NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This RP is for those that have been following my storylines for quite some time. If you remember when I had used a character named Xel, then this will make sense. This is going to be a big part in where I take Automagfreek in the next few months.


Dawn's Cathedral was aflame. It had stood for many thousands of years, built brick by brick by those long forgotten to history and time. It had been the site where many precious artifacts of Freek history lay, and it was also the site there the first Blood Pact took place with someone outside of Automagfreek. Thousands of armed Sentinels stood outside the burning church, and various artifacts lay in the grass some distance away. The orange glory that engulfed the cathedral could be seen for miles due to the fact that the cathedral was built on the highest mound in the ULE valley. The flames could be seen from the Great Hall (the residence of Damien the Destroyer), and the Dread Fires were not ignorant as to what was going on. Firefighters were summoned to the area to extinguish the flames, but the Sentinels at the site would not allow them to pass. Upon hearing this news, Damien grabbed his sword and SBP-90 assult rifle and ordered his driver to take him to the church.

As he arived on the site he barked orders to the Sentinels to stand down, but they did not. They did however allow Damien to pass through their ranks, and storming to the front Damien asked to speak to whoever was in charge. A few Sentinels gestured to a man who appeared to be in his early 20's. He stood as still and silent as stone, his black cape dancing wildly in the night air. What in the hell is going on here? Why are you not allowing the firefighters to pass? The figure turned around slowly revealing a chisled face and buzzed head. His face was coated in beard growth, but it was neatly trimmed around his stern lips. Why is it any matter to you, old man? Damien snickered, then in an instant his expression changed violently. Because this church is older than these mountains, it is a testament to time and the Freek way of life!

By now the church was pretty much rubble, save for the main base of the structure. Damien had managed to get the firefighters in to put out the blaze, but the damage had been done. You see Damien, fromt he ashes of this church I will build myself a mighty fortress. From the dust and rubble I will create something greater.... Damien got in the face of the young man, towering a half a foot over him. Who the fuck do you think you are? This church is not your porperty, as ruler of AMF it is mine! Damien drew the Relic's Sword and held it forcefully in his dominant right hand. I see this as an act of defamation upon me, and I will have my justice! Damien drew the sword up over his head and prepared to strike the man down, until a single phrase stopped him dead in his tracks.

So you would strike down your own blood? Damien froze, and a puzzled expression lay across his face. What are you taking about man? I have no kin, never have, never will. As Damien lowered his sword, the man stepped forward. My name is Azrael. Though you know not of me, I certainly know you. While I am no brother of yours, I am of your blood....and the blood of someone you once loved many moons ago. Damien's mind raced back to Xel, the love of his life. He remember the long passionate nights they spent, and he rememebered the day she left him. That is right Damien, you know what you speak of....or should I say....father. I have finally found you and I am finally of age. I wish to take up swords with you in the house of our forefathers nd slay those that stand against us. Upon the broken planks and shattered glass that lay here on the cathedral ground I will built myself a grand fortress. From the Great Hall and from my future home, we will carve out our place in destiny. What say you father? Let me help lead your armies against the heathens, and I assure you I will make you proud. If you do not believe that I am your son, then I say we take a trip to the hospital for DNA tests. I know not where mother is, but you are all that I have M'Lord. I wanted to wait until I was old enough to spill blood before I told you, so you would think me a mighty son.

http://67.18.37.14/40/9/upload/p1005314.jpg
Azrael the Advocate


Damien dropped to his knees, an astonished look on his face. He did not know what emotion to feel or what word to speak.

[Holy. Shit. Dude, that is a "Luke, I am your father" moment if there ever was one.]

[Holy. Shit. Dude, that is a "Luke, I am your father" moment if there ever was one.]

OOC: LOL, I do like to keep my readers entertained!

*tag* as I'm not sure what level of effect it would have on my nation.

#TAG#

[OOC: I'm not going to get involved in the RP, but I'm definitely going to read this!

AMF, you've got a 31-year-old writer who's enthralled with your writing. Just thought I'd let you know.]

Occ: I agree you do write very well, but I think that the swearing brings your roleplays down to the level of the average roleplayer. Other than that and a few typos (a pet-peeve of mine) you are a great writer, keep it up.

Occ: I agree you do write very well, but I think that the swearing brings your roleplays down to the level of the average roleplayer. Other than that and a few typos (a pet-peeve of mine) you are a great writer, keep it up.


OOC: Swearing in my posts gives me and others assurance that these people, after all, are only human. But I'll take that as constructive citicism. ;)

As for the typos, I normally read over my posts several times after making them and correct any errors, but now that we're on Jolt you can't edit posts after 15 minutes of making them!! :(

Taggetty tag, and because I want to bump this up, it is a great thread.

TAG
OOC: My first post on the new forums!

I TAG thy thread for my pleasure.

Why? What does this have to do with me? I guess something I mean he did want me as a friend, and the Rosian Government is still interested. Other then that great writing! I mean, if Damien is replaced, eek.

Tag for reference.

Hmmmm....intriguing. The Destroyer has a son. Interesting. Tag.

OOC: Thanks for the compliments all, I'll continue tomorrow.

OOC: A morning bump. Post will be up soon.

Occ: I agree you do write very well, but I think that the swearing brings your roleplays down to the level of the average roleplayer. Other than that and a few typos (a pet-peeve of mine) you are a great writer, keep it up.

[OOC: I also don't like swearing in posts all that much, but you have to realize that some characters are bound to swear, as some folks are in real life. I don't think he does so every few words; otherwise, I'd agree with you.

AMF, have you given any thought to doing any writing, like a book or a script or something? Seriously.]

[OOC:
AMF, have you given any thought to doing any writing, like a book or a script or something? Seriously.]

OOC: I've thought about it, I might give it a shot one of these days.

Days after the cathedral fell into ash, both Damien and Azrael sat comfortably in the Great Hall. The curtains were drawn and the lounge was lit by torch and candle alike, and the pair began a brief discussion. So tell me.....son.. Damien was hesitant to say such a word, for all this was happening too fast for him. Why did you burn down my church? I understand that you wish to build a residence of your own, but why did you have to destroy the oldest building in Automagfreek? Azrael swirled the drink inside his tankard in circle and sat forward in his chair. He had an eager look upon his face as he shifted again in his seat and looked Damien in the eyes. Quite simply put: It wasn't my fault. This puzzled Dreadfire, and he cocked his head in suspicion. You see Damien, I entered the cathedral late at night with a hoard of Sentinels. I began praying to the Gods for wisdom and advice.....when suddenly a candle fell from high above. How it managed to leave it's holder baffled me at first, and the room quickly exploded into flame. Azrael's eyes grew wide with excitement. And from the raging inferno stepped forth a figure.....he identified himself as the God of Fire. He told me about my past.....he told me about my future. He showed me wonders father......and he instructed me to build a might fortress upon the ruins of the cathedral.

Damien leaned forward with interest. So the Fire God did indeed speak to you? What else did he tell you? Azrael's excitement peaked, and he leaned further forward in his seat. He told me of the nations we would conquer, the blood we will spill. He told me that there was indeed a grand plan at work, and that it will all begin when the fortress is complete. So I will do as he instructed. Has the God of Fire ever spoken to you? Damien stood up from his seat and walked towards the drawn windows. He moved he curtains aside with his hand and peered out into the black beyond. No Azrael.....the Gods do not look upon me with favor. I regularly defy their will, and for that I will surely burn when my time comes to depart this world for the next. I am forsaken my son, but you are most obviously blessed. Do not squander your blessings, do exactly what the Gods tell you to do. Do not make the same mistakes I made. If the Gods demand blood, then let us flow onto them a mighty river. If they demand fresh souls, then we must send them some. You know your destiny.

