, fool!"

It was unfortunate, mused the wight as he observed them, that skeletons maintained their previous personas. Oh, they were loyal... but most of them were so stupid... Just like people, really. But the wight had more important things to worry about. His master had directed him to awaken the beast.

Of course, the wight wasn't going in there. That was skellie work. Actually going in there could get a guy hurt.

His dreams were of blue skies and violins, and small, fluffy puppies prancing daintily around the solid pillars of his tree-trunk legs. Thag smiled down at them, revealing a double-row of razor-sharp serrated fangs, yellowed and stained and reeking of old men and intestines. Realizing he was wearing a frilly-tutu and pink tights, Thag began to dance, flinging himself to and fro with reckless, joyous abandon. The puppies accompanied the monstrous beast with a chorus of tinny yips and screeching yaps. The grass was a verdant green, and as soft as a silken kiss. After a particularly difficult pas de deux move, Thag sprawled to the ground, letting each blade caress him slowly and sensually. One strand of grass seemed to be resistant, and insistant on getting his attention...it poked him with an annoying frequency. It stabbed and prodded until Thag finally woke up...

...to find the two skeletons that were sent to get him, and had the unfortunate luck of having to wake the comatose creature. Being awakened was low on Thag's list of Things He Likes, and very high on his list of Things That Really Piss Him Off. The skeletons noticed his furrowing brow, and suddenly went pale. Well, paler.

Slowly, the hulking mass lifted himself to his full height, over nine feet tall, a half ton of muscle and attitude. With lightning quickness, his massive fist crashed down on the first skeletons head, turning it immediately into a pile of splintered bone. It crumbled to the floor, a cloud of dust erupting to mark it's passage. Thag whirled on the remaining intruder, plucking it off the ground and lifting it up to eye level. He looked the skeleton in the eye socket, and pulled its left arm out, popping it into his mouth. He crunched down, swallowing quickly. The right arm was next, and then the legs. As he was about to chow down on the hapless skeletons ribcage, he paused and looked towards his cell door. Sniffing the air, Thag could smell the warm meat that hovered nearby. He growled loudly.

"These are appetizers: can you guess who the main course is?"

The door to the tavern swung open once more, revealing a massive figure standing in the doorway. The huge man stood in the doorway for a moment, then walked up to the bar, his heavy boots "clomping" with each step he took.

The newcomer was huge, standing nearly 7 feet tall, and the large antlered helm he wore made him appear even larger. He was wearing a breastplate of dark steel, decorated with images of savage beast and monsters. His arms were relatively unprotected, save for steel guards on his forearms and the spiked guantlets he wore. He wore a heavy cloak of some sort of animal hide as well, which an educated observer would recognize as the hide of a giant wolf. The man was heavily armed; a pair of large maces hung from his belt, and he was resting a very large and wicked looking axe on his right shoulder. There was also a spear on his back.

The heavy axe made a loud "thump" as he set it down and took a seat at the bar.

"Ale please," he said in a gruff, deep voice. "The strongest you have."

The big warrior reached up and removed his helmet, revealing his face. The man had a dark brown goatee and moustache, and blue eyes. He had a long scar running vertically from just below his left eye to his jawline, and his expression was grim. His most interesting feature however, was his hair, or lack of it rather. The warrior's head was clean shaven, with strange designs tattooed in black ink on his head.

After paying for his ale, the man glanced over at the others of his trade sitting near him. A slight nod of his head was all the greeting he offered. He drained his glass in two gulps, then passed his mug back for a refill.

Sir Lycis briefly returned his nod, seemingly distracted by the enchanting woman. The bartender, however, filled the ale up and, in that endearing way of the terminally stupid, asked the tall warrior, "Here for an adventure, good sir?"

The two swarthy men who had previously left the bar returned, without their cage. They directed suspicious glances around, especially at the two armoured men at the table. One of them fingered his long braid of hair, and the other started to slowly reach for his dagger. Their master was no doubt tired of people coming in to pay visits to his city. They'd wait for the right opportunity, and then signal their support.

Alyssandra rested her hand on her chin, an unlikely pose for her, but she was bored and getting antsy. She, however, did not respond to the knight, which was very much like her. Arrogant to the core.

Inside something stirred and sent quivers along her nervous systems, it was irritated. Shivers went across her body, dropping her temperature a few degrees. She was cold, but this was not from the exterior environment. The bar was hot and beginning to smell like dirty boots that had been walked in for months in the boiling hot desert and with more bodies coming in the more the odor got worse and overpowering. She was cold from the interior. Nature was being meddled with. Being an elf she was apart of nature and she felt the effects it did. Nature was strong and resillant and so was she. However, she was only half elf and she could adapt in various ways.

Someone was messing with nature's body, the bones of the earth, the composition that she thrived on. The essence that lived there. He was gaining power and she needed to end this. There would be no time to find others. She would not wait. Patience is a virtue in the eye of the beholder and she did not see this fit anymore. She could not wait and feel him drain the very embodiment of earth and the occupants.

She threw acouple coins on the table and the once silent bar engulfed the sound of metal against wood. She stood up. Eyes on her.

Eyes never left her. She felt the wraithlord knew. She felt he knew her little secret. It is impossible. She had to leave and now. She went into her leather bag on her back and pulled out a long brown metal necklace with a crystalike tear shaped jewel encrusted in it. She placed it in Sir Lycris' hand and closed his hand around it.

The brown necklace resembled that of her hair and the jewel of a single tear that had fallen from her very eyes. She spoke not a single word, assuming he had enough intelligence to know it was a good-luck charm, personally made from her.

She walked out the door, leaving her cape inside. She no longer needed to hide. She knew there were some minions here and he would know sortly of her coming. The air meet her with a welcome and a slap. Warm at first and then cold in the there after.

She looked to the sky, black except for the little amount of the light that broke through and sparkled in the distant. Soon he shall know the truth and the world as we know it shall be molded.

The travel would be long, I might as well start now. Off in the distant forest eyes could be seen watching and she was ready. Ready for the unexpected.

Lycis leapt to his feet, sending his drink crashing onto the barman. "Wait!" he called, rushing after her. "You... you can't be..." he felt deep guilt override his senses. He didn't even know her name, or who she was, but he knew where she was going. "You can't be serious!" But when he left the door, it was too late.

She was already gone. He concentrated, and thought he saw her form leap up and over the walls. But she knew he was looking for her, and she wouldn't let him find her.

The knight returned, carrying the necklace she had given him. "Anyone here know her name?" he asked, softly. A far cry from his usual brash persona. One of the scullery maids raised a hand. "I think she said she was... Alysanndra or something like that... She didn't talk much, sir."

Lycis nodded to himself, and took his seat again, holding the necklace in front of her eyes. 'This is important,' he thought to himself.

OOC: I'll just assume it's around the 14th or 15th century, does that sound reasonable? There were still knights then...


A cloaked figure stood on the hill across from the tall ominous gate of the dark city, that stood in the middle of the desolate desert as a black beacon of evil. A myriad of guards walked to and fro on their patrol routes on top of the heavily fortified walls, that cast an erie shadow that crawled on the desert floor as the full desert moon shone its light across the area.

The traveller was wearing a long black cloak that had the elite Janissary insigina, of the Ottoman Sultanate, sewed with golden thread over the cloak's left breast. Underneath he wore a chainmail shirt which was covered by several layers of brown, gold, and green printed robes. At his waist hung a saber, whose hilt was in layed with gold and small red gems. Covering his head was meticulously wrapped in several lenghts of cloth, that protected his face from the elements but did not impede his line of sight. A simple white turban topped his head. In addition to his saber, he was carrying a simple travelling bundle, that had become considerably empty due to his journey through the desert. The only things that really separated him from other travellers was the golden Janissary insignia and the arquebus that was slung over his shoulder and across his chest, but hidden underneath his black travelling cloak.

As the traveller approached the gates, the desert wind buffeted him, causing his cloak and travelling bundle to bellow in the wind. But the traveller kept on his march, unaffected by the wind.

"Lo! Guard, open the gate so that I may enter!" yelled the traveller.

"What business do you have here!" replied the guard in a hoarse voice.

"I am but a traveller in need of some rest!"

"Have you not heard the evils of this place! Turn back at once!"

"But I cannot. It has taken me a good 5 days of travel to reach this place, from the last oasis! I must rest and replenish my supplies before I may continue on my journey to Antares, which is still a 2 week journey from here!"

"This is your last warning wanderer! Leave now!" returned the guard, brandishing his broad sword, completely ignoring what the wanderer had said.

"I am but a lowly traveller! I ask again, let me enter! I will not cause any trouble!"

"Fine! Once you have rested, leave at once! This is your final warning!" yelled the guard.

The guard signaled another guard at the base of the gate, who then pulled a large wooden lever. As the lever neared the ground, the black gate opened, revealing the dead dark city, whose inhabitants have retired inside their homes. Several buildings still emitted small rays of light through their blacked out and barred windows. The traveller slowly entered the gates, glancing over to his right to see a balding guard who propped himself up with his broad sword.

A strange silence had engulfed the city. The howling desert winds and the occasional laughter and yells from the local tavern broke the erie silence.

The traveller, deciding on first checking into the tavern, continued his slow walk towards the tavern's direction. Just then, a figure of a woman exited the tavern. The traveller's sharp eyes quickly focused their attention on her, but seeing no immediate danger he loosened up and continued on his way. But He had an unexplainable urge to say something.

"Young lady!" yelled the traveller. "Are you familiar with this city? I am in need for directions."

The young woman barely gave him a glance before she turned and almost vanished. She didn't want anyone to follow her into the darkness. A man ran out after her, shouting something, but then stopping. He looked around, and sighed, before turning back into the tavern.

At the gate, the two guards narrowed their eyes at an incoming sandstorm. "Interesting, wouldn't you say?" one of them asked, grabbing his spyglass and tilting his head slightly. "Looks... almost... like... people..."

They both looked at one another. The tall one shrieked like a little girl at first... "A RAID!?" but then he coughed. "This looks like a raid. The wraithlord's obviously not going to let us have a day's peace... sound the alarm! Get the gate closed! Do... hey, what happened to you?" his partner was lying on the ground.

The tall one was tapped on the shoulder by a bony hand. The guard slowly turned, and looked into the face of death. The wight chuckled drily. "If you must know... I happened to him."

Once his bloody work was done, the Wight Assassin tied the gate up. "LIFE FROM DEATH!" he called across the desert, to the shambling horde.

"ORDER FROM CHAOS!" came the return call. The city was about to be placed under seige...

His dreams were of blue skies and violins, and small, fluffy puppies prancing daintily around the solid pillars of his tree-trunk legs. Thag smiled down at them, revealing a double-row of razor-sharp serrated fangs, yellowed and stained and reeking of old men and intestines. Realizing he was wearing a frilly-tutu and pink tights, Thag began to dance, flinging himself to and fro with reckless, joyous abandon. The puppies accompanied the monstrous beast with a chorus of tinny yips and screeching yaps. The grass was a verdant green, and as soft as a silken kiss. After a particularly difficult pas de deux move, Thag sprawled to the ground, letting each blade caress him slowly and sensually. One strand of grass seemed to be resistant, and insistant on getting his attention...it poked him with an annoying frequency. It stabbed and prodded until Thag finally woke up...

...to find the two skeletons that were sent to get him, and had the unfortunate luck of having to wake the comatose creature. Being awakened was low on Thag's list of Things He Likes, and very high on his list of Things That Really Piss Him Off. The skeletons noticed his furrowing brow, and suddenly went pale. Well, paler.

Slowly, the hulking mass lifted himself to his full height, over nine feet tall, a half ton of muscle and attitude. With lightning quickness, his massive fist crashed down on the first skeletons head, turning it immediately into a pile of splintered bone. It crumbled to the floor, a cloud of dust erupting to mark it's passage. Thag whirled on the remaining intruder, plucking it off the ground and lifting it up to eye level. He looked the skeleton in the eye socket, and pulled its left arm out, popping it into his mouth. He crunched down, swallowing quickly. The right arm was next, and then the legs. As he was about to chow down on the hapless skeletons ribcage, he paused and looked towards his cell door. Sniffing the air, Thag could smell the warm meat that hovered nearby. He growled loudly.

"These are appetizers: can you guess who the main course is?"

"Silence, beast..." the wight's breathless voice replied. "Your next meal will be the heros who come... by order of the Wraithlord!" it took a couple of steps back and waved its hand in a strange fashion. The celldoor opened, and the wight drew his sword.

It flickered with the cold light of the frost and dying souls. Of course, its effects hinged on there being a sane mind on the other end...

"Silence, beast..." the wight's breathless voice replied. "Your next meal will be the heros who come... by order of the Wraithlord!" it took a couple of steps back and waved its hand in a strange fashion. The celldoor opened, and the wight drew his sword.

It flickered with the cold light of the frost and dying souls. Of course, its effects hinged on there being a sane mind on the other end...

The sword. Always with the sword. Thag sighed aloud, and popped the rest of the skeleton in his mouth, crunching the bones like salty pretzels. He was really beginning to hate the little wight's with their mystic pigstickers...he had eaten one of the little buggers once, and the smell that came out of him for days afterwards was toxic, even disturbing Thag himself with its great and foul odor. Sighing loudly, he shambled to the door, giving it a stiff shove and popping it off the hinges. The heavy oak door crashed to the ground, revealing the demonic wight who was waiting outside. Thag bent down, squeezing his humongous shoulders through the narrow doorframe. He smiled down at the Wraithlord's minion.

"Lead on, fair souless, lifeless spooky ghost- like thing...lead on."

She paid no heed to the call from the observed traveler. She was here to only help herself now. The little inkling she felt at the bar had now increased into an enormous amount. She heard the dead and she felt them. She had to run. There would be no need to fight; it would be worthless in her thinking.

She took off for the forest, in the opposite direction of the undead were coming from. She would circle around and go in that direction in a bit. She would just circumvent the city.

She could feel the screams of the humans as the dead called more to them. How ironic for the dead to take life, but I suppose they wouldn't really give life. Her thoughts changed to the wraithlord. How long had she seen his face? It had been years. She had been very young, about the human age of five, but she vividly remembers that day like it was yesterday.

There had been a parade that day and her mother was there, but talking to some of the other village mothers, while the children played. Alyssandra had always been to herself, she was different, she knew it and the others knew it. She was on the outskirts of the crowd, not really paying attention to the parade. She didn't want to watch the local and distant knights pass by, when she was one in her own world. The other kids did not want to play with her 'cause she had a huge sword, well, even to her size, and she was slashing it through the air. Her technique was amazing for someone so young. Several of the older men in town thought her to be better than some of the knights and this stirred up some laughter. Her dark long hair following her body in a serious of twists and turns and bends and slashes. It was a dance, although she was alone, it was as though her energy was directed towards someone. A young knight saw the girl and was amazed by the site and came over. He cleared his throat and Alyssandra smiled softly and sweetly. "Young lass, where did you get that from? And why are you concentrating so on fighting, when you could be playing with the other children?" His thick brows furrowed and she could read his worried look. In her gentle voice, she answered, "Sir, do not worry this attack is not meant for you." She paused and looked at the silver sword that struck light in all directions from the sun. "This is my daddy's sword. I have it 'cause me mommy is scared." Her face drew blank. "Me not scared." He asked her, "Why is your mommy scared?" Matter-of-factly, "My daddy scared her and I am fighting him." Just then her mother came and quieted the girl and sent her on her way. The following evening, her mother sat her down. "Child, I love you dearly, but you cannot fight a father you have never seen." "Then show me mommy." Her mother pulled out a sketched picture of a young man. She studied it and threw it to the ground. "I will protek you mommy."

Alyssandra realized she had traveled far into the forest, but in a oval way. She was near to the spot she saw his little minions come out of. She stopped and looked up at the stars once more.

An inner cry let out, I failed you mother, I will not again. A shooting star could be followed across the sky and flying in the direction where she could find her enemy. Be with me mother, I will not lie, I am afraid.

She marched on and followed the slow moving star. The jewel on her forehead sparkled in reflection to the star. Her heart yearned for her mother and her body and soul yearned to settle the evil that was capturing nature.

The wraithlord sat on his obsidian throne, his coal eyes closed in thought. He could feel something coming...

idly scratching the black stone, he sent his thoughts out over the lands he controlled. And snarled inwardly. 'Another adventurer...' there was something about this one that seemed familiar to him, though. It sparked a slight memory.

Well, he'd deal with that when he found her corpse. Champions... go to sector 85d and deal with the woman you will find there... the Wraithlord ordered, waving a hand peremptorilly.

Two wights bowed and drew their swords, fading out on the beams of a sick and tainted sun. The Wraithlord rested his hand on his chin, trying to remember why she seemed so familiar to him...



The wights faded into sight around a copse, glinting swords drawn. The two of them waited for her to come around the pass...

OOC:
Ah, interesting RP, if I may say so myself. I have been looking for some interesting RP's to keep my head off of things, too bad few come along which catch my attention.

Good job players, perhaps we can have the pleasure of RP'ing together. If you can handle one of my RP's. ;)

:D

OOC: Stuck in Las Vegas for the Thanksgiving weekend, again. And gotta wake up earlier to go to the sale at Frys. (this post is gonna be short and i'll have to come back to it later.)