Azrael rose from his seat, but Damien gestured him out of the room. Azrael nodded with a stiff lip and disappointed eye, and quietly left the room. Damien opened the curtains and stepped out onto the balcony overlooking his private gardens. The moon cast an errie impression upon the statue of himself and Bastien the Bronze, and he began praying to his slain friend. Bastien, I am most troubled. Why is it that immediatly after drinking of sorrow's cup that I must be gifted with a son? I have a line now Bastien, somebody to carry on my legacy long after my bones have turned to dust. But why? Why must my fourtune be so good while my grief for you is still so near?

Damien took his eyes of the pair of statues and looked towards the moon. Give me strength and endless ambition, for I know that even now you are still with me. I pray that both Dayne and my son Azrael make both me and you proud.

I am so lost and confused right now Bastien, I can't tell if this is true or a dream......

Word of Azrael's emergence had swept Pantera soon after it had come out in AMF. Dayne had heard of it almost immediately, yet he hesitated. He had decided he would wait before sending for Azrael, to gauge his intentions. Dreadfire himself was unstable to say the least, could his son be trusted to be different? He doubted it, but there was always hope.

Reading over the file his Officers had put together, Dayne sat in a large bearkskin chair and poured himself a glass of Bastien's fine brandy. He smiled sadly. His brother had kept him from his personal stock of brandy, and he had always joked with Bastien that he would have it when he died. He was sure his brother laughed as well, wherever he was. Sipping at his glass, he took up the file and returned to the matter of AMF.

The whole situation irritated him, and he wished his Warhound was there, to advise him as he had done for his entire life. But, the Hound was old, and with a wound suffered while fighting during the Summer Storms paining him, he had decided to stay in the South of Pantera and rule Sunspear as Regent. The Hound would probably said to kill the boy, Azrael, and be done with the worry, but that was his answer for near everything. However, it did have a strangely effective way of putting things into perspective.

Bastien had seen the worth of Damien as an ally, and Dayne himself had fought alongside the Sentinels many a time. He respected their strength as akin to that of the Reavers, and saw what the two great leaders had seen when they had forged the Blood Pact: That together, Reaver and Sentinel were all but unstoppable.

The past months had made Dayne wary of trusting anyone, much less this Azrael, whose rise to power was just a bit too fast for Dayne's comfort. Could this wretch be plotting on Dreadfire? he wondered idly as he leaned back in his chair, propping one foot atop the other. He doubted it, unless the boy was quite insane. Dreadfire was a rabid beast and sensed plotters like a hound. Maybe he was real, and all would be well...

Not fuckin' likely... Closing his eyes for a long moment, he tossed back the last of his brandy and rose, heading for his bedchamber in the drafty halls of the ancient castle. Sleep is what he needed, not more booze. Sleep. He would leave this Azrael to do as he would, for awhile. If he proved himself to be the man his father was, then Dayne would seek him out. But if he proved treacherous, he would find the Reavers ready to seek him out, as AMF was far too strong an ally to be allowed to go rogue.

He went to bed thinking of the mumblings of a mad old crone, and the shrieks of a younger, madder Queen.

With Azrael asleep, Damien called upon his most trusted coucil, The One Who Shall Remain Unnamed. As Damien spoke his name he materialized in the dark corner and stepped forth into the light. His long brim hat shrouded his face, and in a quiet voice asked his Lord what he needed. I need you to do something for me friend. I need you to search Azrael's soul and tell me what you see. If Bastien were still here he would have me be suspicious over the boy and his intentions. Do this for me. The One bowed his head and faded away, leaving Dreadfire by himself for several minutes until he reappeared.

M'Lord, I dug deep into Azrael's soul and subconscious. I must say that indeed he is of your line, for his soul reeked of hellfire and brimstone. But his soul is indeed pure, and treachery cannot be found anywhere in his mind. He is pure. Damien sighed in relief, because for the time being he did not have to worry about possible assassination at the hands of Azrael.

The next morning when Azrael woke Damien greeted him at his bed and instructed him to get dressed. Walking down the spotless corridors of the Great Hall, Damien somewhat hesitantly struck up conversation. Word has reached my ears that you are indeed a fierce warrior, and that you practice the blade for 6 hours a day. After that you practice the gun for 2 hours, and work out for another 2 hours. Most impressive. As you may or may not know, AMF is looking to increase it's number of Warchiefs due to the fact that General Brinks is not as physically fit to lead from the from lines. As you know I expect every Warchief to lead his men into battle, not bark orders from the rear. Brinks will still be in command of his legions, but he will be used mostly in support roles from now on. How would you like to lead my armies Azrael? How would you like to fight alongside your father against the armies of our enemies?

Azrael was abit taken back, and with a smile he accepted. Then it is done, you are now Azrael the Advocate, Warchief of AMF's forces. Congrats, this is a major responsibility. Lead your Sentinels well and the Gods will reward you. Damien paused for a second and looked proudly upon his son. I have arranged for you to meet with our allies and get to know them. Be yourself, for our allies are very smart and can smell a bullshitter from a mile away.

cool!! You should be a writer AMF.

cool!! You should be a writer AMF.
OOC: Thank you.

More story to come....

Whoa...that Azrael picture is even more intimidating than Dreadfire. Family resemblance, eh? (it's you, isn't it?)

-

I second what Scandavian States said. "Luuuke....I am your father..." You really should write a novel...Pantera too. Does this mean a new age has come to AMF? Ah well, I'll shut up now.

PS - SS, thanks for the reassurance that I'm not the only Miss Pacman lover around. Did the mods have one drink too many? ;)

/hijack

Whoa...that Azrael picture is even more intimidating than Dreadfire. Family resemblance, eh? (it's you, isn't it?)

-

I second what Scandavian States said. "Luuuke....I am your father..." You really should write a novel...Pantera too. Does this mean a new age has come to AMF? Ah well, I'll shut up now.

PS - SS, thanks for the reassurance that I'm not the only Miss Pacman lover around. Did the mods have one drink too many? ;)

/hijack


OOC: Yeah, I decided to use myself as a character. Not sure how Azrael will act though, I'm debating wether or not to make him a saint or a big time sinner. We'll see.

As far as a novel goes, I'm considering it. I love writing stories.

I'm not sure about the welp myself. Read the first line in Damien's note to Dayne. Although my most trusted servant tells me his heart is clear of plot and scheme, I am not fully sure if the lad is capable of leading thousands of Sentinels head first into battle. I hope this whole incident is a foul plot to catch me off guard in my emotionally weakened state, but regardless of that I must ask you a favor. I ask that Azrael be sent to Pantera to serve under you for the time being. I want to see if he is capable of the high standards that both you and I hold our men and commanders. Automagfreek, unfortunatly, is not in turmoil at the moment, so I have no way of seeing what he is amde of first hand. Plus this would be a good way for him to meet you and get to know Pantera. I have a son that I never knew about....and with the death of your brother Bastien I have realized jsut how weak the flesh is how fragile life can be. I need to start preparing my torch to be passed should the heathens we in AMF call Gods decide to call my number.