"Why now..." grumbled the traveller, as he deflected two arrows with his saber. "What the heck did I do?"

The traveller sighed as he looked at the on coming raiders. The massive hoard swiftly entered the city killing everyone and everything in their path.

"Why the heck does this happen to me?" complained the traveller. "This...Is...Not...Fun...Ugh..." Killing a demon with every word he said.

He had just pulled out his saber from the 5th demon's neck, causing a dark thick blood to come gushing out, splattering his black cloak.

"Enough of this!" He yelled, fed up with hacking and slashing the minions. The traveller lifted his cloak and pulled his arquebus that was slinged around his torso and sheated his saber. Lighting the match on the serpentine, he quickly shouldered the weapon and took aim at an oncoming demon, carefully adjusting a crude custom made sight on the barrel of his gun.

"Just a little closer...NOW!"

The traveller pulled the bottom half of the serpentine pivot that lowered the upper half, which held the match of hemp rope soaked in saltpeter, into a pan containing a priming charge of powder causing the gun to fire. The lead bullet sped out of the barrel and hit one of the oncoming demons, causing it to fly back several feet from the impact.

"Hah...At least it still works...Ok...Gotta load another one." said the traveller, still wanting to admire his shot.

Green eyes changed to blue, crackling with arcane power as Varedius stepped out of the tavern. He spun gracefully and stabbed his trident into an approaching demon, a loud retort and demon-bit sprayed around the mage but never touching him.

"A whispered word, a muttered phrase and steely gaze, flaming death with hissing breath"

...chanted by the mage as the trident shifted, turning the prongs into the face of a raging dragon. Flame spewed from its golden jaws and engulfed any foe who came too close.


[[OOC: Will finish later with an edit]]

Sir Lycis briefly returned his nod, seemingly distracted by the enchanting woman. The bartender, however, filled the ale up and, in that endearing way of the terminally stupid, asked the tall warrior, "Here for an adventure, good sir?"

The two swarthy men who had previously left the bar returned, without their cage. They directed suspicious glances around, especially at the two armoured men at the table. One of them fingered his long braid of hair, and the other started to slowly reach for his dagger. Their master was no doubt tired of people coming in to pay visits to his city. They'd wait for the right opportunity, and then signal their support.

"Battle and profit, specifically," he replied, taking another swig of his ale.

Noticing two men glaring in his direction overly much, the big warrior glared right back.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked, his tone implying that he meant "piss off".

Just then, the knight that had been sitting near him started making a commotion, spilling his drink and running to the door. The warrior didn't know exactly what had just happened, although he gathered it had something to do with the girl who had approached the knight. The man turned away from the disturbance and back to his drink, shaking his head dismissively.

He had just drained his mug when he thought he heard some sort of noises outside. It was quite faint, but the man's ears were also quite keen. Listening carefully for a moment, he thought he recognized the noise. It sounded like the marching of many men...and voices! The stranger rested one hand on the haft of his axe, suspecting that he would need it before long...

OOC: Hmm, okay, I'm going to assume from the other posts that the battle is already begun...

IC: The big warriors suspicions were soon realized as the sounds of battle greeted his ears. Apparently whichever force it was he had heard moments before was wasting no time and had already gained entrance to the city. His lips slowly turned up into a wicked smile. He grabbed his great helm and placed it firmly on his head.

"Well, it seems I won't have to journey far to find battle, at least," he remarked to the bartender.

The massive warrior was quickly on his feet, snatching up his axe with a swiftness usually reserved for much smaller men. In several strides he was at the door, which he quickly removed from his path with a boot, knocking it off its hinges and out into the street. He noticed the mage from the tavern in the street already, battling some of the invaders with his magic. A squad of half a dozen skeletons rounded the corner and charged towards him.

"I am Lohknar, Scourge of the North!" he roared his challenge. "Come and die before me!"

And they came. And they died, if a skeleton could truly "die". Lohknar was ready for them as they came in, his first swipe tearing through spine and ribcage, effectively dismantling the skeleton. With the other skeletons quickly closing in to strike, the northman quickly swung the axe back, crushing a skeleton's skull with his backhanded strike. The other skeleton tried to slash him with its blade, but the northman was too quick, catching the blow on the haft of his axe. He then thrust the haft forward, knocking the skeleton back into two of its fellows. The attack did no real damage, but it had kept the other skeletons from closing in to flank him. There was still the matter of skeleton who was still standing, however.

"Die, mortal!" the creature rasped, launching its spear.

Lohknar swung his axe up, deflecting the spear with his axe head. Amazed at the display of skill, the skeleton turned to regroup with its comrades. The northman wasn't about to let that happen however, and he sprang at the monster, easily knocking it to the ground. With the skeleton helpless on the ground, the Scourge of the North brought his axe down with all his might, striking so hard the the axe split through the skeleton entirely and was embedded in the ground.

"Get him!" rasped one of the other skeletons, who were now recovered.

The northman abandoned his axe for the moment, knowing that he would be vulnerable to attack while he pulled it out. Instead he grabbed a heavy mace in each hand. The trio of skeletons advance on him, one facing him head on and the other two attempting to strike at his sides. The one on his right came in first, chopping with a crude axe. He swung a mace up to block with his right hand, but could not retaliate with his left, for his other enemy was also attacking. The enemy on his left swung a scimitar low, going for his legs, but the mace swept down to intercept the blow. Unable to bring his other weapon to bear, Lohknar kicked with his left leg, sweeping the skeleton's leg out from under it and toppling it over. Both of the other skeletons attacked then, but the northman blocked both their attacks, managing a counter attack on the axe wielder. With the skeleton knocked back a step, the northman pressed the attack, disarming the skeleton-literally. It's arm landed about 10 feet away, still gripping the axe. The remaining skeleton saw its opening, and tried to hack at him with its broadsword. The northman had anticipated the move however, and dived out of the way into a shoulder roll. He was up in a flash, and advanced towards the skeletons, for the other remaining creature had regained its feet. The Scourge of the North advanced confidently, aggressively putting both of the skeletons on the defensive with a flurry of blows. One of the skeletons found itself missing both its scimitar and its weapon hand, but its skull was summararily crushed before it could even locate the missing limb. With but one foe remaining, Lohknar easily swatted the skeleton's sword away. With a great roar, he brought both of his weapons crashing onto opposite sides of the last skeleton's head, smashing it into little fragments.

The Scourge of the North laughed to himself. Six down, and he hadn't even been scratched! The warrior from the north stalked over to his axe and tore it free from the ground, scattering the bones of the skeleton he had hewed with it. The northman checked the axe head quickly to make sure it wasn't damaged, and then stalked off. Many more would meet find their end on the edge of that axe before the battle was over, of that he was certain...

The sword. Always with the sword. Thag sighed aloud, and popped the rest of the skeleton in his mouth, crunching the bones like salty pretzels. He was really beginning to hate the little wight's with their mystic pigstickers...he had eaten one of the little buggers once, and the smell that came out of him for days afterwards was toxic, even disturbing Thag himself with its great and foul odor. Sighing loudly, he shambled to the door, giving it a stiff shove and popping it off the hinges. The heavy oak door crashed to the ground, revealing the demonic wight who was waiting outside. Thag bent down, squeezing his humongous shoulders through the narrow doorframe. He smiled down at the Wraithlord's minion.

"Lead on, fair souless, lifeless spooky ghost- like thing...lead on."

The wight tilted its head on side, and shrugged. The undead aren't known for their sense of humour. There was a moment of whirring, and then the pair were suddenly on the top tower of The Necropolis. An immense map floated next to a distant wall. Red stones denoted those cities under the Wraithlord's control and influence, blue stones denoted those which remained in the hands of 'Chaos'. Even as they watched, one blue stone flickered red briefly. The Wight kneeled before an immense throne with a sculpture on it. "My lord... the beast has come."

Excellent... the statue moved, revealing itself to be the Wraithlord. Thag, your orders are simple. You will go to the path that leads from Samarna and destroy any adventurers that pass through. Failure to comply... will mean your continued service will take a different fashion. Do you understand me?

Back to the daily grind, Thag thought to himself as he pretended to listen to the Wraithlords threats. Yada-yada-yada...had he ever failed his Dread Lord and Master before? Had he already forgotten how Thag had cleaned up that little Middle-Earth mess that Sauron had left behind? Cracking the knuckles of his massive hands together, the mutant hulk nodded his comprehension. His furry brow furrowed in rage, and a grim smile split his face, revealing his dagger-sized teeth. His voice was coal-black and filled with the promise of death as he replied.

"None shall pass, m'Lord. Any special requests?"

Every now and then, his boss wanted something special, like the heros head on a pike, or a live prisoner to torture for information. Usually though, Thag was allowed to simply eat the adventurer. His stomach growled loudly at the thought of food, as he waited impatiently for the Wraithlord to answer.

OOC: Stuck in Las Vegas for the Thanksgiving weekend, again. And gotta wake up earlier to go to the sale at Frys. (this post is gonna be short and i'll have to come back to it later.)

"Why now..." grumbled the traveller, as he deflected two arrows with his saber. "What the heck did I do?"

The traveller sighed as he looked at the on coming raiders. The massive hoard swiftly entered the city killing everyone and everything in their path.

"Why the heck does this happen to me?" complained the traveller. "This...Is...Not...Fun...Ugh..." Killing a demon with every word he said.

He had just pulled out his saber from the 5th demon's neck, causing a dark thick blood to come gushing out, splattering his black cloak.

"Enough of this!" He yelled, fed up with hacking and slashing the minions. The traveller lifted his cloak and pulled his arquebus that was slinged around his torso and sheated his saber. Lighting the match on the serpentine, he quickly shouldered the weapon and took aim at an oncoming demon, carefully adjusting a crude custom made sight on the barrel of his gun.

"Just a little closer...NOW!"

The traveller pulled the bottom half of the serpentine pivot that lowered the upper half, which held the match of hemp rope soaked in saltpeter, into a pan containing a priming charge of powder causing the gun to fire. The lead bullet sped out of the barrel and hit one of the oncoming demons, causing it to fly back several feet from the impact.

"Hah...At least it still works...Ok...Gotta load another one." said the traveller, still wanting to admire his shot.

There was silence, as guards and attackers a like turned to face the jannisary. Then the battle began once more. A shimmering figure, however, continued to watch the traveller from a minaret. It's master would like that toy.

It's master would have that toy. The Djinn was a simple one of its kind, snared by the power of the Ruby. But it could still deliver a painful blast against anyone it chose... or, perhaps... yes... the Djinn clapped its hands together. And the earth before the traveller arose in a frightening mound, before shaking and turning into an immense figure. Twin glowing eyes regarded the Traveller, before the Golem landed a fist downwards. "GRAAAH!"

Green eyes changed to blue, crackling with arcane power as Varedius stepped out of the tavern. He spun gracefully and stabbed his trident into an approaching demon, a loud retort and demon-bit sprayed around the mage but never touching him.

"A whispered word, a muttered phrase and steely gaze, flaming death with hissing breath"

...chanted by the mage as the trident shifted, turning the prongs into the face of a raging dragon. Flame spewed from its golden jaws and engulfed any foe who came too close.


[[OOC: Will finish later with an edit]]

((Well... I guess that means you won't need much more of a post from me? Here's something to work with...))

Sadly, the undead rarely take the time to learn from the fates of their fellows. While wights and wraiths, and, in more northerly climes vampires, display intelligence and ability to improvise, the policies of most skeletons and zombies are limited to the famed strategy of Colonel Cockroach. 'There's plenty more where that came from!'

Two guards shuffled close to the wizard. At first, they seemed to be simple soldiers. But when the sun hit them just so, you could see that half of their skin had been devoured...

[QUOTE=Wretchengard]<Big Post>QUOTE]

The wight assassin who had allowed the undead into the city in the first place fingered its Soul Blade. The self-styled Scourge of the North had certainly done a fine job in dealing with the minor undead, it granted him that. But this wight had, while alive, killed dozens of the skeletons before being brought to ground. One such as him would be a useful servant for its new master.

In a voice like the creaking of old doors, it hissed to Lohknar, "Stand and fight, mortal... I, Harcred Bloodwolf, command you..." the wight raised a hand, and dark magics started to come forth.

Then it toppled to the ground, split exactly in half, and dissolved. Sir Lycis spun his giant blade back into his scabbard. "Our father, who art in heaven..." he crossed himself and sprinkled some holy water from the Church back home onto the beast, releasing its soul from whatever torment it had been bound. The Cavalier finished his meditations, and drew his sword again. "Faith and Valour!" he called out, charging onwards into the fray...

Back to the daily grind, Thag thought to himself as he pretended to listen to the Wraithlords threats. Yada-yada-yada...had he ever failed his Dread Lord and Master before? Had he already forgotten how Thag had cleaned up that little Middle-Earth mess that Sauron had left behind? Cracking the knuckles of his massive hands together, the mutant hulk nodded his comprehension. His furry brow furrowed in rage, and a grim smile split his face, revealing his dagger-sized teeth. His voice was coal-black and filled with the promise of death as he replied.

"None shall pass, m'Lord. Any special requests?"

Every now and then, his boss wanted something special, like the heros head on a pike, or a live prisoner to torture for information. Usually though, Thag was allowed to simply eat the adventurer. His stomach growled loudly at the thought of food, as he waited impatiently for the Wraithlord to answer.

Take no prisoners. the Wraithlord fingered for something on his belt. Making a decision, he undid it and threw it across. But make sure that the two Warriors... join the army. Any other companions... do with as you please. Glinting at Thag's feet was a shard of The Ruby.

Anything that it touched would be corrupted by its malign influence... save for those that had already felt its curse. Such as Thag.

There was silence, as guards and attackers a like turned to face the jannisary. Then the battle began once more. A shimmering figure, however, continued to watch the traveller from a minaret. It's master would like that toy.

It's master would have that toy. The Djinn was a simple one of its kind, snared by the power of the Ruby. But it could still deliver a painful blast against anyone it chose... or, perhaps... yes... the Djinn clapped its hands together. And the earth before the traveller arose in a frightening mound, before shaking and turning into an immense figure. Twin glowing eyes regarded the Traveller, before the Golem landed a fist downwards. "GRAAAH!"

The Traveller quickly jumped back and dodged the giant fist that had come out of no where.

"Whoa! Where the hell did you come from!?!" jumped the traveller. The Traveller, having recovered from the the initial shock, carefully examined the stone creature, oddly jumping from place to place with incredible speed. "Interesting...A Golem..."

Completely ignoring any danger that might be associated with a Golem, the Traveller pulled out a pair of spectacles that he had attached to his waist belt. He carefully placed the glasses over his eyes, inside his cloth mask.

"Ah...That's better. Now lets have a look at you." said the Traveller, eyeing the Golem as if it were a new toy. "I thought Golems were just myth, never seen one in real life. You'd make a fine specimen to experiment on..."

OOC: I'm sorry about this character, he's cheap, not exactly an adventurer type, but he demanded of me that he be allowed to show up. I hope this is not too late and not too poorly roleplayed...

IC:

The soft lilting tones of a half muted flute played, barely audible at all through the rauckous sound of battle filling the streets below. One of the skeletons below noticed something however as it jumped into the building, a raider intent on causing harm to whatever innocent family it could find within. They, however, had long fled. So the skeleton gleefully set to ransacking the place, stabbing rusty short sword into tables and pulling them over, until it noticed something. It heard something, the faint sound of music from the upstairs.

"Heh heh heh," it chuckled drily, gesturing to one of it's flesh deprived buddies who had decided to join it, "whadda yah wanna bet we find some good flesh for carving up there?"

"Oh yeah, good idea, yeah," the rather dumb skeleton agreed, grinning as skulls are forced to, shifting his stolen helm lower; it was too large because it was meant for a skull still with flesh.

Together the two skeletons drew their rusty longknives in the relative quiet of the seemingly abandoned residence. Creeping along as quietly as clacking bones could manage, they found their ways to a staircase, and up it they went. Depending upon the noise of fighting and wailing death in the streets to cover them, they crept up to the open walled second story. Arcched held up the roof of the building in front, leaving big openings to look down, and large pillars for shadows in which to hide.

"Come here little pretty, we won't hurt you," one said, snickering as he approached the sound of the flute, "...that much, or at least not for too long."

"Yeah, right, won't hurt a bit, ha," said the other one rather dumbly.

With a fluid grace a slender boned, long fingered, and pale skinned hand, nails painted black, reached out from the shadows of the pill, from behind where the skeletons had already crept. It reached over and touched the first skeleton upon the shoulder, and dark energies flowed, the necromantic power which sustained it's unlife drained from it. The dumb sounding companion turned as his comrade collapsed in a loose pile, raising his knife, but it was too late. With a smooth motion, deceptively fast, the hand shifted grip from the collar bone of one to the other. Again, the same energies were drained, and the second skeleton collapsed.

"The dead should remain in their graves," a smooth tenor's voice said, as the figure stepped from the shadows. He was tall but not huge, at 5'10", and nearly elven slender, though his ears were as rounded as any of the race of Man. His skin was as pale as the sunbleached bones that lay collapsed before him in rusty armored piles. Ethereal blue flames flickered in the irises of his eyes as he assimilated the skeletons energies, returning souls to nether realms in which they belonged. He walked to the railing beneath the archways, looking down at the streets below and visible to those down there.

He stood there, watching the mayhem, and potentially being watched himself; he didn't care about that anymore. His shoulder length and rough hair, black as death, blew in a cinematically convinient night breeze where it stuck out from under his wide brimmed black hat. His matte black cloak fluttered around him, and his eyes dimmed from their ghostly blue lights to a near black themselves. Curiously, he slid the flute made of bone, possibly a femur, back into the slot in his leather belt. Beneath the cloak he wore heavy black trousers and tunic, and boots plated at toe and heel with silvery metal. His pale and thin faced features examined the damage being done, the havoc being wreaked, and his black lips parted ever so slightly in the smallest of smirks.

"I suppose I had better get to work," he said with a tone of resignation, not quite verbally sighing. Turning about his cloak swirled behind him capelike, and he made his way to the stairwell, heading down to the ground floor, prepared to enter the chaos...

Take no prisoners. the Wraithlord fingered for something on his belt. Making a decision, he undid it and threw it across. But make sure that the two Warriors... join the army. Any other companions... do with as you please. Glinting at Thag's feet was a shard of The Ruby.

Anything that it touched would be corrupted by its malign influence... save for those that had already felt its curse. Such as Thag.

Thag bent down, way, way down, and retrieved the blood-red sliver that when applied, would turn even the most pious warrior into a mewling, subservient soldier of the Wraithlord. Sliding it into his belt, the huge creature nodded yet again to his employer, then turned and walked towards the wight who still cowered in the corner. Thag looked at the minion, then yelled very loudly.

"TAXI!!!!"

The wight scrambled, leading Thag to the transport zone that would bring him to the Dark Path of Samarna. As he walked, he reviewed his gear and plans.

Eight-foot long broadsword....check.
Nine foot, half-ton beast with attitude to wield it...check.
Plate metal athletic supporter...check.
In the mood to kick some heroic ass...check.

Thag wondered briefly which two warriors he was supposed to convert to the Dark Side, but decided that the answer would reveal itself when the time was right. He hoped one of them would be female...ideally, a big, strong troll-ette. Thag was lonely, and in need of some female companionship. The humans that were provided to him were small, fragile and filled with fear. He usually just ate them after they fainted. Fainting was commonplace, if not from Thag's noxious odor then from the sight of him in all his naked glory. He was a biiiiiig monster.

Moments later, he was standing at the base of the Samarnan Path, waiting patiently for his first victim. He checked his reflection in the small creek that gurgled close by, and was satisfied that even though he was a massive, muscle and fur-covered nightmare, he still looked pretty fly for a white guy.

As Alyssandra walked into the dark depths of the forest she could smell death and evil little beings in the vicinity of her. Not that she ever could smell its odor, but it was more potent to her nose. She swiftly climbed up a nearby billowing tree. She was halfway up when she stopped and looked around her surroundings.

Hmmm. Where are those little creatures? Ahh. There. She stopped two wights, standing presumably over a corpse. It was so badly disfigured she could not tell what it was, maybe another wight. Those creatures were so submissive they would do whatever their master told them, even kill one of their own. They appeared not to notice her, but they always appeared that way. Better now then later.

She jumped down from the tree, dirt and leaves and sticks flying in the air around her. One wight growled at her and she laughed cruelly back at it. “What is that supposed to scare me?” She pulled out her signature sword and flashed it before her face. She made the gesture of licking the tip. Seductive, but scary.

“Got to get it clean before I get it dirty.”

With that she flew in front of the nearest wight and sliced her sword threw the air. It meet her attacks with clumsy defenses. She broke down its weakness. It didn’t block its head. With one quick and calculated movement she sliced its head right off its neck. The grotesque head flew several feet away and landed with a sick thud. Its neck’s arteries still pumped blood out in intervals of squirts and finally it stopped. It had been dried of all its blood.

She turned to the other wight, who had remained in its spot and just watched. Stupid little wight. You could have been fighting me. They never learn. She raced up to it and attacked with her sword, meeting it with opposing force. This one is a bit more skill. She wasn’t concentrating and its sword sliced through some of her skin, tearing a bit away. Some blood trickled out, but thanks to her coagulation, she did not lose a significant amount of blood.

Anger consumed her now. She let it get to her. She wasn’t focused and now she was pissed. She came on strong, relentless. Her attacks were fast and fierce. It would soon not be able to keep up with her. She pounced on it like a tiger on a antelope. She was on top and seconds later, her sword crushing through its rib cage and through important organs. She watched it take its last rugged breath. She smiled as she pulled out her sword with a demented sound of organs squeezing and following her energy.

Frowning she looked at her sword, dirty with their fluid. She grabbed a leaf that had follow from all the energy she had encompassed and cleaned off the goo on her sword. She threw it down on the last wight, those disgusting pitiful creatures.

They might have had a chance if they had any sort of intelligence.

She continued deeper into the forest, where things got hairy and more viscous.
A smile flickered across her face, oh the wraith lord will not be happy.

The Traveller quickly jumped back and dodged the giant fist that had come out of no where.

"Whoa! Where the hell did you come from!?!" jumped the traveller. The Traveller, having recovered from the the initial shock, carefully examined the stone creature, oddly jumping from place to place with incredible speed. "Interesting...A Golem..."

Completely ignoring any danger that might be associated with a Golem, the Traveller pulled out a pair of spectacles that he had attached to his waist belt. He carefully placed the glasses over his eyes, inside his cloth mask.

"Ah...That's better. Now lets have a look at you." said the Traveller, eyeing the Golem as if it were a new toy. "I thought Golems were just myth, never seen one in real life. You'd make a fine specimen to experiment on..."

The Golem stared menacingly down at the traveller, but made no further movements. It tilted its head on its side, as if thinking. It was pretty sure the appropriate reaction from the little fleshy thing would be screaming and futile attempts to destroy it. The fact it didn't seem to be happening confused its simple mind.

The Djinn's patience ran out after a few minutes. It took off and floated down in front of the Golem, paying the Traveller no heed. "Damn it, you stupid piece of Earth! I, Raukmanash the Invincible, order you to attack! ATTACK!" it kicked the Golem with a suddenly formed foot. "Damn it! Attack somethin <Splat>!" the Golem withdrew an immense hand from the ground where the Djinn had been standing.

Making up its mind, it settled back on its haunches. This little man interested it.

OOC: Requesting permission to add a company of marsh elves to the proceedings - no army of darkness is complete without them! They're your typical small, gibbering, cannon-fodder minions, sort of like goblin-lite.

If not, I'm sure I'll come up with something...

OOC: I'm sorry about this character, he's cheap, not exactly an adventurer type, but he demanded of me that he be allowed to show up. I hope this is not too late and not too poorly roleplayed...

IC:

The soft lilting tones of a half muted flute played, barely audible at all through the rauckous sound of battle filling the streets below. One of the skeletons below noticed something however as it jumped into the building, a raider intent on causing harm to whatever innocent family it could find within. They, however, had long fled. So the skeleton gleefully set to ransacking the place, stabbing rusty short sword into tables and pulling them over, until it noticed something. It heard something, the faint sound of music from the upstairs.

"Heh heh heh," it chuckled drily, gesturing to one of it's flesh deprived buddies who had decided to join it, "whadda yah wanna bet we find some good flesh for carving up there?"

"Oh yeah, good idea, yeah," the rather dumb skeleton agreed, grinning as skulls are forced to, shifting his stolen helm lower; it was too large because it was meant for a skull still with flesh.

Together the two skeletons drew their rusty longknives in the relative quiet of the seemingly abandoned residence. Creeping along as quietly as clacking bones could manage, they found their ways to a staircase, and up it they went. Depending upon the noise of fighting and wailing death in the streets to cover them, they crept up to the open walled second story. Arcched held up the roof of the building in front, leaving big openings to look down, and large pillars for shadows in which to hide.

"Come here little pretty, we won't hurt you," one said, snickering as he approached the sound of the flute, "...that much, or at least not for too long."

"Yeah, right, won't hurt a bit, ha," said the other one rather dumbly.

With a fluid grace a slender boned, long fingered, and pale skinned hand, nails painted black, reached out from the shadows of the pill, from behind where the skeletons had already crept. It reached over and touched the first skeleton upon the shoulder, and dark energies flowed, the necromantic power which sustained it's unlife drained from it. The dumb sounding companion turned as his comrade collapsed in a loose pile, raising his knife, but it was too late. With a smooth motion, deceptively fast, the hand shifted grip from the collar bone of one to the other. Again, the same energies were drained, and the second skeleton collapsed.

"The dead should remain in their graves," a smooth tenor's voice said, as the figure stepped from the shadows. He was tall but not huge, at 5'10", and nearly elven slender, though his ears were as rounded as any of the race of Man. His skin was as pale as the sunbleached bones that lay collapsed before him in rusty armored piles. Ethereal blue flames flickered in the irises of his eyes as he assimilated the skeletons energies, returning souls to nether realms in which they belonged. He walked to the railing beneath the archways, looking down at the streets below and visible to those down there.

He stood there, watching the mayhem, and potentially being watched himself; he didn't care about that anymore. His shoulder length and rough hair, black as death, blew in a cinematically convinient night breeze where it stuck out from under his wide brimmed black hat. His matte black cloak fluttered around him, and his eyes dimmed from their ghostly blue lights to a near black themselves. Curiously, he slid the flute made of bone, possibly a femur, back into the slot in his leather belt. Beneath the cloak he wore heavy black trousers and tunic, and boots plated at toe and heel with silvery metal. His pale and thin faced features examined the damage being done, the havoc being wreaked, and his black lips parted ever so slightly in the smallest of smirks.

"I suppose I had better get to work," he said with a tone of resignation, not quite verbally sighing. Turning about his cloak swirled behind him capelike, and he made his way to the stairwell, heading down to the ground floor, prepared to enter the chaos...

OOC: That's quite all right... I'll just up the difficulty level for him... and everyone will be happy.

*Begin snazzy jazz music*

IC: When the man had reached the doorway, there was a pitched battle taking place in the street. Several of the surviving city guards were holding back a squadron of skeletons with great difficulty. Sparks shot forth as scimitars clashed with each other or armour, and the screams of the men and the rasping of the skeletons mingled into one immense cacophony.

Then there was silence. Blessed silence. The skeletons collapsed into the ground, lying still as their energies dissipated. The guards all raised their weapons into the air in jubilation. Then there was another sound.

A cloaked figure floated down one of the streets towards the guards. It made no sound, instead holding a scythe in one hand and something red in the other. The two hands looked to be skeletal, but it was difficult to tell. The eyes were glowing coals.

With one battle-cry, the guards charged at the figure. It ignored their mundane weapons and held up the red glowing hand, touching the bare skin of a soldier.

The soldier screamed and fell to the ground, twisting and shaking. Before his comrade's very eyes, red lines coruscated along his skin, red lines that expanded and changed and morphed. His skin grew scaly and green, his hands changed into claws.

For a brief second a terrified look came into his eyes, and then he blinked. When his eyes opened they were those of a reptile. Jumping to his feet, the new servant of the Wraithlord slashed open the neck of one of his old compatriots.

As Alyssandra walked into the dark depths of the forest she could smell death and evil little beings in the vicinity of her. Not that she ever could smell its odor, but it was more potent to her nose. She swiftly climbed up a nearby billowing tree. She was halfway up when she stopped and looked around her surroundings.

Hmmm. Where are those little creatures? Ahh. There. She stopped two wights, standing presumably over a corpse. It was so badly disfigured she could not tell what it was, maybe another wight. Those creatures were so submissive they would do whatever their master told them, even kill one of their own. They appeared not to notice her, but they always appeared that way. Better now then later.

She jumped down from the tree, dirt and leaves and sticks flying in the air around her. One wight growled at her and she laughed cruelly back at it. “What is that supposed to scare me?” She pulled out her signature sword and flashed it before her face. She made the gesture of licking the tip. Seductive, but scary.

“Got to get it clean before I get it dirty.”

With that she flew in front of the nearest wight and sliced her sword threw the air. It meet her attacks with clumsy defenses. She broke down its weakness. It didn’t block its head. With one quick and calculated movement she sliced its head right off its neck. The grotesque head flew several feet away and landed with a sick thud. Its neck’s arteries still pumped blood out in intervals of squirts and finally it stopped. It had been dried of all its blood.

She turned to the other wight, who had remained in its spot and just watched. Stupid little wight. You could have been fighting me. They never learn. She raced up to it and attacked with her sword, meeting it with opposing force. This one is a bit more skill. She wasn’t concentrating and its sword sliced through some of her skin, tearing a bit away. Some blood trickled out, but thanks to her coagulation, she did not lose a significant amount of blood.

Anger consumed her now. She let it get to her. She wasn’t focused and now she was pissed. She came on strong, relentless. Her attacks were fast and fierce. It would soon not be able to keep up with her. She pounced on it like a tiger on a antelope. She was on top and seconds later, her sword crushing through its rib cage and through important organs. She watched it take its last rugged breath. She smiled as she pulled out her sword with a demented sound of organs squeezing and following her energy.

Frowning she looked at her sword, dirty with their fluid. She grabbed a leaf that had follow from all the energy she had encompassed and cleaned off the goo on her sword. She threw it down on the last wight, those disgusting pitiful creatures.

They might have had a chance if they had any sort of intelligence.

She continued deeper into the forest, where things got hairy and more viscous.
A smile flickered across her face, oh the wraith lord will not be happy.

Not happy was an understatement. The Wraithlord slammed a mailed fist onto an arm of his obsidian throne. KILL HER! he roared, gesturing violently to four of his servants. The Ruby set into the podium before him glinted with an evil light as his rage took over. Lightning crackled across the skies of the Necropolis, shooting out into the waste. Oh, he was furious.

The creatures clicked their beaks and ran into the teleporter...

~~

As Alysanndra walked, she entered a strange part of the forest. This close to the waste, things were different. Twisted dead trees still grew from the wasted Earth, and the flowers turned to watch her as she passed. An intense haze of high magic covered everything.

But the worst part was that the change was spreading. Even as Alysanndra watched, another inch of the world shifted and became dead. The process was speeding up now. But perhaps most frighteningly, beady eyes watched her from the shadows. Dozens of beady eyes.

There was the sound of scuttling legs from all over, but wherever she looked, she saw nothing.

Four immense spiders were climbing down the twisted trees behind and in front of her.

OOC: Requesting permission to add a company of marsh elves to the proceedings - no army of darkness is complete without them! They're your typical small, gibbering, cannon-fodder minions, sort of like goblin-lite.

If not, I'm sure I'll come up with something...

((Hrmm... All right. I suppose Thag can eat them if they prove a problem.))

OOC: Thanks. Hope this post is okay; not quite sure where to jump in :P

IC:

"Awww, man, I hate bein' reserves!" complained the marsh elf scout Hurc, as he watched the rest of the wraithlord's forces beseiging the city below. The elves were encamped behind some rocks overlooking the city, armed and ready, but waiting for some order from the wight assigned to direct them.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," a second elf, by the name of Snat replied, sniffing the air, "You can smell the carnage from here!"

The two elves were typical examples of their kind, a shade less than five feet in height, pale blue-grey in complexion, with beady yellow eyes and a mane of thick black hair. They were fairly scrawny, clad in scraps of fur and chain mail, as well as grubby black woollen cloaks. Wood and horn composite bows were slung over their shoulders, along with quivers of cruel, poisoned arrows. All marsh elves stink to high heaven, but these were particularly pungent specimens.

"And think of all the loot." Hurc added, "Them skeletons don't know what to do with it; they just smash it up."

"Dumb skeletons." Snat agreed, "Awww, why can't we go join in? Sarge! Hey sarge, why can't we go get us some plunder?"

The sergeant, of taller and slightly sturdier build than the two scouts, with his head shaved bald save for a topknot, stood a few yards back from the rocks, leaning on the shaft of a vicious-looking glaive. He rasped angrily at them, "Quit yer yapping; you little sniffers are all the same - can't sit still for five minutes without nothin' to poke. Now shut up, afore I have yer fed to that dire beast the master keeps. Or ground up for warg food. We hold our position here until we get told ta do somethin' else."

The two scouts pulled sullen faces, and turned back to peering out at the city. Sergeant Shibu scowled at them for a moment, before proceeding down to the centre of the camp, where the marsh elf banner stood, a dark purple standard depicting a dancing skunk. Beneath the flag, sat Captain Kakaret and war-shaman Gurgu.

"The boys are gettin' restless." Shibu commented, "Might hafta get out the sticks an' give a few of them a good beatin', if we don't get any orders soon - should keep 'em quiet for a bit longer."

"Tell 'em they'll get plenty of fightin' soon enough." said Kakaret, "An' maybe if a few of them are lucky, they'll get more than just plunder for rewards."

Kakaret watched the sergeant trundle off. While most of the marsh elves in his company were simple-minded ruffians, here for the usual - kill heroes, get paid, do what you're told or get fed to the master's pet monster - he had slightly higher aspirations. Rumour had reached his filthy ears that the Wraithlord had the power to make his minions larger, stronger, more powerful - even immortal. He had no intention of remaining small and insignificant for the rest of his worthless little existance.