Damien smiled abit and shook his head, not imagining he would ever say such things. Your brother once said that "peace is where men like us go to rust", and time is starting to take it's toll on me. Azrael needs to be prepared to lead his country to victory through and through, and only in Pantera can one learn such lessons. The boy needs to learn honor and ferocity, courage and the desire to stop at nothing to achieve his goals. I hope to hear from you soon.

http://67.18.37.14/40/9/upload/p3403.jpg
---Damien the Destroyer---
-Supreme Warlord of AMF-


***********

Damien ended his message and ordered it to be sent, and then he summoned Azrael into his quarters. Moments later the large oak doors were thrown open, and Azrael walked proudly into the room. Damien gestured to the seat at the front of his desk but the newly elected Warchief declined. Very well then. Azrael, I have sent word to Dayne, Lord Reaver of Pantera. Every time he said those words, his heart ached. Upon his response you will be departing for the Free Lands of Pantera, where you will be in Dayne's company. You will learn many valuable lessons there, lessons you will need should you ever have aspirations of being Supreme Warlord. Azrael bowed deeply with a smile across his face, the sun's rays shimmering off the golden plate of steel that sit strapped across his chest. Sounds like an adventure to me, and I shall make ready. As Azrael turned to exit, Damien stopped him with a cough and motioned for him to move towards the rear of the throne room. The pair walked past the racks of weapons towards a large painting, and Damien lifted the picture up to reveal a large safe. A few seconds of tinkering and the safe was open, and Damien removed a large item wrapped in red silk. He removed the silk to reveal a grand blade, while nowhere near the size of the Relic's Sword, it was still a formidalbe weapon. This sword was crafted for me by a Panteran peasant on the day I received my soul name, "Dreadfire". I want you to take this and use it as your own, for you are a most worthy candidate for its power.

Azrael lifted the blade up from The Destroyer's hands and eyed it's magnificence. The golden handguard was engraved with the symbols of Pantera and Automagfreek alike, and Azrael removed his standard issue Freek military sword from its scabbard and placed his new prize inside. The blade's name is "Deep Blue", for in the moonlight the blade seems to glow an errie shade....it nearly looks like a phantasmal object, it is quite a sight.

Thank you father, your gifts to me have been great. Once I hear word from Dayne, I will depart. And I shall not return until my tasks are complete and until i am a worthy warrior in the eyes of the Lord Reaver. I will see you soon.

Bump

-OOC-

AMF, my respect for you grows with every post you make. ^_^

The Evenstar shook his head as he read over Dreadfire's message. The old man was cunning. Cunning indeed, Dayne thought. In one maneuver he had distanced himself from Azrael, should the boy be treacherous, in the same move he had given his heir the anvil of Pantera upon which to forge himself, and he had placed Azrael in such a position as to learn from and befriend Dayne, as Dreadfire had Bastien so long ago.

With a grim smile, Dayne began keying his reply. He would of course accept. Dreadfire's plotting to get the two younger men near each other was admirable, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve as well. This would allow him the chance to mold Azrael into the kind of ally he needed. It would be hard, if the boy was at all like his father, but...

Dreadfire himself was far too unstable to be relied upon in any situation other than the heat and hate of war, in Dayne's opinion. Bastien had disagreed, trusting Dreadfire with much more than his own life at times. The Evenstar himself carried a grudging admiration for the man, but still hesitated to trust him too far.

Dreadfire - I will of course ready your welp for his mantle of leadership. Warn him, though, that my Reavers have no tolerance for weakness. If he shows a crack of cowardice in his mask of command, they will tear him apart and place one of their own in command. I suggest he bring a dozen or so of his own Sentinels to act as his battle companions, but no more. Pantera still bleeds, and those lands already pacified are a beast barely chained.

Do not allow him to come to Pantera unless he is ready, or he will never leave these Free Lands.

-Evenstar

With a grunt, Dayne dispatched the message and leaned back. Curt, and possible a touch rude, the message would convey this Azrael's position in Pantera: Nothing. The fact that Dreadfire was his father would count for little among a fist of Reavers. He was nothing, and he would remain nothing until he proved himself.

Whatever happened, Dayne was looking forward to his new apprentice's arrival. Forging the boy looked to be an interesting, and possibly enjoyable, break from the grief that had coated his life in the past months.

ooc: TAG! This is some nice RP, AMF

ooc: tag. I have no comment but I have a feeling this is a prelude to something a lot bigger

Azrael did not say farewell to Damien upon confirmation of his departure for Pantera. Azrael merely gathered what he would need; some clothes, weapons, ammo, and his new sword. He called down Fort Spear military base and ordered 7 Sentinels, 3 Sentinel Stalkers, and 2 Death Dealers to follow him on his journey per Dayne's request. Azrael's excitement grew with every passing minute, for the trip to Pantera would only be an hour or two. Before exiting the Great Hall for the waiting car outside, Azrael took one last look in the mirror. Here's your chance to prove yourself to them......don't mess this up. Do not bring scorn to our family.

With that Azrael gathered his few things and climbed into the car. The trip to the airport was only a few minutes long, and waiting on the runway were Azrael's entourage. Looking as if they were stone, the Sentinels and Death Dealers waited patiently for Azrael's orders, and he motioned for them to board the plane. Azrael tried not to think to hard about the days to come, for the suspence was already killing him. Soon he would be at the mercy of Pantera, and he prayed that Damien was right in sending him there.

Lord Reaver, I will be arriving in Toke in a few hours. I have collected a small unit of my fniest soldiers per your request, and I stand ready for the trials ahead. I am not coming alone on this quest, for the burning flame that resides in the whole of Automagfreek is with me. I will not disappoint and I will do exactly as you instruct. My father sees you as a fair and ferocious man, and I will admit that I am abit nervous about being in the presence of greatness. But worry not, I will show you neither weakness nor flaw, you have my word on that.

http://67.18.37.14/40/9/upload/p1005314.jpg
Azrael the Advocate
-Warchief of AMF Forces-

His grunt was one of distaste. Advocate, eh? What kind of a name is that?

With a shake of his head, Dayne barked an order to a Reaver attendant. He had no intentions of allowing this Azrael a moment's rest. In the east the large island of Teralus still remained free of the yoke of Pantera. It irritated him to say the least. A large force of Reavers had entrenched themselves on the island, along with a large mercenery army. They were estimated at six thousand Reavers and lesser men, with roughly one hundred aircraft. Their might at sea was near to nothing, as the Evenstar's own fleets had harried the coast of the island since the fall of Toke near three weeks past.

With a laugh, Dayne began issuing his orders. He and this welp Azrael would leave for Teralus immediately upon his arrival. The boy would emerge victorious alongside him, or the boy would die. Either way, the Blood Pact would be stronger with his testing.

OOC: I'm skipping most of the arrival BS, takes too long.

IC:


Azrael and his unit were taken to the side of the new Lord Reaver, who was already making plans to test his soul. A burly Reaver motioned Azrael to Dayne but halted the Sentinels in their tracks. He stepped forward and aproached the Lord Reaver, his head held high and his right hand on the hilt of his sword.

Hail Lord Reaver! I am Azrael, called The Advocate by many. My father Lord Damien the Destroyer sends his compliments and blessings, and I am here to offer onto you my services. I can see in your eyes that there are many trials ahead, and I will meet them head on with you. I must admit that this will be my first engagement, but not one ounce of fear lay in my heart. I am not my father, nor will I my wrath ever be as absolute as his, but I swear to you that before I depart these Free Lands I will amke an impression onto you. Hail Lord Reaver, I await your orders.

Azrael grabbed his SBP-90 assult rifle from off of his back and checked it to make sure it was loaded and ready to go. He swung it across his back underneath his cape and drew out his sword that was passed onto him. You will recognize this blade, for it is Panteran steel. This steel is most strange, for unlike most inanimate objects it has a voice. It prefers to sing, and the songs it sings are of blood and mutilated flesh. It thirsts for blood, and that unquenchable thirst has come onto my mouth as well. Direct me Lord Reaver, I stand ready.

Though his face was set in a grim scowl, Dayne laughed inside. This Azrael posessed a flair for the dramatic, as did the Evenstar himself. However, for the moment he decided would keep up burly lord's facade.

Rising, Dayne flicked a gloved hand dismissively and said,"Enough with all of that. I am not interested in being imressed by flower words or your fancy sword. Save that shit for the ears and eyes of women. I see before me an upstart Freek who thinks to rule where his father reigns...

Drawing a breath, the Evenstar laughed scornfully, his twin, wrist thick golden braids swaying about his shoulders. He leveled a finger at Azrael's entourage and grunted,"I see the fancy armor and weapons of these men, but I know of their strength. What have you done? What gives you the right to walk with men such as these? You think you are ready to spill blood alongside my Reavers?"

Dismissing Azrael's reply, he snickered and said,"Well, we shall see then. We begin your forging now. To the east is an island. It is the last stronghold of the Godsgrace rebels, and possibly a haven for members of the Coward's Council. Together, you and I will take it. By dusk tomorrow I expect to be in the city of Dregon. with you at my side or dead in our wake is up to you."

With a curt order, Dayne lead Azrael and his companions from the Palace and out onto a helipad. Boarding the waiting chopper, Dayne informed the Freeks of his plan of a two pronged assault on the southwestern beaches of the island. The beach was fortified heavily, but the rebels barely had the men to man their trenches. The Reaver fleet would clear the beachead with a heavy barrage, and then the Evenstar and Azrael would each lead a landing, roughly three miles apart. From here they would proceed inland, slowly closing the gap between their lines until they reached the city of Dregon.

A plan with much risk, Dayne knew, but one that was a fitting test for his new student.

As the chopper touched down on the deck of Dayne's flagship Silence, he grinned and motioned to the outline of a large island, barely visible on the night-blackened horizon. With a gruff laugh, he waited for the hum of the chopper to subside and asked,"So then, Advocate, are you ready to bloody that pretty sword of yours, or would you rather be sent home to your father in a skirt?"

A few snickers sounded in the sudden silence, and the Evenstar watched his pupil, gauging his reaction.

*tag*

OOC: Interesting, I'd like to see how relations between our nations develops with new characters on both sides.

The hazing was to be expected, and Azrael did nothing more than throw a glare to those that laughed at him. His jet black eyes moved from person to person, and his hand movd across the handle of his sword. I see you're not a man of formality. Alright, then I'll cut the shit. You want that island taken? An easy task. I will fill the rivers with their entrials and pike their heads alongside the shores. I will show you wonders, for I've studied my father and the late Lord Reaver well. I'm more than ready.

Now, how many men will I be leading in this assult? Azrael silenced himself for a second, trying not to sound too demanding and trying not to take charge. He removed his cape and placed it underneath his seat, and moved his rifle from his back to his lap. He extended his war blades (OOC: Think strap on claws like Wolverine's) and examined them well. He checked his Desert Eagle and made sure he had plenty of enough ammunition for the great battle ahead. He noticed a few Reavers snickering as he went about his routine, but Azrael had a simple reply for them. Proper planning prevents piss poor performance, remember that.

He then peered out in the direction of where his trials were to take place, and he assured himself that the God of Fire would lead him to victory. Azrael's Sentinel entourage walked casually about the decks, for to them this would be another day at the office. The Death Dealers, towering over Sentinel and Reaver alike by several feet, locked and loaded their .50 cals and readied their battle axes. Their crimson eyes were unblinking as they prepared to do what they did best: send heathens into the abyss. Azrael prayed to the God of Fire for strength so that his counterparts would not think him a coward. The hours ahead would tell for sure.

Soon a small transport pulled alonside the Silence and a contingent of Dayne's officers departed for the ship. The Evenstar motioned to Azrael and said,"There's your ride, Azrael. Four thousand Reavers will be landing with you, while another six thousand will land with myself. Push deep, eight miles at least, and then turn south. These rebels have no heavy armor, but there are at least twelve very heavily fortified Anti-Aircraft installations. Their taking is up to you.

"Along my own route is an airstrip and the only suitable highway to bring reenforcements west to oppose us. You must keep most of their force tied up at the AA sites until the highway route to Dregon is secure.

"I want to know if those claws are used for more than scratching your ass. Me and my Rigante donna think so."

The group of his hulking, bearded shock legions laughed, hooting a few jeering remarks at their AMF allies. Dayne finally raised a hand for silence, and recieved it immediately.

His eyes hard, he closed his raised hand into a gloved fist and shook it at the the group of waiting Reavers and Sentinels. With a growl, he gave Azrael his final order,"Do not fail me. Drag the Waters."

The transport was loaded, and Dayne made his way to the bridge of his great crimson hulled warship. A slight glow had begun in the east, outlining the island. The sun would be in their eyes on the bloody taking of the beach, he thought, but no matter. Unless something went terribly wrong, the day would be won by sundown.

Settling back, he began cleaning the action of his sidearm and sent a paige for his greatsword. He had carried the massive, glimmering blade in every battle he had ever fought. A present from his father on the day he was named Reaver, it was a huge, gaudy affair. Large as it was, his size allowed him to handle the unwieldy weight of it with ease. Two rows of shining silver runes graced each edge of the blade, making it flash and shine with every glint of light. It served as a rallying point in battle, and an all but magical talisman for his Reavers, urging them to greater feats of ferocity by its flashing, slashing presence.

Finally, he put aside his sidearm and took up his sword. Placing it across his knees, he sat and waited for dawn.

OOC: AMF, you could write a good book. Pantera could too.

You two need to get together and write one. I'm in mild(only because I'm used to your writing) awe of this RP allready.

Understood Lord Reaver, I expect my objectives to met by midday. I will see you when this is over. Azrael eyed the Reavers that mocked him, and he traded them a cold glance. Soon... he thought ...soon they will praise and honor me. Just do this by the books, show them your inner demon. Azrael then stepped onto the transport with his Sentinel entourage, but before leaving the Sentinels and Death Dealers traded handshakes and headbutts with their Reaver counterparts. This made Azrael feel out of place, for there was much respect between the fighting men for eachother. Through the many battles that both Pantera and Automagfreek had engaged in, the fighting men had come to terms with eachother, each side knowing and respecting the power of the other. Azrael hoped that today would be his day.

On board the transport, Azrael addressed Dayne's officers. Although we are numerically inferior to Dayne's force, our role in this fight is paramount. I expect your Reavers to fight hard and move quickly. Let's see if you all can keep up with me. The Reaver officers exploded in laughter, openly mocking the young lad. I know I have not proven myself to you, but please do not make my task any harder than it already is. By the time the sun sets you will see what I am made of. The same fire that burns in my father resides in me as well, believe that. Now make ready.

Azrael sensed doubt amongst the Reaver ranks, but he could not allow that to deter him. He was a man of business, and his business was with the sword and the gun. This was Azrael's first taste of real combat, but not for one second did he doubt his resolve. Well, maybe for a second......

Enter the tag

As the first sliver of the sun slipped above the eastern horizon and spilled out across ocean, island, and sky, the first volley of Reaver shells slammed into the fortifications lining the beach. In a gout of flame and smoke the peaceful silence of the morning was shattered into a chaotic riot of sound. The concussion of the first round was so powerful that it rocked Dayne's Silence back in the water.

Shifting his feet with the roll of the ship, he ordered a continuous barrage for twelve minutes. In that time transports would approach the landing sites and wait for the shelling to cease.

Dayne himself boarded a transport in the second line of his first wave of Reavers. He took up a small microphone once he was aboard, and over the constant roar of explosions, addressed his force,"The winds blow hot, Reavers, and these traitorous scum will soon be scorched from the earth. This is the final holdout of the rebellion. They are all that stands between us and peace and unification being returned to Pantera. Though victory is assured, beware. These are no coward dogs we are fighting, but Reavers. They will fight, and they will die hard.