The Golem stared menacingly down at the traveller, but made no further movements. It tilted its head on its side, as if thinking. It was pretty sure the appropriate reaction from the little fleshy thing would be screaming and futile attempts to destroy it. The fact it didn't seem to be happening confused its simple mind.

The Djinn's patience ran out after a few minutes. It took off and floated down in front of the Golem, paying the Traveller no heed. "Damn it, you stupid piece of Earth! I, Raukmanash the Invincible, order you to attack! ATTACK!" it kicked the Golem with a suddenly formed foot. "Damn it! Attack somethin <Splat>!" the Golem withdrew an immense hand from the ground where the Djinn had been standing.

Making up its mind, it settled back on its haunches. This little man interested it.

"Ah!!! What was that!?!?" yelled the Traveller as a strange person suddenly appeared infront of him and had attempted to spur on the Golem to attack, but was then smashed into the ground. "Amazing...It's quick for something of this scale and by my estimate, enormous weight."

The Traveller walked up to the place where the the Djinn had been standing and had started to examine the large hand print and flatened out blood stained cloth. "Amazing...I can't see any traces of crushed bones..."

After examining the hand print, Traveller looked up and stared at the Golem and began his attempts to try to make contact with it. "GREETINGS! GOLEM! I MEAN YOU NO HARM! CAN YOU UNDERSTAND ME? CAN YOU UNDERSTAND THE WORDS THAT ARE COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH?" (as he pointed to his mouth)

Before the Traveller could continue, a smaller evil minion of the dark made its attack run towards the Traveller, deciding that just staring curiously at the Traveller along with the rest of the small crowd that had formed.

The Traveller sighed as he quickly loaded his arquebus with a small cloth container that was filled with hundreds of small lead pellets, and angled it over his left shoulder. With the arquebus pointed behind his back, he pressed down on the serpentine which then ignited the charge of specially made gunpowder paste which was held in the priming charge pan. The arquebus fired, the recoil caused the barrel end of the arquebus to jump off of the Traveller's shoulder as he held the stock securely in his hand, the Traveller then caught the upside down barrel in his other hand. The small pellet filled container burst in mid-air as it flew out of the barrel. With the velocity of a small cannon and the wide spread of fire of the hundreds of pellets flew swiftly towards the charging minion. Within seconds, the minion landed loudly on the ground with its face full of lead.

"Ok...Where was I? CAN YOU HEAR ME? IF YOU CAN'T SPEAK, JUST NOD."

It was peaceful here, the lush vegetation not yet completely corrupted by the Dark. Thag leaned against a large tree, skipping stones into the river and thinking about his next verse. The lumbering behemoth considered himself something of a poet, and enjoyed writing prose and poetry in-between eating armies and slaying heroes. He read over the poem so far.

"In darkest night the web is filled,
with flies and bugs from window-sills.
A spider waits, his fangs a-drippin',
soon his fangs will start a-rippin'.

Suck them guts! Suck 'em, suck 'em!
Lick those fluids out.
Eat the brain! Chomp it, chew it!
Leave the husk to pout."

A masterpiece, if he did say so himself. As he was about to ad a line about vomiting the digested fluids back up to feed the young, he heard the distinctive clashing of steel in the distance. As suddenly as it began, it stopped, and Thag rubbed his massive claws together in anticipation. His appetizer was on its way! He unsheathed his massive broadsword, testing the razor-sharp edge with his finger. Ouch. He sniffed the wind, and was rewarded with the sweet scent of femininity...a warrior-babe doth cometh!

Quickly licking his hand to wet it, he slicked back the tufts of hair on his bulbous head, checking his breath at the same time. It was rancid and reeking of rotting flesh...perfect! Thag sat back on his haunches, blocking the path and practising his speed-dating technique. He didn't have much time to woo the female before he would probably have to kill her.

The wight assassin who had allowed the undead into the city in the first place fingered its Soul Blade. The self-styled Scourge of the North had certainly done a fine job in dealing with the minor undead, it granted him that. But this wight had, while alive, killed dozens of the skeletons before being brought to ground. One such as him would be a useful servant for its new master.

In a voice like the creaking of old doors, it hissed to Lohknar, "Stand and fight, mortal... I, Harcred Bloodwolf, command you..." the wight raised a hand, and dark magics started to come forth.

Then it toppled to the ground, split exactly in half, and dissolved. Sir Lycis spun his giant blade back into his scabbard. "Our father, who art in heaven..." he crossed himself and sprinkled some holy water from the Church back home onto the beast, releasing its soul from whatever torment it had been bound. The Cavalier finished his meditations, and drew his sword again. "Faith and Valour!" he called out, charging onwards into the fray...

The northman was just carving up a zombie that had wandered too close when he saw the wight approach, and a wicked smile crept onto his face. Finally, something worth fighting... The wight issued its challenge, and Lohknar stood his ground.

"Don't worry pretty boy, I'm not going anywhere," the warrior mocked. "Come and die before the Scourge of the North!"

Lohknar hefted his axe and prepared for his foe's advance...

...only to witness him fall to pieces, hewed from behind by the meddling knight, who then muttered something to his god and wandered off.

"Coward!" the northman blustered with impotent rage, kicking at the dirt where the wight had been. "Get up! I'm not done with you!"

Robbed of his worthy adversary, the hulking warrior stalked off in search of others willing to throw away their lives in battle against him.

OOC: Thanks Roania. You know I am not strong at developing fighting scenes. Grrr...next time you will be in it... ;)

IC: She was filled with disgust. Revulsion for what he was doing to the very land she came from. The “magical” sense was nothing to be taken lightly. She felt it spill over the edges of sanity and twist and manipulate and finally mutate her surroundings.

She was glad she had her sanity, until she saw them. Four giant spiders. Not that she was afraid, oh no, she did not have fears, but they were creatures that were almost indestructible.

Hmm…send out the big boys eh? I have hit a nerve. She felt his anger now and she knew she was drawing closer, slowly, but definitely surely.

See, even though these were insects and considered lower to her species, they were quite keen at fighting, if she was posed to be a threat to them. They watched her with inquisitive eyes. Was she food, was the next question.

The thing about elves they took apart of nature with them that being a reason she felt the terrible things put upon it and she could influence it to her own needs. It was almost her very luck that the earth here was dead, but not it was dying. It was so cold, it was not alive, but to her she knew it had a chance, but to others with not her intelligence, lets say spiders, it would appear dead.

She picked up the necrotic dirt and leaves ands crushed it in her hands. She spoke a few native words and closed her eyes. A feeling of numbness rushed over her and even her skin appeared cyanotic. She continued to walk further in and where the earth was deteriorating before her eyes. The spiders now confused, did not know what became of their meal. She sent off parts a leaf out of her pouch; it was from her home and molded it into four juicy fuzzy little bunnies. The leaf had poisons produced in it and that could kill anything that ingested it, by any means. With the help of an old friend that was a mage, she made the leaf appear to be a walking, living thing. She watched, from a distance, as the saliva dripped from their mouths onto the “rabbits” and then as each spider devoured the rabbit whole. They were not normal spiders that sucked the creatures dry, they were mutated to just eat anything moving and living in sight. Within seconds, even their adapted bodies could not withstand the degree of toxicity and they crashed to the ground and their skeletons cracked, like a tree being struck with lightening and their insides gushed out and covered the ground. As they dried out, the once destroying creatures, promoted growth to the once dead earth. Little sprouts of green grass and leafs came out of the ground.

Alyssandra walked on leaving the scene with satisfaction. He underestimates me that he should do because he does not realize who I am. Alone and still numb she trekked to him, his very energy bringing her closer to someone’s destruction.

OOC: Thanks. Hope this post is okay; not quite sure where to jump in :P

IC:

"Awww, man, I hate bein' reserves!" complained the marsh elf scout Hurc, as he watched the rest of the wraithlord's forces beseiging the city below. The elves were encamped behind some rocks overlooking the city, armed and ready, but waiting for some order from the wight assigned to direct them.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," a second elf, by the name of Snat replied, sniffing the air, "You can smell the carnage from here!"

The two elves were typical examples of their kind, a shade less than five feet in height, pale blue-grey in complexion, with beady yellow eyes and a mane of thick black hair. They were fairly scrawny, clad in scraps of fur and chain mail, as well as grubby black woollen cloaks. Wood and horn composite bows were slung over their shoulders, along with quivers of cruel, poisoned arrows. All marsh elves stink to high heaven, but these were particularly pungent specimens.

"And think of all the loot." Hurc added, "Them skeletons don't know what to do with it; they just smash it up."

"Dumb skeletons." Snat agreed, "Awww, why can't we go join in? Sarge! Hey sarge, why can't we go get us some plunder?"

The sergeant, of taller and slightly sturdier build than the two scouts, with his head shaved bald save for a topknot, stood a few yards back from the rocks, leaning on the shaft of a vicious-looking glaive. He rasped angrily at them, "Quit yer yapping; you little sniffers are all the same - can't sit still for five minutes without nothin' to poke. Now shut up, afore I have yer fed to that dire beast the master keeps. Or ground up for warg food. We hold our position here until we get told ta do somethin' else."

The two scouts pulled sullen faces, and turned back to peering out at the city. Sergeant Shibu scowled at them for a moment, before proceeding down to the centre of the camp, where the marsh elf banner stood, a dark purple standard depicting a dancing skunk. Beneath the flag, sat Captain Kakaret and war-shaman Gurgu.

"The boys are gettin' restless." Shibu commented, "Might hafta get out the sticks an' give a few of them a good beatin', if we don't get any orders soon - should keep 'em quiet for a bit longer."

"Tell 'em they'll get plenty of fightin' soon enough." said Kakaret, "An' maybe if a few of them are lucky, they'll get more than just plunder for rewards."

Kakaret watched the sergeant trundle off. While most of the marsh elves in his company were simple-minded ruffians, here for the usual - kill heroes, get paid, do what you're told or get fed to the master's pet monster - he had slightly higher aspirations. Rumour had reached his filthy ears that the Wraithlord had the power to make his minions larger, stronger, more powerful - even immortal. He had no intention of remaining small and insignificant for the rest of his worthless little existance.

One of the Wraithlord's lieutenants stormed past the camp, bellowing about how all soldiers were needed to press the attack...

((Sorry, Stick... but as minor villains, you need heroes to face! I can do something big next time for you. :) ))

"Ah!!! What was that!?!?" yelled the Traveller as a strange person suddenly appeared infront of him and had attempted to spur on the Golem to attack, but was then smashed into the ground. "Amazing...It's quick for something of this scale and by my estimate, enormous weight."

The Traveller walked up to the place where the the Djinn had been standing and had started to examine the large hand print and flatened out blood stained cloth. "Amazing...I can't see any traces of crushed bones..."

After examining the hand print, Traveller looked up and stared at the Golem and began his attempts to try to make contact with it. "GREETINGS! GOLEM! I MEAN YOU NO HARM! CAN YOU UNDERSTAND ME? CAN YOU UNDERSTAND THE WORDS THAT ARE COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH?" (as he pointed to his mouth)

Before the Traveller could continue, a smaller evil minion of the dark made its attack run towards the Traveller, deciding that just staring curiously at the Traveller along with the rest of the small crowd that had formed.

The Traveller sighed as he quickly loaded his arquebus with a small cloth container that was filled with hundreds of small lead pellets, and angled it over his left shoulder. With the arquebus pointed behind his back, he pressed down on the serpentine which then ignited the charge of specially made gunpowder paste which was held in the priming charge pan. The arquebus fired, the recoil caused the barrel end of the arquebus to jump off of the Traveller's shoulder as he held the stock securely in his hand, the Traveller then caught the upside down barrel in his other hand. The small pellet filled container burst in mid-air as it flew out of the barrel. With the velocity of a small cannon and the wide spread of fire of the hundreds of pellets flew swiftly towards the charging minion. Within seconds, the minion landed loudly on the ground with its face full of lead.

"Ok...Where was I? CAN YOU HEAR ME? IF YOU CAN'T SPEAK, JUST NOD."

The Golem opened its mouth. And a furnace of magical energy hissed. "HUUUUUGHHHHHHH!" it roared, through the empty fiery hole. It couldn't speak because it hadn't been given a tongue... "HUUGH!" it grabbed a tree-branch, and started to scratch into the ground very clearly, Do you understand me? Yes? No?

It quite liked this little fleshling. He wasn't trying to attack it. The Golem once again settled back on its haunches, inspecting its new discovery. Already, the thesis was appearing in its head. 'Intelligence amongst the pink and fleshy lifeforms... proven!'

((Sorry, Stick... but as minor villains, you need heroes to face! I can do something big next time for you. :) ))

OOC: Oh, sure. I just needed telling which heroes, where ;P

IC:

"You heard 'im!" Bellowed Shibu, as the Marsh elves skittered around their camp excitedly, "Grab yer spears, and let's get movin'! Remember, no takin' loot, until we're the only thing left livin' in the whole place!"

Having said that, the sergeant hurried over to the makeshift pen, where his warg was tied to a stake. "'ello, Treacle," he greeted the animal, before untying it from the post, and slinging himself heavily into the saddle.

The marsh elf contingent appeared to be split into two parts; a group of unmounted archers, including Hurc and Snat, and a group of spear-wielding warg-riders, led by captain Kakaret, and including Shibu, and the shaman Gurgu.

Captain Kakaret glanced around the camp at the assembled warriors; a pitiful band compared to any human militia, but one of the more formiddible Marsh-elf fighting units outside the Black Marsh. "Right, let's 'ave em!" he yelled, "Oh, except you Mung; you're stayin' here to guard the slaves."

"Huh?" a particularly small and scrawny archer looked around, "Awww, but boss..."

"Shut up, or you'll be joinin' them. Don't think I didn't hear your dig at me, back at cinder pass."

The archer grumbled, and stalked off toward the slave pen, where a few other marsh elves were tied. He let out some of his frustration, by kicking them.

"Don't break 'em, or you'll be sorry, boy." Shibu growled at Mung. Mung scowled back.

"No more arguin'!" Kakaret yelled, "To the battle, boys!"

There was a chorus of marsh-elf calls and yelps, and the barking of wargs, as the warg riders charged down the hillside into the city. Typically Marsh elf battle cries such as "Skuuuuunk!!" and "We loves giblets!!" echoed through the streets.

The archers, who were mostly the smaller and sneakier of the Marsh elves, also made their way into the city; they looked for high places such as roof tops, to snipe at the defenders from. Hurc and Snat were clambering out of an attic window, onto the thatched roof of a shop, when Hurc spotted some guy talking to a Golem.

"Woah, what's that?" He pointed.

"Dunno." Snat shrugged, "Reckon it can be shot?"

"Looks pretty tough. Is it on our side?"

"Dunno..." Snat regarded the Golem, "it's not stompin' stuff; our side's meant to be stompin' stuff. Hey - this is what nitro potions are for!"

"Good call!"

The two elves rummaged in their backpacks, taking out slings, and small, purple-painted bottles of the volatile mixture, which the shaman brewed up in his spare time. There had been occasions when elves carrying the potion exploded unexpectedly, but they considered it worth the risk, for the havoc that could be wreaked.

Hurc and Snat slipped the potions into their slings, spun them round their heads, and released them in the direction of the Traveller and the Golem, with yells of "Skuuuunk!!" and "Cop this!"

Lohknar didn't like what he was seeing. The Northman was walking through the streets of the city, leaving a trail of dead and broken enemies in his wake, and it was becoming more and more apparent to the him that this was no mere raid. The sheer number of invaders and the amount of destruction they were causing led him to believe that they were going to press the attack until the city was destroyed-and it's people with it. This reassessment of the situation made the warrior carefully consider his next move.

Up until that point, the Scourge of the North had been fighting for his own glory, with little to no regard for the rest of the city's defenders. He had come to realize, however, that if the rest of the city's defenders fell, the invaders would eventually come after him in full force. As great of a fighter as he knew he was, he knew that he could not fight off an entire army at once. They would need to be organized to win, which wasn't a big problem for Lohknar. He had marched to war numerous times, and been a member of several different groups of adventurers. He understood quite well the benefits of working together.

So the warrior set off, a new plan formed in his head. He would join up with the other "heroes" he could find, and meet up with the city's main fighting force; hopefully, working together, they would be able to repel the invasion. However, he also kept his eyes open for any ways to escape. Lohknar looked after Lohknar first, and if things went from bad to worse, he wasn't going to stick around. There was nothing glorious about fleeing battle, but retreat was certainly preferable to becoming an animated corpse.

The Northman saw the knight who had robbed him of his victory a short distance away. Suppressing his contempt, the warrior from the north ran over to assist the knight and tell him of his plan...

The Golem opened its mouth. And a furnace of magical energy hissed. "HUUUUUGHHHHHHH!" it roared, through the empty fiery hole. It couldn't speak because it hadn't been given a tongue... "HUUGH!" it grabbed a tree-branch, and started to scratch into the ground very clearly, Do you understand me? Yes? No?

It quite liked this little fleshling. He wasn't trying to attack it. The Golem once again settled back on its haunches, inspecting its new discovery. Already, the thesis was appearing in its head. 'Intelligence amongst the pink and fleshy lifeforms... proven!'