"REAVERS! Are you ready for the Crow's Feast?"

And as the last of the shells fell upon the fortifications, a mighty roar rose up aboard the transport ships, a vigorous and resounding reply to Dayne's question. The force began to move forward, and men began to roar and shake, lending fury to their brother Reavers until the intensity rose to a fevered pitch.

Dayne himself only smiled, allowing a moment to pass until just before the first transport touched the beach. With a growling roar he ordered the doors of the transports opened and snarled into the microphone,"Then let the Gods drink their fill."

Screaming their defiance, the Reavers boiled oout of their transports and into a hail of fire and death.

OOC: Pantera, I love your signature.

As the first wave of Reavers hit the shoreline, the smoking forests beyond came alive with machine gun fire. The turrets aboard the transports began a thick covering fire, burt were forced to cease as their men gained the top of the bank and began the scramble through briar and branch.

An artillery shell slammed into the bank just as the Evenstar's transport slid onto the sand. The jolt lifted one side of his transport and tossed it a full quarter turn. Men screamed and cursed as the doors slid open and allowed a gushing torrent of water into the hold. Dayne himself screamed for them to abandon ship and dove headlong into the sea. The water was deep and the weight of armor, rifle and sword pulled many down, but a fair number reached the shore, among them the Evenstar, soaked but raging for blood.

At least two thousand of his men were ashore, half of them already plunging into the shadows of the forest. Bursts of firing sliced down many of the advancing force, but soon these halted, and the beachead was gained.

Firing a flair to rally his force, the Evenstar made to push deeper into the forest. Sending out seven advance parties of sixty men each, he formed his men up into a marching vanguard, and set off into a four mile stretch of forest, before tree and bush thinned into the plain of the island interior.

Two Hours Later...

By the time the Evenstar's force emerged fromt he forests, the guerilla raiding of the rebels had taken its toll, and he was raging mad. Before him stretched the plain of Teralus, a large black streak that was the highway snaking through the green of the grasses, a few thickets dotting the landscape that doubtless held a unit of rebels or a mortar crew.

Some six miles distant was the airport. Even from this distance he could see a few planes landing and taking off, refuelling after a patrol. However, none seemed to be eager to attack them, obviously afraid to lose their only air power.

The thought of aircraft took his thoughts to Azrael, and his fortunes with the AA installations. So far he had fierce resistance, but not the full force of the rebels. Five hundred of his men were dead, at least twice that on the rebel side. Hopefully Azrael was doing as well. He ached to call in his bombers aboard the carriers, sitting along the shoreline and waiting for his order. However, he would wait for word from Azrael. Radio silence would be preserved until the boy's confirmation that the installations had been destroyed or taken.

The sound of battle could be heard at Azrael's LZ, and he noticed that Reaver entrenchments along the shore began shifting somewhat towards the initial fighting. This ended however as the covering fire from the Panteran fleets rained in. Azrael looked nervous, but the men around him helped calm his nerves. Simply looking at their stone cold faces was assurance enough that he would be just fine. Alright men, stay with me. We need to take this beach and kill their AA batteries. Let's squash these vermin once and for all. Azrael shifted to the head of the transport, and as the gate fell Azrael rushed out with his gun blazing. He immediatly took a round to his left arm and went down as the Reavers and his Sentinel entourage stormed the beach. Azrael was disappointed in himself, for he had been hit before the battle even began. He felt his face turning red, and his jet black eyes began steaming. He stood back to his feet and charged as fast as his body could carry him. The Reavers hit the beach with great ferocity and began rapidly pouring he heat onto the heathens entrenched near the beach. A nearby explosion forced Azrael into a trench alonside a few of his Sentinels and a massive gang of Reavers.

He looked to his left and noticed that his two Death Dealers were standing straight up firing their .50 cals like madmen, and flinching not when they took hits. 7 hits he counted on one of the Death Dealers, but still the creature did not flinch. Azrael stood to his feet and threw a grenade in front of him and then ordered his Reavers out of the trenches. They gave him a questioning eye, but Azrael did not have time to wait. Climbing above the trenchline Azrael raced towards the enemy's line, firing his weapon in all directions. The Reavers that followed him were brutally cut down by the hail of gunfire, but followed Azrael regardless.

The landing was somewhat successful, although the landing Reavers took many losses, and hundreds of bodies lay lifeless on the sands. Azrael had been too headstrong, and now his forces were depleted. His Death Dealers were fine, and 3 of his Sentinels lay dead. The Sentinel Stalkers were fine though, although one of them took a small hit to the leg. Azrael dove into another trench and found an enemy Reaver struggling to clear his jammed weapon. Azrael fired a 3 round burst into his side, but then discovered that his weapon was empty. He discarded it and drew out his sword, sending it's sharp blade into the chest of the Reaver. He howled in pain as Azrael contined stabbing and chopping until the screams subsided, but he remained unrelenting. Azrael screamed and howled as he continued to chop and dice the now obviously dead Reaver, and it took 4 of his own Sentinels to pry his off the carcass. Nothing but chooped meat and broken bone lay in a very bloody pile, and Azrael himself was quite drenched int he crimson fluid as well.

He gathered himself, not taking time to wipe the massive amount of blood that covered his entire body. Form up, we need to hit their AA installations fast. The Reavers were unsure what to think of the lad.

From a small rise a mile or so off, the Evenstar watched a fist of his Reavers swarm a dense thicket of trees, a few tumbling and not rising as a stream of small arms fire bursts from inside the thicket. The mortar crew hidden in the trees had been giving himgrief the past hour, and he had finally ordered it taken.

When his Reavers fired a flair to show they had successfully swept the thicket, the Evenstar ordered his men forward. Half an hour before he had been blessed and had overtaken a small convoy enroute to Dregon, the main city of the island. Along with several tankers of fuel, the Evenstar siezed three mobile SAM sites and a large flatbed trailer filled with mortars, making a rough, lumbering mobile platform. This he destroyed, but he brought the mobile SAM's along with him, and these kept the enemy aircraft at a safe distance.

Still, though, he was forced to wait on his airstrike.

What the fuck is that welp up to?

Azrael was stunned after receiving the gunshot wound, but he had somehow managed to lead his battered unit across the beach head. Although the skirmish had been won, the battle was far from over. He glanced down at his watch and noticted that he was running dreadfully late, and Dayne was probably expecting the damn fight to be over by now. Azrael raised his bloodied sword above his head and rallied his Reavers to his side. His face was veiled in a deep crimson mask, and his jet black eyes steamed as he looked about his ranks and examined his numbers. At least a thousand were dead, and probably half of that were wounded. Regardless of taking heavily losses and undaunted by the chirps of sporadic gunfire, Azrael captured some nearby artillery pieces and ordered the Reavers to begin shelling the location of the AA guns. The bores of the guns exploded to life, and Azrael gathered his battle torn forces and pressed on. The AA site was near, and smoke began rising from it's location as the Reaver's new toys began unleashing upon the heathen defenders.

Along the road Azrael encountered several small pockets of heavy machine guns supported by pairs of snipers. Azrael knew the best strategy was to simply pour on more heat and continue on, and that he did. As more of his Reavers were cut down by enemy fire, Azrael continued his perilous advance. The AA pieces were now in sight, and Azrael radioed new coordinated to the Reaver artillery crews. Under suppressive fire the Reavers decended onto the defensive positions around the AA as raging waves decend on a beach. Azrael's Reavers began raining mortar and MGL (multiple grenade launcher) fire on the nearest defensive pockets, then began gradually walking the fire backwards. With the artillery pieces firing at the rear of the entrenched position and Azrael hitting the front, soon the center of the enemy Reaver defenses would be surrounded by lots and lots of dead bodies.

The raid went successful, and in typical AMF and Panteran fashion, the assult was finalized by a massive charge. Azrael employed a Sentinel battle tactic whereas three quarters of the rushing force pass their ammo to their back men, and the back men would lay down massive covering fire. With artillery and mortar support, the enemy Reavers had no choice but to hide their heads, and upon doing so Azrael ordered a charge. With his Reavers charging onward with intense fire support from their back men, the Reavers were able to swiftly and somewhat easily overrun the enemy's position.....in mere minutes. Azrael then wasted no time in placing satchel charges on the AA site and detonating them, a sign to Dayne that his task was accomplished.

OOC: I sense this RP coming to a close. Good shit Pantera, a grade "A" RP as usual. :)

{OOC: I may have a trick or two up my sleeve yet. ;)}

The gout of fire on the horizon made Dayne smile. The boy had kept his end of the deal, all that was left was to sweep the field. The explosion was accompanied by his officers barking into their radios, and twenty seconds later, the sky came alive with his aircraft.

With near one-hundred craft in the air, and more to follow, the Evenstar felt confident to hold his position. Ordering the rise encircled and temporarily fortifed, he took out a smoke. Touching the tip with flame, he drew deeply on it, enjoying the feeling of the tobbaco rolling through his mouth. It felt soothing and cool upon his throat which was hoarse and raw from the bark of order and battlecry.

Across the plain, his fighters began the destructin of the rebel air capacity. Small as it was, they still put up a vicious fight, and three fighters were lost. As the last went up on smoke his radio crackled and he heard,"This is Skystrafe Three, M'Lord Reaver! We've got a rogue host maybe a minute to your east. Several units of heavy-arm's, along with about two thousand ground. They're pullin' close t' your position, Lord Reaver, if I'm to hit them it has to be now."

Even as the pilot spoke Dayne could see the first forays of the enemy host emerge from another thicket, thos one cresting a rise and disappearing behind it. He cursed himself for a damn fool for allowing these dogs to sneak up on him, using the cover of elevation and forest to mask their approach.

Then, he saw the banners. One was a silver ring carried on a cresting wave, Lord Brettan Seaswell. The second banner, at the head of the armored vanguard, a mailed fist, black on gold, Lord Devon the Hammerhand. The final, and by far most important sat squarely in the middle of the rebel infantry, and bore the skull and lily of Brice Canan, Reaver Lord of the Resin Marches, formerly one of the most powerful Lords in Pantera.

Three of the Seastone Council. Three whose hands carried the blood of his brother. And three who would meet their end upon his own sword.

"Negative, Skystrafe, these are mine..."

With a curt order, his artillerymen began the destructon of the rebel tanks. Discovered, the rebel host began to fan out amid the fringes of the forest, taking cover where they would and allowing the a tanks to soak up the fire.

Dayne frowned. What were they doing? A frontall assault with armor and infantry might have won his position, but pinning themselves down beneath him was suicide. They had to be up to...

"Lord Reaver, I've got another host moving fast, northwest of your position, maybe three minutes... This one almost twin to the first, but with alot more men, maybe three or four thousand. Orders?"

Dayne grunted in suprise. Northwest? How had they gotten behind him? That was a matter for another time. With frenzied urgency, he began organizing his defence. His officers agreed that they could hold the hill until the welp arrived to relieve them, so long as they could take out the armor below. He had only one fist of armor himself, and that was near two miles away, engaged in a pitched battle amid a small town.

Cursing, he snarled to get Azrael on the horn and get his ass into action.

Looking about himself at the slightly concerned faces about him, he laughed. Many of his officers blinked, but he continued laughing, and soon they chuckled as well, the tension of the moment eased. About them, their men saw their leaders at ease and they too settled, grips loosening on swordhilts and rifle barrels.

Dayne allowed a smile to remain on his face as the laughter finally died. As another artillery shell found the approaching tanks, he nodded. A steadily growing roar sounded in the forests, and he knew they made ready...

A wild scream sounded, and the forest came alive with men and fire. Drawing his sword, he moved for the front. Swinging the blade about his head, he roared encouragement to his Reavers,"They come, Reavers! Open fire!"

And they did. A strafing, destructive rain of fire fell upon the enemy. A savage slaughter it was, which went on for a full minute before the rebels withdrew, but losing more than three hundred men himself, the Evenstar knew he could not hold against another army, possibly not against another assault by the one already here.

Damn you boy... Get here... But he knew it was all but hopeless.

Azrael's expression turned grim as he heard the numbers of the enemy announced. He knew that time was scarce and action ahd to be taken immediatly. He looked around at the men that remained, and there was a mere fraction left standing. Out of his force of 4,000 Reavers, some 2,100+ had been killed, mostly due to the foolish headstrong charge made on the beach. 5 of his own Sentinels lay slain, but both Sentinel Stalkers were alive and well. His two Death Dealers were still active as well, although one had some 3 dozen hits scattered across his body. The wounded beast staggered and tried to maintain his footing, but periodically fell to the ground. Azrael knew that at any moment Dayne may become overrun, and time was of the essence. His mind quickly drew up a plan, and Azrael ordered a 20 man crew stay behind to man the artillery pieces while another 75 stayed to protect them. Azrael ordered his Reavers to pick up the fallen banners and steal the clothes of the slain enemy and disguise themselves. Within minutes his orderes were carried out, and he then ordered his men to march double quick roughly several miles to the site where the enemy lay siege to Dayne.

Some time later, Azrael's eyes did indeed catch sight of the enemy, their numbers large and foreboding. Having left instruction with the artillery crews, Azrael began bringing up the rear behind the enemy Reavers. At a distance, it appeared to the enemy that indeed more reinforcements were arriving, and concentrated their efforts on Dayne. Once Azrael's forces made it within firing range, he ordered the artillery crews to open fire on an exact set of coordinates. Within seconds shells began raining in ontop of the enemy Reavers, and Azrael's forces rushed forward. Thinking they were taking refuge from the incoming fire, the enemy again thought nothing of their movements, until they opened fire. Having spread out on both flanks and wheeling right, Azrael's forces quickly decended upon the enemy, shrieking horrors and ganshing their teeth as sword and gun tasted flesh. The assult was likely to be suicide, but Azrael knew that his father would have given anything to have been here on this island, fighting the heathen traitors that robbed him of his best friend.

Several light armored vehicles captured by The Advocate's forces wheeled right hard and fast, and soon the enemy found themselves under fire from in front and from behind. A pincer move have been executed, and surely it would take it's toll on one of the Coward's forces, but how would the others fare?

{OOC: Gone til saturday night or sunday morning. Apologies, AMF. I got the chance to get the hell out of Texas and into the mountians for a few days, and I canna resist. See you then...}

OOC:

:kicks Pantera in the ass:

Well go on.....git!!! ;)

Have fun.

{OOC: *roars* Man! That was EXACTLY what I needed. Apologies that I ran over my estimate of Sunday, but I just couldn't drag myself out of those gorgeous mountains and back into the shithole that is my life in Texas. Glad to be back wehre I can write, though. I thought up a few solid ideas for scenes and entire RP's, but as I'm dog-tired now, I'll probably wait until morning.
Can't wait to finish, though.
Rock and roll...

-Pants}

{OOC: *roars* Man! That was EXACTLY what I needed. Apologies that I ran over my estimate of Sunday, but I just couldn't drag myself out of those gorgeous mountains and back into the shithole that is my life in Texas. Glad to be back wehre I can write, though. I thought up a few solid ideas for scenes and entire RP's, but as I'm dog-tired now, I'll probably wait until morning.
Can't wait to finish, though.
Rock and roll...