"Hmmm...Is there some sort of flame inside of you?" replied the Traveller feeling the heat coming from the mouth of the Golem, but jumped once he saw what the Golem had written on the ground. " 'Do you understand me?' YES!!! I understand you!"

"Very interesting..." mumured the Traveller. "What else do you know, Golem?"

This odd conversation between two unlikely beings, a magic infused Golem and wandering Traveller with an amazingly powerful new weapon of destruction, erupted in the middle of a raid stood out like a sore thumb but no attempt was made by either the defenders or attackers to interrupt them.

"Wait sorry...Just wait a second." said the Traveller calmly to the Golem. "Have to get rid of undesireables...If you want to help please feel free to do so."

In one quick motion, the Traveller had turned around and pulled out his arquebus and aimed it at one of the oncoming bottles.

"30 meters...20...10..." counted the Traveller until he pressed the serpentine onto the stock. The arquebus fired its round and managed to blow up the closer bottle of explosive liquid. The second bottle continued on its course, unaffected by the explosion. The Traverller swore in his native language, seeing that the second bottle had not been destroyed. The Traveller took out a strange lead bullet and gunpowder cartridge and quickly jammed it into the barrel of the arquebus. Instead of aiming towards the bottle that was still a good 15 meters away, he aimed towards the ground and jumped. Pressing the serpentine in mid-air, a strange bright red explosion, once the bullet had hit the ground, had proppelled the Traveller high up into the air towards the bottle.

Grabbing the bottle with his right throwing arm, he used the velocity of the blast to initiate a mid-air forward roll. Using the momentum gained from the roll, he threw the bottle straight back at the two hapless elves.

As the Traveller began to fall, suddenly stopped and appeared to have landed on his feet in mid-air. Pulling out his arquebus, he quickly reloaded it and reaimed it at the two elves, while watching the bottle containing the explosive viscous liquid near the elves.

This odd conversation between two unlikely beings, a magic infused Golem and wandering Traveller with an amazingly powerful new weapon of destruction, erupted in the middle of a raid stood out like a sore thumb but no attempt was made by either the defenders or attackers to interrupt them.

OOC: Sorry to be a spoiler... but Hurc and Snat did. ;)

See post above.

OOC: Sorry to be a spoiler... but Hurc and Snat did. ;)

See post above.

OOC: must have missed that...are you sure you want to attack? you want your characters to die?

OOC2: gonna edit my post...

are you sure you want to attack? you want your characters to die?

Well, they're only worthless little scumbag minions; I got a whole bag of them. Plus, they might just run away, being cowardly little puke-stains, and all. :)

Well, they're only worthless little scumbag minions; I got a whole bag of them. Plus, they might just run away, being cowardly little puke-stains, and all. :)

OOC: edited my post...

"Wait sorry...Just wait a second." said the Traveller calmly to the Golem. "Have to get rid of undesireables...If you want to help please feel free to do so."

In one quick motion, the Traveller had turned around and pulled out his arquebus and aimed it at one of the oncoming bottles.

"30 meters...20...10..." counted the Traveller until he pressed the serpentine onto the stock. The arquebus fired its round and managed to blow up the closer bottle of explosive liquid. The second bottle continued on its course, unaffected by the explosion. The Traverller swore in his native language, seeing that the second bottle had not been destroyed. The Traveller took out a strange lead bullet and gunpowder cartridge and quickly jammed it into the barrel of the arquebus. Instead of aiming towards the bottle that was still a good 15 meters away, he aimed towards the ground and jumped. Pressing the serpentine in mid-air, a strange bright red explosion, once the bullet had hit the ground, had proppelled the Traveller high up into the air towards the bottle.

Grabbing the bottle with his right throwing arm, he used the velocity of the blast to initiate a mid-air forward roll. Using the momentum gained from the roll, he threw the bottle straight back at the two hapless elves.

As the Traveller began to fall, suddenly stopped and appeared to have landed on his feet in mid-air. Pulling out his arquebus, he quickly reloaded it and reaimed it at the two elves, while watching the bottle containing the explosive viscous liquid near the elves.


Hurc and Snat's grins faded, as the remaining nitro potion was hurled back at them. They yelped shrilly, dropping their bags and slings, and trying to dive for cover; Hurc ended up diving off the roof completely, were he landed in a water trough down on the street. Snat dived back through the window into the shop's upper floor. The potion exploded, as it hit the rooftop where they had been standing, setting fire to the thatch. The explosion set off the remaining few potions in their bags, and the resultant fireball consumed the top of the building.

Hurc pulled himself up out of the trough, and spat out some stale water. "Ptooo!!". He picked up his bow, which miraculously was still in one piece. "Snat?" he looked around for his buddy.

Just then, Snat came running out of the front door of the shop, with his hair and cloak on fire, "Aaaargh! I'm on fire! I'm on fire!" He yelled, in case it wasn't obvious enough.

Hurc pointed and laughed, "Har har, you look like ol' Rillag, when Mung lit one of his farts."

"Put me out!!!" yelled Snat, running around like a headless chicken.

Hurc chuckled, and then booted Snat into the water trough, putting him out in a hiss of steam. After a while, Snat sat up, and patted his frazzled hair. "Ain't funny." he scowled, as Hurc laughed at him, "An' I lost my bow. We should get that guy back."

"I dunno..." Hurc looked around, "He was a bit tasty. What we need is..." he peered along the street, and saw one of the warg-riders riding down some unfortunate commoner.

"Hey, Dirtkeg!" Hurc yelled at the warg-rider, waving his arms, "Over here!"

The rider, a relatively large marsh elf, at nearly five and a half feet tall, and about as wide as that too, pulled his warg away from the downed human, where it was chewing on the unfortunate man's neck, "What d'yer want, sniffer? I got slayin' ta do!"

Hurc nodded, "Yeah, yeah, I know! There's some guy that way what needs slayin', only he's too hard for us poor little scouts."

Dirtkeg rode right up to Hurc, fresh blood glistening on the jagged blade of his glaive. The warg's foul breath made even Hurc blink. Dirtkeg growled down at the scout, "I told the boss you little rats aren't worth the crap we feed ya; he only keeps you 'cos he thinks you're funny. What way is it? I'll show ya how real elves do their slayin'."

Hurc pointed down the street, towards the traveller, "Down that way! You can't miss him!" He brandished his bow, "We'll cover ya!"

Dirtkeg scowled at the small archer, and had his warg shove past him, knocking Hurc over onto his butt. "I'll take 'im then. But I'm makin' sure the boss gives me your share of the loot, fleabag."

Hurc and Snat watched Dirtkeg charge off down the street towards the Traveller and the Golem, wielding his glaive above his head. They looked at each other, and cackled impishly.

"While he's gettin' his ass kicked, let's find a fletcher's," said Snat, "Must be somewhere I can get me a new bow in here."

OOC: Sorry, p33pz... I've had a lot on my plate lately... I'll be posting again soon... Gawdly, do you have an IM or something I can contact you on?

The Traveller stood several meters up air, almost level to the nearby roof tops, and quickly balanced himself and got his arquebus ready to fire.

"The fools..." the Traveller aimed his gun at the head of the charging Dirtkeg and waited to for his target to get within 15 meters from his position before taking his shot. With the warg-rider practically underneath him, the Traveller took his shot. The lead bullet flew straight and landed in between the eyes of the elf, instantly killing. The elf's dead corpse now hung from behind of the continuing running beast, leaving a trail of blood as it sped forward with no one to steer it.

"Now for the smaller two..." muttered Traveller, as he shouldered his weapon and pulled out two kunai from inside his cloak. Getting ready to jump from his invisible platform, he hesitated and pocketed his throwing knives. "They're not worth the effort."

The Traveller turned around and looked down towards the Golem. "Ok, Golem...Where were we? What were we talking about?"

OOC: Sorry, p33pz... I've had a lot on my plate lately... I'll be posting again soon...

OOC:
Guess I'll fill in the villaining with marsh elves, until the skellies come back :D

IC (Attn Wretchengard):

The marsh elf warg-riders were running riot through the streets, dealing out carnage to any that couldn't put up a fight. Of course, they chose the soft targets first, generally only confronting the city defenders with advantage of numbers, or from ambush.

War-Shaman Gurgu was riding around with his two acolytes, Roshnag and Biol, painting black skulls on various doors they passed, seemingly at random. The Shaman was smoking his 'war-pipe' which was basically a crude bong made out of a gourd, filled with a combination of noxious chemicals, that seemed to give him a maniacal edge in absurd perceptions.

The top of Gurgu's staff was formed into the vertebrae of a skeletal torso; a skull and ribcage, but no arms. The war-pipe was an important part of his ritual for talking to the battle-spirits; the more he smoked it, the more the skull mounted on his staff seemed willing to impart battle tactics to him.

"Quidnunc abstemious, and consanguineous scuttlebutt," the skull informed him, "Dilatory gastronome, rapined agon latitudinarian or coterminous billet."

"What do the spirits say?" Roshnag asked eagerly.

Gurgu stared vacantly for a moment, before raising his staff with an eldritch shriek, and cackled, "More entrails!! The spirits demand more entrails!!"

Sergeant Shibu, who was passing with a group of five warg-riders, raised his glaive, and bellowed, "We will bring you entrails, Gurgu!" There was a chorus of shrieks and warg barks, as they charged around the next corner of the street, coming out straight into the path of the Northman, Lohknar. They skidded to a stop, snarling at the big man, wargs pawing eagerly at the ground.

"Rip out his entrails, lads!" Shibu yelled, punching the air with his glaive.

The marsh elf warg-riders charged forward again, brandishing their glaives and spears, screaming loudly, "Entrails!!", "Blood for the spirits!!", and also a random shout of "Skuuuuunk!!", because marsh elves never enter battle without at least someone shouting Skunk.

OOC:
Guess I'll fill in the villaining with marsh elves, until the skellies come back :D

OOC: w00t! more cannon fodder!

Sergeant Shibu, who was passing with a group of five warg-riders, raised his glaive, and bellowed, "We will bring you entrails, Gurgu!" There was a chorus of shrieks and warg barks, as they charged around the next corner of the street, coming out straight into the path of the Northman, Lohknar. They skidded to a stop, snarling at the big man, wargs pawing eagerly at the ground.

"Rip out his entrails, lads!" Shibu yelled, punching the air with his glaive.

The marsh elf warg-riders charged forward again, brandishing their glaives and spears, screaming loudly, "Entrails!!", "Blood for the spirits!!", and also a random shout of "Skuuuuunk!!", because marsh elves never enter battle without at least someone shouting Skunk.

The warrior from the north suddenly found his path block by a squad of creatures he had never encountered before, mounted on wargs. They appeared to be a shade less than 5 feet tall, and an unmerciful stench followed in their wake. While he had never encountered these particular creatures before, he had fought many goblins over the course of his career, some of which also rode wargs into battle. Lohknar assumed many of the same tactics he had used then would also work here; evade their charges, and use his superior strength and size to scatter their forces. Goblins were usually quite cowardly, and quick to flee when battle turned against them; perhaps these creatures were also.

“Rip out his entrails, lads!” their leader cried.

The wargs charged forward, their riders screaming their battle cries. Avoiding their charges would be the hardest part, Lohknar knew, for if he slipped up there was a good chance he would be skewered. A pike would make this a whole lot easier, he thought. The warrior waited until the wargs were almost upon him and then dove forward, under the spears of his enemies and between two wargs. He completed the movement in a shoulder roll and was up on his feet in a flash. The warg-riders would need to slow their mounts and turn to make another pass at him, giving the Northman time to pull free the spear he had been carrying. Lohknar aimed carefully then hurled the spear with all his might. It found its target, sinking deep into a warg's neck. The creature hit the dirt, throwing its rider. Not about to give his enemies the chance to regroup and build up speed for another charge, the Northman took up his axe again.

“Blood and glory!” the Scourge of the North cried, charging towards his foes with frightening speed.

OOC: Sorry, p33pz... I've had a lot on my plate lately... I'll be posting again soon... Gawdly, do you have an IM or something I can contact you on?

<<OOC: You can get me on MSN - kanuck_korner@hotmail.com. I'm on most evenings, and every weekend. I'm a North Americano in the Eastern Time Zone. >>

<<IC>>

As he waited, impatience an old friend to him, Thag scratched himself. Not because he was itchy, but just...because. He could hear the squeals of shock and pain coming from the arachnid-guardians farther down the trail, and was content. He never had much use for the big bugs, and if the female-meat that had just vanquished them was as competent in battle as she seemed, Thag was looking forward to a REAL battle. Most of his fights lasted only a few seconds, and he hadn't had a real workout since the time that Knight had come, looking to pull the sword from the stone. Arthur, so he was called, fought well and bravely before becoming a Happy Meal.

Thag scratched some more, and waited for the she-warrior.

Not about to give his enemies the chance to regroup and build up speed for another charge, the Northman took up his axe again.

“Blood and glory!” the Scourge of the North cried, charging towards his foes with frightening speed.

The warg-riders were pulling their mounts around, expecting to have a clear run at another charge, when suddenly they found Lohknar on top of them, wielding an axe that was bigger than they were. They looked almost about to break, despite still having a five-to-one advantage, but Sergeant Shibu was still holding firm.

"Shred 'im!!" Shibu yelled, and spurred his warg towards the Northman, and the others followed his lead, screeching and shouting, their courage only ever as strong as their leader's. Wargs reared up to snap at the warrior, as he charged among them, and the elves snarled and hissed, baring their pointy little cookie-cutter teeth, and jabbed their vicious-bladed polearms at him.

Varedius smiled faintly as he incinerated another set of undead guardsmen - here he was, taking time off from his valuable studies, deliberately limiting his power in order to have some more fun, and a never-ending supply of enemies. He shrugged tolerantly and set about burning his way to the city square, in the vague hope that he might be able to get a better view from there.

"A humming bird,
A whispering third,
Thus I summon the light,
And grant the gift of flight"

Varedius raised one hand even as the other clasped the flame-throwing trident and from his palm three small birds slid, glowing with arcane energy.
As if guided by an unknown force they slid through the air, burning into Varedius's foes in different directions as the mage ceased his flaming and turned instead to defending and attacking with strength of arms and only a small portion of his magic - far more exhilerating.

The Traveller stood several meters up air, almost level to the nearby roof tops, and quickly balanced himself and got his arquebus ready to fire.

"The fools..." the Traveller aimed his gun at the head of the charging Dirtkeg and waited to for his target to get within 15 meters from his position before taking his shot. With the warg-rider practically underneath him, the Traveller took his shot. The lead bullet flew straight and landed in between the eyes of the elf, instantly killing. The elf's dead corpse now hung from behind of the continuing running beast, leaving a trail of blood as it sped forward with no one to steer it.

"Now for the smaller two..." muttered Traveller, as he shouldered his weapon and pulled out two kunai from inside his cloak. Getting ready to jump from his invisible platform, he hesitated and pocketed his throwing knives. "They're not worth the effort."

The Traveller turned around and looked down towards the Golem. "Ok, Golem...Where were we? What were we talking about?"


WHO ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU HERE? WHAT IS THAT IN YOUR HANDS?

<<OOC: You can get me on MSN - kanuck_korner@hotmail.com. I'm on most evenings, and every weekend. I'm a North Americano in the Eastern Time Zone. >>

<<IC>>

As he waited, impatience an old friend to him, Thag scratched himself. Not because he was itchy, but just...because. He could hear the squeals of shock and pain coming from the arachnid-guardians farther down the trail, and was content. He never had much use for the big bugs, and if the female-meat that had just vanquished them was as competent in battle as she seemed, Thag was looking forward to a REAL battle. Most of his fights lasted only a few seconds, and he hadn't had a real workout since the time that Knight had come, looking to pull the sword from the stone. Arthur, so he was called, fought well and bravely before becoming a Happy Meal.

Thag scratched some more, and waited for the she-warrior.

((Excellent...))

The Wraithlord rose from his obsidian throne and strode out to the tor of his tower. His servants shrank away from him, and he shrieked. A horrible, angry, loud sound that crossed worlds and shattered minds... then he turned his mind towards his servant. Capture her! Bring her to me unharmed!

The touch of his mind was pain itself. You know the price of failure...

All around the marsh elves, suddenly, the undead started to pull back. Skeletons buried themselves in the ground, wights sheathed their swords and walked off at crossways to reality, wraiths simply faded out of existence. It was almost with an after-thought that one of the wights returned and whispered into the Warlock's ears, The order has come to pull back... the city will be ours at a later date...

It was obvious that the Wraithlord didn't consider his living minions to be particularly useful in the grand scheme of things. Still, minions were minions...

Return. the word was spoken softly, yet it echoed out from around the city. Men looked up into the air in alarm, and almost fainted at the sight hovering amidst the clouds. The armoured figure of the Wraithlord upon his black throne appeared over Samarna. You will fall eventually, Samarnans... I am patient. You will fall the way of Ozrubal, Iklen and Fensa... you will join the new order... but not today, it seems.

The Wraithlord held up a hand. On it, something red glinted. My name in life was Alexander Tyrol Black. I was a prince of a land far from this one. But I am now the Wraithlord. You would do well to remember whose emnity you court with your continued resistance. While it was an illusion, it very clearly had some sort of strength upon the physical realm.