-Pants}

OOC:

*Hails Pantera*

Glad you're back!

OOC: Pantera, whats your beef with Texas? I live in Texas and I think its great.

{OOC: I live in the Panhandle, which is just about the worst place on the face of the earth. Still, I love Texas, just good to get the hell out sometimes.}

IC:

When Dayne's pilots had seen the third host of rebels approaching, he had for the very first time in his entire life felt true, bone-chilling, unbridled fear coarse through his veins. Oh, he had been afraid at many times, and on the verge of terror at others, but never before had he felt the cold finger of death trail up his spine, leaving him speechless for a long, horrible moment.

These were the men who had ripped his beloved Pantera apart and almost destroyed the legacy that his ancestors had built. These men had ruined his life, and many, many more that he would never know of.

These are the men that killed my brother. They spilled his guts and forced him to die a slave to his own pain and madness...

And in that instant, with that thought, his own pain and madness siezed hold.

The sickening sense of dread was seared from existance by a feeling of purpose. A swelling craving for cold vengeance and hot blood filled him, and from his place on the battlements, he screamed.

Long and terrible was his wail, the mournful, grief sodden months of the past came back to him in a flash, and the spark of his rage ignited those feelings, feeding the furnace of his hate. The wordless cry carried along his own men and down the hillside. As the tone of the wail turned from grief to hate and madness, his men began to take it up. Soon the sound rumbled across the plain about them, a roaring undertone to the thunderous explosions of artillery and the chatter of rifle.

A few shots whipped by him as he rose, unclinging his broadsword from across his back and continuing his raging howl. He spun the great blade in his hand like a smaller man would a knife, its glittering length flashing about his head as he rallied his Reavers.

The third host of his enemies was coming into sight now, but they only fed further the scorching fire that welled along the hilltop and through the hearts of the Evenstar and his furious berserkers.

As the first round of Azrael's artillery gored a section of the western flank of the rebels, and the rebel banners began to fall to the ground, the Evenstar realized the boy's ruse. It was a pretty tactic, and he watched as the boy's smaller force sliced into the rear of the rebel's.

With a final shout and swirlf of his flashing blade, he led his own Reavers, their ammunition exhausted, down off of the hilltop and into the heat and hate of combat.

When the rebel host saw the Evenstar's charge, they too quickened their pace and the two fronts slammed into each other with deafeneing impact. All about him, men died, explosions sounded, and steel sang upon steel, but the Evenstar had eyes only for one man.

The Skull and lily banner danced and bobbed the surge of the swirling hosts, but the bearer never fell, for beside him was Brice Canan. The Reaver Lord was one of the most reknown swordsmen in Pantera, and he moved like a cat among the Evenstar's own men, gutting and hamstringing men left and right. The sight maddened Dayne himself even further, and he began the headlong rush through the battle.

He only killed those who stepped in his way for he thirsted for the blood of the arrogant Lord Canan, whose soul was flecked with Bastien's gore. Like the wind of death itself, the Evenstar swept down the hillside, his massive blade cleaving a path ahead of him. Ever closer he came, his blood pounding in his hears and the bloodlust of his rage forcing thoughts of personal preservation from his head.

The Lord saw him just as he brought his great sword around. Canan's smaller longsword lept to meet the cut and the battle between the two would-be Lord's was begun.

The shrill song of the swords weaved its way through the roaring din of the battle, and for a moment, it drowened out all other sounds in Dayne's ears. He could hear the grunt of the rebel Lord as he parried, and the sharp intake of his breath as he thrust at the Evenstar's midsection. The snap of a twig beneath his foot sounded in the silence, and the scrape of steel along steel was a shrieking screech almost too loud to believe.

The Lord was a catlike swordsman, his movements graceful and never wasted. His smaller blade nicked the Evenstar in a dozen places as they fought, back and forth through the men who battled all around.

Dayne himself powered against his smaler adversary, his roars beastial as his broadsword sought purchase against flesh and bone. He snarled at his foe as they circled,"Your blood will taste good, Canan. This is the last of it... Ugh! Will you scream as Bastien did? Will it hurt more? Your life is mine, traitor. Your men die all about. You are defeated." It was truth, both could see. The rebels were all but beaten. The pincer attack of Azrael's host had cut them near in half, and Dayne's own wild charge had driven them back into the onrush of the boy's force.

The Lord grunted for Dayne to be silent and fight, but the Evenstar only laughed and rushed again,"At least you will have the chance to die well. Your family will suffer for years, Canan. Your sons will hang, and I will personally rape your wife and your daughters...." That sent the Lord into a furious flury that near cost Dayne his life, but he recovered, and decided it was time.

"For Bastien!" He cried, and a thousand voices echoed him,"FOR BASTIEN!"

And with that, the Lord Reaver set about making an end to it. Brice Canan, Reaver Lord of the Resin Marches was no coward. He went to his end fighting with teeth bared and screaming defiance to the last. Fighting with the spirit of a Reaver, but living with the soul of a dog...

When the end came, it was almost by accident. Dayne made a long, looping cut as he stepped forward, and the Lord's longsword made a clean parry. However, a small stone rolled beneath his foot, causing him to tilt his blade slightly. So, instead of the Evenstar's sword being turned off of his own, it slid the length of the longsword and sheared away his fingers before glancing off of the crossguard and up into his throat. The nicked and battle-dulled boardsword still carried enough of an edge to cleave the Lord's head nearly off, only stopping when in lodged in the man's spinal column.

With a crunching twist, the Evenstar withdrew his steel from the mans neck and watched the body fall, the blood pounding in his ears so furiously that at first he thought the steady roar was only that. When he raised his eyes, however, the sound was that of his own men, those who remained alive, cheering and firing off what rounds remained to them. Victory... He thought as he raised his bloodied sword in an arm now turned to jelly. He was incredibly weary now, but the wild cheering washed over him, and it seemed to envigorate him. He felt the need to scream and laugh that he was still alive, but only stood, those parts of his sword not coated in crimson gore shining in the dying sunlight of the evening.

A total victory. They had lost near four thousand men, but had killed many more. Those who lay dead would be revered in Valhalla, so the mourning was second to the celebration. All of the rebels who had surrendered were now being put to death, on the call of No Quarter, save for two: Lords Bretton Seaswell and Devon Hammerhand. Those two would be long in dying...

Azrael himself was embraced as a brother by Dayne when he came upon him, the severed, leaking head of Brice Canan in his fist,"Take this to your father when you return, Azrael. Tell him that he was the one of the leaders of these dogs who cost us Bastien. Tell him justice is done..."

Dayne's purple eyes glowed indigo in the fiery glow of the setting sun. They were almost menacing as he looked over Azrael, his brow creasing,"And tell him... You tell him that his son is a man to war alongside... That I am proud to call you friend and Battle Companion, and that he should be proud to call you his heir and son."

Brice Canan

Spooky

The day had been won, and as the dust began to settle Azrael found Dayne. He walked slowly to the Lord Reaver's side, his left arm saturated in his own blood. A stready steam of it ran down his fingers and dripped on the ground, and The Advocate looked pale and exhausted. He listened to the words that Dayne had to say, and the corners of his eyes filled with water. He had never led troops into combat before, and the complements of his strength overwhelmed his emotions.

He did not speak, but instead nodded as Dayne spoke, for he was too weary to say much of anything. With his mouth agape and gasping for air, Azrael took the severed hand of the fallen Reaver Lord and placed it inside a leather satchel. He would send it to his father as an offering, and hopefully Dreadfire's mind would be at ease.