Because, as it faded, it threw something down at the knight battling below. Lycis looked up from where he had been fighting a pair of elves and several skeletons at once, and his eyes widened.

Then the red stone sliced through his armour, and into his heart. "Huuuuuuuh..."

As the enemy withdrew, the paladin could barely notice. He fell upon the ground, shuddering as the intense heat twisted through him. His lungs, his body... he was dying by degrees, struck down by something his faith could not fight.

Give in...

No! twisting and flailing, he could feel his body shudder as something started to grow. Looking up, he could see his skin start to grow old. NO! I am Sir Lycis Ostren... a Paladin of the Order... I am... Sir Lycis Ostren... a...servant of the wr....NO! As he fought his internal battle, knowing that losing was a fate worse than death, he slowly felt the weight increase.

I am Sir Lycis Ostren... I live and breathe and fight for my master...

I am...I am.

Red lines crackled along his skin. But then... just when it seemed like he was about to fall... he felt someone else's voice. "Don't give in!" it was a woman's voice, of that he was sure. It was... he...

What's this? Impossible!

I Am Sir Lycis Ostren... I Am a Paladin of the Order. He felt calm overtake him, healing light infuse him. With a sudden realization, he looked down and saw that the red lines were changing to blue. The Paladin closed his eyes and felt a warmth flow through his veins... coming from the charm around his neck.

"You owe me for this, human..."

I will repay my debts... thank you, whoever you are.

The Paladin finally pulled himself up, and felt along his chest. There was no scar there, no evil magic pushing against the core of his being. He nodded. I will repay my debts. Lycis rose to his feet, and checked his armour and sword. Then he nodded. "Enough is enough... who will fight alongside me?"

WHO ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU HERE? WHAT IS THAT IN YOUR HANDS?

OOC: is the Golem speaking? or is this an "OOC" comment?
(i'll treat it as "IC")

IC:

As the Traveller looked down, he saw etched in the sand the words: "WHO ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU HERE? WHAT IS THAT IN YOUR HANDS?"

The Traveller repeated the words to himself and stood up straight and bowed.

"My name is Arcturus of Cephus. I am, I mean, I was a royal Janissary to the Ottoman Sultan. I escaped the service of the Sultan, and now journey to discover my roots, before I was taken from my Christian parents and brought up as property of the Sultan. But that is all I can say now, for I believe we will be interrupted as soon as those things come back."

OOC2: i have an AP US essay to finish, that's why im cutting it short of tonight...

((Excellent...))

The Wraithlord rose from his obsidian throne and strode out to the tor of his tower. His servants shrank away from him, and he shrieked. A horrible, angry, loud sound that crossed worlds and shattered minds... then he turned his mind towards his servant. Capture her! Bring her to me unharmed!

The touch of his mind was pain itself. You know the price of failure...

"OwowowowOW!" moaned the massive beast as the Wraithlords words roared through his head. Why did he always have to yell? At times like this, Thag had a different name for his employer: Excedrin Headache #666. He shook his huge skull to clear the pain, and peered down the path. Still no sign of the she-meat. Thag was unperturbed, knowing that when it came to wimmin'-folk, men would always be waiting. At least he didn't have to outright slay her: the boss wanted her alive. He re-sheathed his deadly broadsword, and fingered the shard of red crystal the Wraithlord had given him. One touch was all it would take, and the she-warrior would belong to his Dark Master, mind, body and soul.

He continued to scratch himself as he waited, sometimes lingering longingly over his naughty bits. It had been a looooong time since Thag had seen a female.

Hurc and Snat had finally found an armoury, being ransacked by some skeletons. They strutted in as though they owned the place, giving the skeletons flamboyant, over-exagerrated salutes, "Wotcher, Skeletons!"

After that, they began to browse around the weapons that hadn't already been stolen or smashed. Snat found a new bow pretty quickly - nobody had wanted to loot a puny little bow like that. He drew the string back, and let it twang, "Yeah, this'll do. What else have they got?"

Hurc was wielding a nasty looking scimitar, "Check this out! Look at that cutting edge!"

Snat made a grab for it, "Give it here, I want to see!"

Hurc pulled it away, "Nuh-uh. Mine, I found it! Get yer own!"

Snat looked around, and found a large and viciously serrated dagger, which he wielded like a sword, "Hah, well, I've got this now!"

Hurc dropped the scimitar, "Hey, where'd you find that? I want one!" he made a grab for it, and Snat pulled it away.

"No, you already got something! I-" Snat stopped short, as the skeletons started sinking back into the ground. The two elves wandered outside, peering up and down the street; the undead were disappearing all over the place. Then a group of marsh elf archers came running past.

"Hurc, Snat, we're movin' out!" one of them yelled.

"Yeah, they called off the invasion! All the skellies have scarpered!"

Hurc slammed his fist against the doorframe, "Man! And we were only just gettin' started! Are you sure?"

The archer at the rear turned as they hurried off, "Yeah, Karkaret's left already."

Hurc and Snat exchanged a long-suffering glance, and hurried off after the posse of archers to leave the city.

-----

Out on the hillside camp, Mung was getting bored. After a while, he'd sat one of the slaves by the fire, and prodded at his feet with burning sticks, but that didn't hold his amusement for long.

Then Karkaret and Gurgu, and some of the other riders came storming back into the camp, bloodstained and not carrying a great deal of loot. Archers were hurrying back into the camp as well.

Karkaret looked around, scowling at the elves present, "Where's Shibu?"

Back in the city, Shibu and his squad were still snapping and stabbing at the Northman; nobody had bothered to mention the retreat to them.

Alyssandra quieted her body, as if in meditation. She wanted to see if there was any danger nearby. All of her senses told her know, just animal life, part of nature. She smiled, but something twisted inside her, wait. She focused once again, but on something specific. It was animal, but the thoughts were confused with that of a human. A mutation? She wouldn't be surprised. She continued to wake closer to the being. Right inbetween two large knotted oak trees was a pond that she needed to pass through. It appeared to be clean, surprisingly. The water was clear and the plant life uneffected by the death around. She slide into the water. The depth was up to her neck. The cool water, seemed to decrease her inner angry and nature soothed her. The water tickled her and sent a peaceful smile across her face. She now was in the center or the pond. She stopped.

She heard a rustle from the manbeast. Her thoughts meet his, being part nature she could read thoughts of hungry. She wasn't sure if that was physical or more of human side of something else. All her sense were on guard. She wasn't sure if he noticed her, but maybe he acted as if he didn't. She just couldn't be sure. Her hand found her sword. She waded out of the pond. Water beads glistening over her exposed body. Strands of her hair plastered against her back and her face. She could have come out of any males' "wet dream", she literally was wet. The leather clung to her skin, not hiding anything, she was slightly cold, tiny goosebumps scattered across her body, but that was all. She would shortly take on the environment. She walked leaving water trails behind her, trying to find their way back to the pond.

Then she saw him. She drew her sword. "Come and play." Her voice thick with sugar and taunting, very seducing.

At first he thought it was just his own scratching that was making the noise, and as Thag reluctantly stopped his self-relief, he heard the subtle sounds of stealthy movement in the distance. Sniffing, he caught a brief scent of her, and he knew that she was finally coming. When she appeared on the other side of the river, the monstrous beast saw her immediately. His powerful eyes quickly realized that he was looking at perfection incarnate, a vison of delicate destruction and voloptuous violence, a complicated tapestry of tender moments and unbridaled passion.

She was one hot, hoochie-mama, Thag thought to himself, smiling in pleasure.

Suddenly, things got hotter as the war-goddess entered the stream, her luscious, leather-clad body glistening and dripping with slippery promise. He hadn't bothered trying to hide himself, which was virtually impossible anyways, being that Thag was over 9 feet tall, and weighing in at nearly a half-ton of hard muscle. His mind had been constructed with equal impressiveness as his massive physique. His mental defences were incredibly powerful, defying entry to even the most insistant of intruders. Hiding wasn't really in his vocabulary. He continued to watch her unabashedly, waiting patiently for her to finish crossing.

When she spoke, Thag's heart twittered and fluttered. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone he wasn't about to eat, of course.

She drew her blade, the sound of the steel hissing through the air. Thag simply smiled, and crossed his tree-trunk arms. The Amazon stood her ground, the blade cutting a swathe through the air in front of her, her seductive smile only a few steps away. The man-monster spoke, his usual brutish growl tempered into a smooth, Ricky Martin bedroom purr.

"Sounds like that could be fun. What's my prize when I win?"

<And... what's everyone waiting for?>

<And... what's everyone waiting for?>


OOC: well...im waiting for the golem to reply...but in RL im struggling to stay awake and finish up two LONG assignments for my AP US class...so im busy...

OOC: Sorry, Roania, I was busy with school. I have a break between classes. Therefore, if this sucks, my reason is on being rushed.

IC: "Sounds like that could be fun. What's my prize when I win?"

Alyssandra laughed, which sounded more like a cat growling. Monotonely, "Your prize? Hmm...shall be even getting to lay your beadly little eyes on me." She was quite aware of his spurt of hormones that were excited by the sight of her. Maybe I could use this as a tool.

"So, I am just curious, you like being controlled by the wormlord, I mean wraithlord?"

With the sarcastic remark, she set forth quick cuts with her sword, but he had quick reflexes. Hmmm....I should not underestimate the animal-human. With several more calculated swipes she ended on searing off some fur.

"Oh...that would make a nice coat."

She laughed, but then swallowed it hard when he smacked her in the head. She flew with his force and crashed against a nearby oak tree. She was dazed for a moment, but came back with anger and force. Her sword inches from his neck and her body was pressing closer to his, while the sword vibrating and taunting his life...

OOC: Sorry this took so long. Been having internet problems and whatnot.

IC:
The warg-riders were pulling their mounts around, expecting to have a clear run at another charge, when suddenly they found Lohknar on top of them, wielding an axe that was bigger than they were. They looked almost about to break, despite still having a five-to-one advantage, but Sergeant Shibu was still holding firm.

"Shred 'im!!" Shibu yelled, and spurred his warg towards the Northman, and the others followed his lead, screeching and shouting, their courage only ever as strong as their leader's. Wargs reared up to snap at the warrior, as he charged among them, and the elves snarled and hissed, baring their pointy little cookie-cutter teeth, and jabbed their vicious-bladed polearms at him.

Lohknar swept his axe back and forth in swift, powerful strokes, cleaving whatever happened to be in the way. An unfortunate warg got in his path first, and it dropped to the ground with a large chunk of its head missing, throwing its rider in the process. The Northman brought a heavy boot stomping down on the poor creature's head as he advanced forward, his axe biting into another marsh elf and tearing him from the back of his mount. He then swept the axe up overhead and brought it down on the riderless warg. The blade bit deeply into its neck, severing the spinal chord and causing the creature to drop to the ground as limp as a boned fish. That left 3 marsh-elves and 2 wargs to deal with, as well as their leader and his mount that had just joined the fray. They had failed to injure the warrior from the North in any meaningful way; he had suffered 5 or 6 minor cuts, but he had managed to avoid the majority of the strikes which would have actually hurt him. Those that he hadn't successfully dodged or deflected had been unable to penetrate his armour enough to do any significant damage.

"You DARE to draw the blood of the Scourge of the North?!" he roared.

The Northman deflected an incoming blow from a cruel-looking glaive and responded with a might blow to the wielder's mount, imbedding the axe in the warg's side. 2 marsh elves-one mounted, the other on foot-closed in to strike, believing the Northman to be at a disadvantage. Lohknar let go of the axe, lashing out with his fists; the spiked guantlets he wore were perfectly lethal as well. His left fist took the warg-rider in the side, knocking him from his mount most likely with broken ribs, or possibly worse. Either way, Lohknar knew he was no longer a threat. His right fist caught the other marsh elf square in the face, tearing flesh and cracking bone. The creature was dead before it fell. The now riderless warg lunged at him, going for the Northman's throat. Lohknar had anticipated this however, and an armoured fist was there to meet the creature's hungry jaws. The creature backed off, its jaw broken from the powerful blow. Before the creature could escape, the Northman sprang upon it and struck again, and he heard the rewarding crunch of steel on bone. The warg lay still after that. The Scourge of the North tore his axe free as his remaining enemies beared down on him.

"Come and die!" he roared.

The warrior from the North leapt to his left, hoping to evade the charge of the remaining warg-rider and his commander. As he did so, he swept his axe back. If done correctly, he would evade the spear of the warg-rider and the jaws of the warg and strike a blow at the same time. His axe connected with the warg, but the warg also connected with him, clipping his leg with its shoulder and knocking him roughly to the ground. The warg-rider jumped off his dying mount and rushed over to the fallen warrior, intent on finishing him off. Lohknar rolled aside just in time as the marsh elf's nasty spear stabbed into the ground where he had been a second before. The Northman grabbed the spear, preventing his enemy from pulling it out and stabbing at him again. The marsh elf tried to pull the weapon away, but the Scourge of the North was far too strong for the puny creature. He stood up quickly and seized the creature by the throat, quickly crushing its neck. Then he took up the spear, searching for his next target. The marsh elf commander had turned his mount around and was fast approaching the Northman. Keeping his focus, the Scourge of the North let the spear fly, and it struck the marsh elf leader's mount in the face. The creature went down in a heap, throwing the leader off. Disoriented, the marsh elf lifted itself from the ground, only to see Lohknar standing over it holding that terrible, blood soaked axe.

"When you get to the Underworld, tell them Lohknar sent you," he said coldly.

The axe took the marsh elf commander's head in one stroke. Lohknar grabbed the gory mess by its hair and raised it high.

"Tyrannoth!" he cried, hoping that he had pleased his war god.

The Northman looked around, seeing that the battle was winding down all around him. The enemy was withdrawing; strange, since they probably could have taken the city if they had pressed the attack. Regardless of the enemy's reasons for retreating, he imagined that the peace wouldn't last for long. He would leave the city, and soon. But first, he would have to go back and see if that tavern was still standing; there was nothing like a big mug of strong ale after battle...

Out on the hill, the Marsh Elves were packing their gear ready to move, in case the city guard felt brave enough to attack their camp. Anything that couldn't be carried by the wargs or slaves, was buried, in case they came back. Since quite a few of the elves had been slain, there were a few bits and pieces left that couldn't be carried, mostly tents and cookpots and the like. The Marsh elves had bickered and fought over the things worth having, like Shibu's tent, but the rest was buried.

"Looks like ol' Shibu got his oats, then." chuckled Hurc, as he and Snat stood with the other scouts, waiting for the order to move.

"Good riddance." said Snat, "Never liked the ugly ol' bastard anyway, with his stupid hair an' givin' us all beatin's all the time."

Mung, the smallest of the archers, tugged his hair into a crude immitation of Shibu's topknot, "Look at me, I'm sergeant Shibu!" he hopped about in flamboyant mockery of the dead sergeant, "I will fight the human heroes with my hands tied behind me back! Oh no, I been decapitated!" he drew a finger across his throat, sticking his tongue out and making a grisly choking sound, and rolled his eyes up in his head. The other scouts all laughed harshly. They would have laughed harder, if they knew how close to the truth Mung was.

Kakaret was waiting while they packed up, "Looks like we're gonna need a new sergeant, then." he said to the shaman, Gurgu, "Who do the spirits reckon is the best replacement for Shibu?"

Gurgu took a drag on his war pipe, and stared vacantly for a few moments. "Only the strongest!" he shrieked, after a while, "The spirits say that the new sergeant must be the elf who proves himself to be the strongest!"

"That's clearly me!" said a large warg-rider, sticking his chest out importantly.

"Oh yeah? Prove it!" said another, and swung a fist at the previous claimant. A few more joined in the contest of strength too, scrabbling around and brawling in the dirt.

Some of the other elves, who hadn't been listening to what was going on, and thought a brawl was starting randomly, yelled, "Skuuuuunk!!" and jumped into the brawl. Pretty soon, almost every elf in the entire company, including one of the slaves, was involved in the fight, which rumbled back and forth across the camp, squashing tents and trampling kit bags. Even Gurgu joined in, bashing another elf on the head with his skeleton-topped staff, which lost a few ribs here and there as he used it as a club.

Kakaret, remaining aloof, scowled at the fighting elves, hoping that a representative of the Wraithlord didn't show up to give them orders, and see the mess his camp was in.

(( :headbang: Right. Let's see if THIS posts.)

(Gawdly, Stickwood)

That is enough. the wraithlord intoned, his voice ringing like an obsidian bell across the waste. With a simple flicker of his fingers, the ruby in Thag's hands fell dry and crumbled to dust. I warn you, Thag... is my request for an unharmed person too much for you to cope with? Bring her to me alive, preferably with all her limbs intact.

He then turned his attention to the marsh elves. Little bugs, little bugs... time to come home... he had no patience for this. With a wave of his armoured glove, he directed one of his Lieutenants to see what all the fuss was about.

The wraith bowed and faded out, appearing in the Elven camp. What manner of foolishness is... a splash of mud splatted it in the skull. ...

(Noir)

The Golem looked down at the little human again, and then up at the sky. It dropped something into the sand across from the traveller, a tiny medallion with a crafted symbol of Earth.

I MUST GO. USE THIS IF YOU ARE IN NEED OF MY ASSISTANCE.

There was then a brief sandstorm. And when it passed, the golem was gone.

((Arcturus found AMULET OF GOLEM SUMMONING!

Amulet contains 200 charges.

Amulet summons Sand Golem for 1 hour at a time.))

(Wretchengard)

The bar was standing. Sure, the bartender and most of the clientele were lying dead on the ground, but the beer was still cold. Ain't life grand? Also in the bar was the Cavalier from earlier, sipping his drink and looking depressedly at the elven amulet. "Cowards, the lot of them..." he grumbled. "Not a single one with any courage. Well, alone then!" Lycis felt around for his sword, shield, and helmet.

As he rose to go, he almost crashed into the incoming warrior. "My apologies, sir. Having saved your city, I'm now off to save the known world. The bar is yours."

<I'm surprised no one responded to the giant floating head in the sky. Meh.>

(Noir)

The Golem looked down at the little human again, and then up at the sky. It dropped something into the sand across from the traveller, a tiny medallion with a crafted symbol of Earth.

I MUST GO. USE THIS IF YOU ARE IN NEED OF MY ASSISTANCE.

There was then a brief sandstorm. And when it passed, the golem was gone.

((Arcturus found AMULET OF GOLEM SUMMONING!

Amulet contains 200 charges.

Amulet summons Sand Golem for 1 hour at a time.))

The Traveller jumped down from his invisible perch, and landed near the medallion like object the Golem had dropped.

"I see...It's only temporary..." nodded Arcturus.

OOC: cramming and finals...no time...

He then turned his attention to the marsh elves. Little bugs, little bugs... time to come home... he had no patience for this. With a wave of his armoured glove, he directed one of his Lieutenants to see what all the fuss was about.

The wraith bowed and faded out, appearing in the Elven camp. What manner of foolishness is... a splash of mud splatted it in the skull. ...

"Alright, lads, that'll do!" Kakaret yelled over the clamour. They mostly ignored him, and carried on brawling.

"I said cut it out!" Kakaret bellowed, "If you don't stop fightin' right this second, I'll flay you to within an inch of yer miserable lives, yer maggots!!!"

When there was still no cooperation, Kakerat snarled, and grabbed a nearby bow that one of the archers had discarded. He took an arrow, drew back the bowstring, and fired it into the brawling mass, where it stuck in some unfortunate elf's neck.

The fighting stopped abruptly, and there was silence, save for the sound of the elf Kakaret had shot toppling over and making gurgling sounds on the ground.

"That's better." said Kakaret, now that he had their attention, "I don't reckon none of yer is fit to be sergeant!" he snapped at them, "Now, shut up and clean up this mess!!"

As the grumbling elves set about finishing their packing, Kakaret turned to the wraith.

"Sorry about that; just a bit of high spirits. The lads was expecting a bit of a longer fight, before the invasion got called off. So, what can we do for you?"

Alyssandra laughed, which sounded more like a cat growling. Monotonely, "Your prize? Hmm...shall be even getting to lay your beadly little eyes on me." She was quite aware of his spurt of hormones that were excited by the sight of her. Maybe I could use this as a tool.

"So, I am just curious, you like being controlled by the wormlord, I mean wraithlord?"

With the sarcastic remark, she set forth quick cuts with her sword, but he had quick reflexes. Hmmm....I should not underestimate the animal-human. With several more calculated swipes she ended on searing off some fur.

"Oh...that would make a nice coat."

She laughed, but then swallowed it hard when he smacked her in the head. She flew with his force and crashed against a nearby oak tree. She was dazed for a moment, but came back with anger and force. Her sword inches from his neck and her body was pressing closer to his, while the sword vibrating and taunting his life...

He let her play a little longer, simply because he was enthralled with her beauty and swaying breasts. Thag thought himself quite the gentleman to allow her to think she actually had any chance of hurting him, let alone defeat him. As she danced around him, her sword biting him like some ravenous gnat, Thag smiled with satisfaction. This was more foreplay than he'd had in a decade.

He had gotten a little over-confident when her blade sliced a large patch of flesh and fur off of him. It hurt his ego more than his body, and his massive physique reacted on its own. His huge arm flew out, swatting the gorgeous amazon through the air. He watched in embaressment as she crashed solidly into a nearby tree.

"Ooops...that's gotta hurt." thought Thag, hoping he hadn't bruised her angelic face. Suddenly, she was back, shaking off the force of the blow and attacking the monstrous man-beast with skilled vigour. Tickled pink with all the attention, Thag made the appropriate "ouch" noises whenever her blade connected. He wanted her to feel that she wasn't wasting her time. She was in close now, and he could smell the sweat pouring from her.

Finally, he'd had enough. He reached out with both arms, one huge hand grabbing her sword-arm, the other snaking around her waist, and pulling her in to his grasp. He held her tightly, her feet dangling in mid-air. She could not break free, his grip being stronger than steel. It looked as if he was about to bite her head off, but he suddenly began to hum softly, a gentle growling sound coming from him, surprisingly musical in nature. Following the beat of his own song, Thag started to waltz with the very immobile young she-warrior as she watched helplessly with growing confusion.


That is enough. the wraithlord intoned, his voice ringing like an obsidian bell across the waste. With a simple flicker of his fingers, the ruby in Thag's hands fell dry and crumbled to dust. I warn you, Thag... is my request for an unharmed person too much for you to cope with? Bring her to me alive, preferably with all her limbs intact.

"OwowowOW!" cried Thag as the Wraithlords words screeched across his brain like fingernails across a chalkboard. This interrupted his thought processes enough for him to stop dancing. Thinking his reply back to his boss ("Ya, ya, I heard ya the first time"), Thag looked down at the still struggling woman. She had heart, this one did, and it was a shame that she was going to become yet another mindless drone of the Wraithlord. Oh well, sucks to be her. He cleared his throat, and spoke to her.

"We have not yet been properly introduced, m'lady. I am Thag'Rul the Flatulent, Daemonic Champion of the Wraithlord, Unrepentant Slayer of Heroes and Baker of Yummy Brownies. Who do I have the pleasure of dancing with today?" he asked, looking down at her, his viscious face looking strangely gentle in the morning light.

As she realized she would not be able to get out of his thick grasp she rested flacidly in his arms. After his intoduction she stared blankly at him, of course he would be associated with the wraithlord. Maybe he could be her ticket to the final step in the distruction to the wraithlord, otherwise known as Alexander to her.

The name made her body grow with hot boiling anger. Her exterior remained emotionless.

Finally, she spoke, words crystal clear and still had the edge to slice through anything. "My name is nothing that is to be of your concern. But, nevertheless you may call me Alyssandra. I am of the clan of elves, who are currently habitating themselves in the land of AmandaTheGreat. Although, I do not myself live there. I am a nomad and that is what I claim to be."

She would not give him her last name, feeling that if she uttered it the wraithlord would know and be able to come to the conclusion who she reallys was.

"So, Thag, what exactly do you plan of doing with me?"

As she realized she would not be able to get out of his thick grasp she rested flacidly in his arms. After his intoduction she stared blankly at him, of course he would be associated with the wraithlord. Maybe he could be her ticket to the final step in the distruction to the wraithlord, otherwise known as Alexander to her.

The name made her body grow with hot boiling anger. Her exterior remained emotionless.

Finally, she spoke, words crystal clear and still had the edge to slice through anything. "My name is nothing that is to be of your concern. But, nevertheless you may call me Alyssandra. I am of the clan of elves, who are currently habitating themselves in the land of AmandaTheGreat. Although, I do not myself live there. I am a nomad and that is what I claim to be."

She would not give him her last name, feeling that if she uttered it the wraithlord would know and be able to come to the conclusion who she reallys was.

"So, Thag, what exactly do you plan of doing with me?"

Alyssandra. Thag rolled the name around in his mind, finally deciding that she actually LOOKED like an "Alyssandra." It didn't bother him that she was an Elf...he'd eaten worse in his time, and they were a plucky little race. He released the pressure on her ever so slightly, and looked down as she questioned him about her immediate future.

"Well, what I plan to do and what I want to do are two different things, m'lady. Listen, you must be uncomfortable with me crushing you and all...if you promise to be good, and not try and run away or poke me in the eye or anything, Ill let go of you, and we can sit here and have us a little chat...do I have yer word?"

Thag hoped she would say yes. It had been so long since he had simply sat with someone without disemboweling them and slurping down their steaming intestines, and he wanted to spend as much time as possible with her, before she became "His" mindless servant. *sigh* Perhaps he could convince the boss to let Thag take care of her when she wasn't being used as a tool for the Wraithlords nefarious purpose. The huge creature waited patiently, and hopefully, for Alyssandra's response.

She wrinkled her frow, could he actually let her down and sit? Or was this some sort of sick and twisted excuse to play with her? She wasn't sure if it was his human side who was twisted or the animal side that drove him this way. She decided she was not in the position to do any of the above that he said. She knew he would catch her and the later would be worse.

She nodded and waited.

The bar was standing. Sure, the bartender and most of the clientele were lying dead on the ground, but the beer was still cold. Ain't life grand? Also in the bar was the Cavalier from earlier, sipping his drink and looking depressedly at the elven amulet. "Cowards, the lot of them..." he grumbled. "Not a single one with any courage. Well, alone then!" Lycis felt around for his sword, shield, and helmet.

As he rose to go, he almost crashed into the incoming warrior. "My apologies, sir. Having saved your city, I'm now off to save the known world. The bar is yours."

<I'm surprised no one responded to the giant floating head in the sky. Meh.>

Lohknar didn't give the dead bodies a second glance. He had lost nothing by their deaths, and on the plus side, he could help himself to all the beer he wanted! He did just that, pouring himself a large mug of ale. He set his still-bloody axe down by the bar, and a small puddle to form as the fluids dripped off the blade.

"Cowards, the lot of them..." he heard the knight mumble. Focused on his ale, the Northman had almost forgotten that the other man was there.

"Not a single one with any courage. Well, alone then!" the knight continued talking to himself. He gathered up his things and turned to leave, nearly bumping into Lohknar.

"My apologies, sir," the knight said. "Having saved your city, I'm now off to save the known world. The bar is yours."

Mildly offended by the comment, Lohknar wasn't about to let the man leave without getting a word in.

"My city? Does it really look like I'm from around here? Furthermore, I don’t think you can really claim to have saved it by yourself," the Northman scoffed, glancing over at his axe to prove his point.

His point made, Lohknar continued. “To ‘save the known world’, you intend to venture into the Desert of Death and challenge the power of the Wraithlord, yes? You are but one man,” he said, seeing the doubt in the knight’s eyes. “It might interest you to know that I too intend to brave the Desert of Death, for my own reasons. If we work together, we would stand a much better chance than apart.”

The Scourge of the North paused to let the knight digest the information and waited for a response…

OOC: can't pay too much attention to giant floating heads when you got little bastards trying to cut you up :p

She wrinkled her frow, could he actually let her down and sit? Or was this some sort of sick and twisted excuse to play with her? She wasn't sure if it was his human side who was twisted or the animal side that drove him this way. She decided she was not in the position to do any of the above that he said. She knew he would catch her and the later would be worse.

She nodded and waited.

Well, a nod's as good as a wink to a blind bat, thought Thag as he gently lowered Alyssandra to the ground. Slowly releasing his grip, he took a step back, watching as the she-warrior rubbed the circulation back into her limbs. While she did this, Thag bent over and swept the ground at their feet with his long arm, clearing a space for them to sit. He reached over his head and tore a huge, leafy branch from a tree, quickly stripping it and laying the greeness in a soft, padded pile in front of Alyssandra. Gesturing for her to sit, Thag himself crouched back on his haunches, regarding her closely.

They stared at each other for a moment, she with a glare of unrestrained anger and he with a look of unbridaled lust. He waited for her to sit, prepared to grab her if she thought of trying to run. He would have to keep a close eye on her all the way back to the Wraithlords crib, because for some reason, his boss had destroyed the shard of the controller crystal. All the thralls of the Wraithlord bore the mark of their master in the form of this red crystal...except Thag himself. He worked for his Master willingly, simply because no one else would give him a job. His resume was sparse, and eating one's boss was not exactly a great recommendation for future employment.

When the Wraithlord had found him, Thag had just finished destroying a contingent of Elven and Dwarven troops who had assembled to track the monster that dwelled in the hills. As the memory of that day floated in his mind, Thag's stomach growled...what a feast he had had that day! He could still taste the tenderness of the roasted Leg o' Las, and the crunchy tang of the appetizer that called itself "Gimli". Seeing that the huge creature would be a wonderful addition to his stable, the Wraithlord tried to possess Thag using his crystal, to no avail. The shard kept sliding off, and did not affect Thag in anyway, except to piss him off. He had just decided that the Wraithlord would be an appropriate dessert, and was about to scoff him down, when the Dark Demon quickly offered Thag employment as an enforcer. The huge beast didn't need any time to consider. He had been lonely, and feeling somewhat useless recently, and gainful employment would allow him to regain some semblance of respect for himself.

Thag realized that he had spoken most of this aloud, and that Alyssandra was now listening with rapt attention. Smiling sheepishly, he looked at the still standing she-warrior. He pointed at the ground, encouraging her to sit yet again.

"So, now you know why I work for the Wraithlord, m'lady. Listen, this isn't really what I wanted to be doing with my life, y'know? I never really wanted to be an unstoppable juggernaut of evil...I wanted to be a lumberjack!Leaping from tree to tree as they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia! The Fir! The Larch! The Redwood! The mighty Scots Pine! The plucky little Aspen! The great limping rude tree of Nigeria! The smell of fresh-cut timber! The crash of mighty trees!" Thag looked longingly at Alyssandra.

"With my best gal by my side, we'd sing, SING..."

(A fanfare is struck and Thag launches into song.)

Oh, I'm a lumberjack, and I'm okay!
I sleep all night and I work all day.

(A small chorus of goblins step out of the underbrush, and join in the song)

Goblins : He's a lumberjack, and he's okay!
He sleeps all night and he works all day.

Thag: I cut down trees, I eat my lunch,
I go to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays I go shoppin'
and have buttered scones for tea.

Goblins : He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch,
he goes to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays he goes shoppin'
and has buttered scones for tea.

All: He's a lumberjack, and he's okay.
He sleeps all night and he works all day!

Thag: I cut down trees, I skip and jump,
I like to press wild flowers.
I put on women's clothing
and hang around in bars!

Goblins: He cuts down trees, he skips and jumps,
he likes to press wild flowers.
He puts on women's clothing
and hangs around in bars?!

(A brief, confused pause.)

All: ...He's a lumberjack, and he's okay!
He sleeps all night and he works all day!

Thag : I cut down trees, I wear high heels,
suspenders and a bra!
I wish I'd been a girlie,
just like my dear papa!

Goblins: He cuts down trees, he wears... high heels?
Suspenders... and a bra?!

(The music cuts off as the Goblins stop singing and begin instead to ridicule
Thag.)

He wants to be a girlie?!

...Poofter! Bloody poofter!

Reaching over, Thag grabbed the Goblins, flinging them into the air, their insults disappearing into the distance. Looking back at the now thoroughly confused Amazon, Thag smiled, shrugging apologetically.

"Sorry...lost my mind for a moment."

Alyssandra did not smile, but the frown that had darkened her face, now disappeared. "It seems to me that happens a lot." Maybe the tension had been broken from the humor, she finally settled on the soft leaves he had prepared for her.

He can't be that bad of a guy, maybe logics could be used and he will let me go. No. He wanted to work for that wretched wraithlord and for this is how I get to see him. It just might cut off the dirty work and save her some energy. She assumed she would have had to fight the reeking goblins later in the adventure if he had not captured her first.

Well, this has to be something new for me. Captured, she did not know the meaning. To be hunted, she was the hunter. Well, especially by a singing man-beast. Now, that is ironic.

"Not to be complaining and all, but I would rather like to be on my way. I do not need to rest if that is the reason you stopped. What be your reason for stopping?"

Straight and to the point...Thag admired that in a woman. That, and an undulating sway in their derrieres. Alyssandra got very high marks for both. Seeing that she was not making any overt moves to escape, Thag relaxed slightly, enjoying the calmness of the morning in the glade.

"Well, see, the reason I wanted to chat with you is...ummm...urrr...to be honest, I think yer really cute. Not cute...pretty. Pretty cute, actually. Um...errr...I was sorta wondering if you...welll...were spoken for?"

If he could blush, Thag would have been red as a beet. Even before he became the hulking monstrosity that sat before her, Thag had had a hard time talking with members of the fairer sex. Now, in his massively ugly form, talking was even harder. Eating them, on the other hand, was easier than ever.

The Traveller jumped down from his invisible perch, and landed near the medallion like object the Golem had dropped.

"I see...It's only temporary..." nodded Arcturus.

OOC: cramming and finals...no time...

(('scool. We'll just skip over to Sir Lycis and the Warrior... I suppose you'll be joining their epic quest?))

((Wretchengard))

Sir Lycis looked thoughtful for a second. This should be my burden alone... he thought, tilting his head on side. I am the only one with the amulet... who knows what darkness might lie within. However, if this man wishes to join with me... "Very well, good sir warrior. I welcome your aid. The roads are long and arduous, and we are no doubt expected... I can only hope that The Lady cleared the paths before us when she took off for there..."

The paladin looked amazing. His armour gleamed, his sword shone with holy radiance, and his cape was unstained. Only a faint scratch in the armour showed where the ruby had crossed through. "By what name are you known, warrior? I am Sir Lycis."

((GAWDLY, AMANDATHEGREAT AND STICKWOOD))

His advisers could almost feel the fury radiating off of the wraithlord. A single fist raised and slammed down on the throne, cracking it. AM I SURROUNDED BY IDIOTS? I SHOULD WIPE THE LOT OF YOU! THESE HEROES ARE A THREAT!

"But they are just mortals... what can a mortal do, my lord?" a skeleton asked in a rasping voice.

This. A solid blow of a mailed hand sent the skeleton flying across the room and against the wall. A burt of dark energy destroyed it. Do the rest of you see? And the woman... I send Thag to do one simple thing. One simple, tiny thing. And he's singing. SINGING!

The wraiths in the room also shrieked, joining his anger. This should be their world now. Had it not been promised in the ancient writings? They were the silent majority, now returned to Earth. Energy crackled and they joined their master in pressing their hands to the immense ruby in the centre of the room, causing their power to fuel it.

The wights all shrugged. The wraiths were the argy-bargy wizards of the horde. They had better things to do then watch. After a hushed conversation with their master, they saluted and left, going to ready the defences of the cities of the dead.

~~

A wave of energy shot forth across the desert. At the very outskirts, on the path from Samarna, was a small village, an outpost of the living. Then the energy passed and focussed within it, and...

A decaying hand rose from the bed. When he had fallen asleep, he had been a farmer.

Now, he was an obstacle to the heroes who would have saved him...

~~

The wraith snarled at the little elf, before remembering its mission. It is time to withdraw. The guards shall make a sorty out, of this I am sure. My orders are to remove you from this place, and take you to another place, where you shall prepare for an assault upon the surviving humans in the desert.

You will be allowed to keep all loot, and shall be acting under my command. If there is a problem... the words were left hanging. The wraith was sure the point had been put across.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v369/Roania/Wraithlord.bmp

((BEHOLD THE AWESOME AND MIGHTY WRAITHLORD!))

The wraith snarled at the little elf, before remembering its mission. It is time to withdraw. The guards shall make a sorty out, of this I am sure. My orders are to remove you from this place, and take you to another place, where you shall prepare for an assault upon the surviving humans in the desert.

You will be allowed to keep all loot, and shall be acting under my command. If there is a problem... the words were left hanging. The wraith was sure the point had been put across.


"There won't be no problems." said Kakaret, sulkily. He turned to yell at the other elves, "Ya hear that, ya vermin? We got us another fight lined up, an' we're keepin' all the loot!" he kicked at some bags that were still lying around, and yelled, "Get all this crap picked up, ready to move!"

Kakaret watched the elves scurry around picking up the remaining bags, and stand in disorganised rows in what was almost a mockery of military discipline. Gurgu and his acolytes stood near the front, along with another elf carrying the dancing skunk battle standard.

The Marsh elf captain turned back to the wraith, "Look's like we're all ready to go, m'lord. So, which way?"

She was about to open her mouth to answer Thag, but was stopped abruptly. Vibration, intense and building, came from the belly of the earth.

He is angry about something. She closed her eyes, in concentration; she was not afraid of Thag and she did not think him to harm her. She wanted to search the surrounding area to see what angered the wraithlord.

She began to hmmm, low and soft, as she extended herself to pulled at a familar person.

Sir Lycis.

He was traveling this way with several others that she was not aware of.

She popped open her eyes. Not entitled to be demanding, but it just came out that way, "Thag, we must go and soon. Others will be arriving sortly and I...", she stopped she almost spitted out her plan, "I do not want to have to deal with humans now."

She stood up awaiting Thag. Might as well join him, I won't be that fast to out run him. I wonder if he can climb though? She contemplated how she would get rid of him, so she could deal directly with Alexander. The contained anger boiled once more.

Sir Lycis looked thoughtful for a second. This should be my burden alone... he thought, tilting his head on side. I am the only one with the amulet... who knows what darkness might lie within. However, if this man wishes to join with me... "Very well, good sir warrior. I welcome your aid. The roads are long and arduous, and we are no doubt expected... I can only hope that The Lady cleared the paths before us when she took off for there..."

The paladin looked amazing. His armour gleamed, his sword shone with holy radiance, and his cape was unstained. Only a faint scratch in the armour showed where the ruby had crossed through. "By what name are you known, warrior? I am Sir Lycis."

"I was called Lohknar after my father, though I have earned other names throughout the course of my life," the Northman replied.

His appearance was a stark contrast to his new comrade. Fresh from battle, the warrior was covered in blood and gore, though he didn't seem to mind. His choice of helm and the furs he wore would indicate him as a northern barbarian to a learned observer, but anyone who carried out a conversation with the man would learn that he was far from the mindless savage some wrote him off as. Ugh, this guy is going to be a pain in the ass to work with, the Northman thought, sizing up his new partner. Capable enough in battle, but definately a big goody-two-shoes. Ah well, I can always abandon him to Wraithlord's minions if things get too crazy.

"I'll need some time to clean up before we leave," the warrior said. "Also, it would be a good idea to look around town, stock up on supplies. I am a capable hunter, but we are venturing into the desert. Starvation and thirst are as much our enemies out there as the wraithlord and his minions."


OOC: As you've probably realized, Lohknar's not much of a "hero" in the traditional sense. While he is not so evil that he hurts and kills innocent people for pleasure, he is selfish, putting his own quest for power and glory and his own well being above all others. I'm pretty open with what happens with him from here on in; perhaps he could find redemption, or he could go over to the Wraithlord's side if he saw greater benefit there. Lots of possibilities.

She popped open her eyes. Not entitled to be demanding, but it just came out that way, "Thag, we must go and soon. Others will be arriving sortly and I...", she stopped she almost spitted out her plan, "I do not want to have to deal with humans now."

She stood up awaiting Thag. Might as well join him, I won't be that fast to out run him. I wonder if he can climb though? She contemplated how she would get rid of him, so she could deal directly with Alexander. The contained anger boiled once more.

When she stood rapidly, barking out orders, Thag's heart melted. "So this is what it's like to be married." he thought to himself, enjoying being nagged. When he saw the sudden worry in her face, the monstrous creature reacted in the only way it was familiar with: Thag stood, flexed his hugely muscled body and spoke dangerously.

"Have no fear, m'lady...let ME deal with the humans." the look in her eye told him that this was not the solution she was looking for. His only other options were to let her go (ya right, the Wraithlord would freak, and Thag could kiss his bonus goodbye), or to complete his assignment. He decided on the latter, though he was in no great hurry to complete it.

"Look, if these humans are bugging you, and you still don't want me to eat 'em, then we need to go...now. Up the path a bit is a place we can hunker down for awhile, and no one will find us there. Once these humans have passed, we can continue on. How does that sound?"

He didn't mention that the end result of their journey would find her becoming the mindless slave of a being that wanted to tear the world a new hole. Why ruin such a beautiful day?

"Listen...you ARE still my prisoner, ok? For now, I'll let you walk free with me...no chains or ropes. Just PLEASE don't try anything silly, because as lovely as they are, I really don't want to have to bite your legs off. Do we have a deal?"

Thag stuck out his massive, clawed hand, waiting for her handshake of agreement.

Her gaze fell to the hairy paw extended, as to want to shake on it. Is this guy freakin' nuts. She sighed. He thinks that we would have a...her eyes narrowed more. She could smell the wretched humans. Their ordor and fear stabbed at her senses, like a prick from a toothpick, just annoying.

"Look, Thag, as much as I would like to delay meeting the wormlord and spending time with you, I can't. I have a destiny to fullfill and I can't if some silly unintelligent human ruins my chances. I need to get to your wreathlord before they do."

She began to walk off towards where they had originally headed to. She slowed to a stop. "Although, I do not know the way."

She tossed her head back to look at him, her hair following and softly sliding around her body. A smile crossed her face and she winked, "Can you help me?" Her voice soft and innocent to match the look on her face. He will not refuse this, otherwise, I shall have to kill him and I don't want to.

Thag assumed the Elfling was nuts. Pure, out-of-her-mind, raving bonkers. She actually WANTED to go to the Wraithlord! Here Thag was, trying to delay the inevitable, secretly hoping she would escape so as not to lose her soul to his employer, the Nigh Nasty Wraithlord.

"Urk..." was his only reply...if this is what she wanted, how could he refuse? He looked down at the gorgeous she-warrior, wishing that she had never came this way. She was beautiful, brave and insane...the perfect woman.

"I...I can bring you to him, if this is what you truly desire, m'lady...but you may not like what you find. It IS the Wraithlord yer looking for, right? Not the RiceLord, or FaithLord?" (they were neighbors, and folks were always getting these three mixed up) When she nodded, his heart sank. They began to walk deeper into the forest, the shadows darkening their step. Thag tried to lighten the mood by breaking into song.

"We're off to see the Wraithlord,
the terrible Wraithlord of Hell.
Because, because, because, because, be-cause....
because of the horrible things he does!"

((Wretchengard, Noir))

A worm of the north, without honour or dignity. As like as not a spy of the Wraithlord. Lycis thought to himself. Still, a companion is a companion. If need be, I can leave him at the mercy of the darkness's minions. "Very well, Sir Lokhnar! Let us find supplies for the journey into the darkness."

As the two warriors came forth from the tavern, they saw a tall, thin man with a hand-cannon. Lycis grumbled a bit, but sighed. "Good sir! You would be a valient addition on our quest. Would you perhaps be interested in a little profit?"

Thag assumed the Elfling was nuts. Pure, out-of-her-mind, raving bonkers. She actually WANTED to go to the Wraithlord! Here Thag was, trying to delay the inevitable, secretly hoping she would escape so as not to lose her soul to his employer, the Nigh Nasty Wraithlord.

"Urk..." was his only reply...if this is what she wanted, how could he refuse? He looked down at the gorgeous she-warrior, wishing that she had never came this way. She was beautiful, brave and insane...the perfect woman.

"I...I can bring you to him, if this is what you truly desire, m'lady...but you may not like what you find. It IS the Wraithlord yer looking for, right? Not the RiceLord, or FaithLord?" (they were neighbors, and folks were always getting these three mixed up) When she nodded, his heart sank. They began to walk deeper into the forest, the shadows darkening their step. Thag tried to lighten the mood by breaking into song.

"We're off to see the Wraithlord,
the terrible Wraithlord of Hell.
Because, because, because, because, be-cause....
because of the horrible things he does!"

The wraithlord grimaced at the terrible song, and reached out through the crystal mirror. Now that Thag had escorted her deep enough into his demesnes...

~~

The shadow of an immense skeletal hand crossed over the land and gathered Alysanndra and Thag up. Before either of them had any real idea what was happening, they were in the obsidian tower. The wraithlord's visage was impassive beneath his helmet. Thag, return to your quarters. We will talk more on this later.

He then moved across to Alysanndra, and the flickering coals widened suddenly. You? No... impossible! I killed you! lightning crackled outside as the master of this world rose from his chair in a fury. Who are you who dares to come here?!

It wasn't often that Thag enjoyed being considered a dumb, mindless beast, but this was one of those times. Smiling serenely, Thag simply stood where he was, close to Alyssandra. Ignoring his demonic master, the monstrous hulk turned to the elf-warrior, and bowed deeply at the waist.

"M'lady Alyssandra, I present to you his Dark Majesty and Dread Master of All He Surveys, the Wraithlord. Wraithlord, I present to you the Lady Alyssandra, a brave and noble warrior in a bootie-licious package." Thag took a step back, and stood erect, crossing his tree-trunk arms in front of him. It was obvious he wasn't planning on going anywhere, just yet.

Alyssandra laughed at the wraithlord. "Okay, Mr. Wormlord, you may have tried to kill me, but I am much stronger than what you percieve to be."

She nodded to Thag and winked once more, so that he would still remain there. Then she walked around the wraithlord and scrutinized him. He doesn't look that harmfull.

"So, how am I so lucky to meet your acquaintance?" She placed her two hands on her slim hips and tapped her foot against the ground. She flipped her hair out of her eyes and appeared like an annoyned teenager, the type of attitude she wanted to display.

The tapping of her foot was relentless, pounding a rythmic beat, an infectious riff that hypnotized Thag. It took all his willpower to pull his gaze away from the foot that was attached to the long and elegantly muscled leg, which was attached to the sweeping curve of her firm...as I said, it took all his willpower. The monstrous beast-man looked at his employer, the Dark and Vaguely Unsettling, Demonic and Evil Uber-Master known as the Wraithlord...heheheh Wormlord. He seemed drawn to the tapping foot as well, which probably explained why he hadn't said anything for what seemed like 3 days.

Thag suddenly realized this might be a good thing: Wormy...hehehe Wormy...could be a nasty sod when aroused, and as tough as his little Alyssandra thought she might be, well...at least Thag was there to provide some protection. In the end, he'd prefer not to tangle with his boss if he could avoid it. Then again, he was rapidly realizing that he could not allow any harm to come to the young she-warrior, and would protect her with his life. So this was love, he thought to himself...love is being willing to sacrifice yourself for another.

Love was sorta nuts, when you thought about it.

"How the floq can she just keep tapping?" wondered Thag, watching as Alyssandra's foot continued its repetitive movements. He looked back at the WormLord who had yet to make any movement. In fact, if it wasn't for the staring eyes, one could assume the the Dread master was dead. One could only hope.

Thag walked over to the WraithLord, and gave him a little poke with his baseball-bat sized finger.

"Errrr....Boss? You OK?? Halllll-oooooo? Anybody home?"

OOC: Very funny post, Gawdly. Heeheee. But I have a question before I post? Did you character, Thag, take Alyssandra to where the wraithlord is or are they still in the forest? Thanks.

<<OOC: We are both in his chamber, and he is standing in front of us. He transported us with magic, and hasn't said a word since you yelled at him. I think you scared him, darlin'.>>

OOC: eh..sorry guys...i've been "dead" for the past days after finals...now for a small come back...

"Hmmm...Where now?" asked Arcturus to himself. *sigh*

Arcturus continued his journey through the town, now ravaged by the intruders.

"So boring now...I think the guards were able to suppress those little evil things..."

As he continued to walk on, he heard someone calliing to him from a distance.

"Good sir! You would be a valient addition on our quest. Would you perhaps be interested in a little profit?"

"Huh?" said Arcturus, as he looked around until he saw two knights standing in the distance looking back at him. He nodded to himself.

"Well...I have nothing better to do at the moment...And this might be interesting, a classical quest, just like in my books...Why not, I can put my journey on hold for a short while." said Arcturus to himself, as he started to walk towards the men. "You've gotten my attention, strangers...What sort of quest is this you speak of?"

OOC: OH yeah, sorry I forgot. I would say something in IC, but we need Roania to respond. So, here I will just wait.

Invisibump

Thag was growing bored of rearranging the Wraithlords comatose body in strange positions. He left him in a particulalrly embarressing, yet vaguely erotic pose, and walked back to where Alyssandra stood, her toe tapping a small dent into the floor.

"Well, seems to me that the Wormlord took an unexpected vacation in his own mind. This shell is now simply that...an empty container. He could be anywhere now...this may be a good time for you to split. If you want, I can lead you out of here without any problems. No one will mess with ya if yer with me, m'Lady." He raised himself to his full nine-foot height, and smiled grimly. Pulling a small scrap of paper and a piece of coal from a pouch, Thag slowly scrawled a note, which he rolled up and inserted into the Wraithlords left nostril. The note had two simple words on it.

"I quit."

OOC: You crack me up, Gawdly. But if my character would leave with yours that would defeat the whole plot of killing the wraithlord.

IC: Alyssandra looked compassionately upon Thag. He was a creature that amazed her daily. He would be a good companion in the lonely world, but her goal would not be obtained if she left so soon.

"Thag, I would love to leave, but not until I have his head in my hand. Not until the wormlord is dead and decease from this very world. I will wait here until he comes back. Time is not a bothersome to me."

The note still stuck out. She worried about Thag, he did not know of the power that remained hidden from eyes. She grabbed it out and it disintegrated in her hand. "Thag, I warn you not to be so rash this soon. Your heart may be in the right place, but do not forget what your mind tells you."

She was right, of course, and Thag felt relief when she destroyed his resignation letter. Still, he was worried for Alyssandra, simply because the foolish child was insisting on waiting for the return of the Wraithlord. Why she was in a hurry to die was beyond his comprehension, and he vowed to protect her as long as he could...which would be all of 60 seconds, he surmised. Thag had no illusions that he could defeat his Master, but he would give it the ole college try, if necessary.

He walked over to the immobile shell that formerly housed the evil known as the Wraithlord. Reaching down, he plucked the head from the body like a grape off a stem, holding it in the air.

"I guess this won't do it for ya, huh?"

Tossing the head over his shoulder, Thag sat down heavily. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handfull of worn dice. He rattled them in his hand.

"Well, I guess we wait for him to return, then. Are you up for a game of Yahtzee?"