Unable to speak due to exhaustion, Azrael raised his sword up to his face in a salute as best he could, and his one surviving Death Dealer grabbed Azrael's right arm and threw it over his bulky shoulders. The Death Dealer began leading Azrael away from the battlefield, but before he did Azrael managed to utter a few short words. I take leave now....the day is ours.

Azrael's losses were staggering. Out of his 4,000 Reavers, he had lost nearly 3,000. Of his entourage, 5 of his 7 Sentinels were dead. His 3 Sentinel Stalkers were still alive, although one was wounded. Of his two Death Dealers, one had finally been killed. Nearly 5 dozen hits were counted in the mighty beast (a new Death Dealer record), and as he died his body melded into shadow and faded away.

Having heard of Dayne and Azrael's victory, Lord Damien began celebrating aboard the deck of his Flagship the Mouth for War. He was most pleased and proud that the two lads had trounced the Seastone Council and scattered the ashes of their corrpution to the winds. Damien was also pleased that a hand of one of the Council members was to be presented to him. Dreadfire wanted more than anything to take thier lives personally, and he sent a request to Dayne to be present at the executions of the other captured Council members.

As teh sun began setting, the fires that scortched the land began flickering and burning themselves out. Indeed the flames had purified the Free Lands of Pantera, and the wounds that had been inflicted were cauterized. But no matter how much time would pass, the memories of Bastien would never fade. With the demise of The Bronze came the forging of a new pair of Lords, Azrael and Dayne. Indeed the two men had proven themselves worthy, and Damien only hoped that Bastien's soul had found some piece of mind.

As darkness finally fell across the plain, Dayne and a thousand of his men knelt on the bloodsoaked grasses. Gripping the hilts of their swords and pressing the blades lovingly to their foreheads, the rows of Reavers pray.

The Evenstar wasn't sure of what they prayed for, but he was sure that all of them thanked the Gods that Bastien's death was one step closer to being avenged.

His Reavers surrounded him in their prayers, but closest of all were his Rigante, his fanatical death legion. They hovered near, heads bowed and thoughts turned to prayer, but a corner of their awareness still focused on Dayne and his safetly.

These Rigante were savage men, their faces painted in wild swirls of red and black, their eyes carrying the smoldering glint of fanatacism. It was they who had caused the most damage in the Evenstar's wild charge down the hillsid, and it was they who had finally captured Bretton Seaswell and Devon the Hammerhand.

At times a near liability, the surging rage of the Rigante was hard to control, but they were loyal to the death and could sweep an enemy before them with ease. They wer also fiercely religious, worshipping gods of their own, rather than the traditional Panteran gods of Wind, Water, and War...

Their gods were the faceless, nameless dieties of barren crag and frozen vale. They were the god of icy stream and driving rain. They simply existed, some pure of spirit, others dark and terrible. Their songs and names long forgotten by most Reaver and all pages, only the Rigante still remembered.

They sang a mournful tune, one that Dayne had heard many, many times. However, this once, it touched him deeply and he could not say why:

None asked, never given...
The veil has lifted, I have seen the Dawn...
With its coming the sun is gone.

None begged, never given...
The Waves have parted, We see the Star.
It guides us, at home and afar.

The winds do call to us...
Our eyes blown wide,
The crashing thunder of a fiery Tide...

None asked, never given...
The Darkness comes, yet we stand.
He brings the Shadow, yet lights the Land.

As the songs final mournful tones died, the Evenstar realized he had been singing along with his Rigante and that many of his Reavers had as well. Dayne felt strange, singing to gods other than those he had worshipped his entire life. Still, it seemed a fitting song for the moment, and he felt refreshed to have joined in the bonding of the song.

The glazed, near-mad look in the eyes of a few of his Reavers startled him as he scanned their number. he knew well the look of a man in a berserk frenzy. However, these men seemed calm, with only the glint in their eyes to show what was lying beneath. Dayne himself felt the stirrings of something terrible in his soul, but that was nothing new.

His thoughts in a turmoil, Dayne thought to a mad old crone, still wandering somewhere in the Seastone Palace... The words of the song had put his mind to something she had once mumbled to Bastien and Dreadfire. Vague as it was in his mind, he couldn't recollect, but the old woman was full of strange advice and information, most of which smacked of prophecy.

He was of a mind to take this Azrael to see her...

Azrael lay motionless in a crude field hospital, several tubes of blood and other fluids stuck in his forearm. He laid without saying much of anything save for the occassional murmer and throat clear. He noticed throughout his stay in the field hospital that every time a Reaver passed by the tent opening that they peered in and gazed at him. He knew not if it was a cold gaze of hatred for losing so many Reavers, or if it was a sign of admiration. Azrael hoped for the latter.

Several hours later, The Advocate began moving about on foot again, his body somewhat renurished. He sent word for Dayne, for the two had much discussion to partake in. He was not sure if his quest in Pantera was finished, or if he had yet to earn his stripes. Truely foolhearty bravery was not a trait to be proud of, and that was something Azrael knew he would have to work on. But then again, restraint was not something a warrior usually practiced, now was it?

With the sun dead and the moon reborn, Azrael exited the tent and gazed at the stars. Many a man had lost his life by his hand, even though it was his first time leading troops into the heat of battle. He loooked at the patch on his left shoulder where the bullet hole was stitched shut, and he scorned himself for being careless. But then again, he had managed to show courage despite the pain, a trait that both Dayne and Damien could identify with and respect.

The stars seem so much brighter in Pantera, these Free Lands are truely beautiful.....if it were not for the stains of blood. The day is done, and my body has had it's rest. I now ask to speak with the Lord Reaver, for I inquire as to the status of my..."training". Go villain, fetch Dayne for me.

Azrael waved a nearby Reaver off to find The Evenstar, and Azrael laid down and rested in a patch of tall grass and waited. His eyes felt heavy, and he slowly drifted off into slumber as the fires along the shore had finally burned themsevles out.

Dayne's eyes narrowed as the Reaver that Azrael had sent to 'fetch' him. The warrior claimed the boy had used the word 'fetch'. That irritated him to no end. People came to him, not the other way around. No matter, though. He knew well enough what was needed to be done before the boy departed.

Snickering, the Evenstar flicked his wrist dismissively,"You tell Azrael that he is to be ready to depart the island within the hour. We shall be returning to Toke. I have someone for him to meet..."

With a respectful salute the Reaver turned on his heel and moved off through the field to report back to Azrael.

Taking a smoke from his pocket, he lit it and draws deeply on the silky smooth flavor of the tobbaco. He was content to wait for Azrael to ready himself, but he was very eager to hear what she had to say about the boy.

The Evenstar was willing to wager that it would be interesting.

{OOC: AMF, I need a word with you on AIM when you get a chance... Forgotten threads and whatnot...}

Azrael hurridly gathered the few things he had brought with him, his left arm aching every time he moved it. His strength had returned to him and he moved about with relative ease, but upon finding out about the journey he would be taking to Toke, his expression turned sour. Long had he yearned for the green fields of Automagfreek, long he head yearned for home. But he had only been gone mere days, but the brutal fight seemed like an eternity to him.

He gathered the last item that he had with him, his sword. He glanced up and down the shaft of the blade, admiring it in it's shining magnificence. With a sigh he sheathed his blade and exited his tent. He really did not want to stay any longer than he had to, for he had seriously thought his journey was over. Not by a longshot.

After a short walk Azrael came upon Dayne. His jet black eyes locked with The Evenstar, and he gave him a smirk and a nod. More trial and tribulation, eh? After having shed many a good man's blood here today, there isn't anything on this Earth I can't handle. Azrael could think of many, but he bullshitted and hoped Dayne wouldn't pick up on it. I'm ready anytime you are, and I have dismissed my entourage. After you.

Azrael gave a gesture and a smile, trying to act as eager as he could even though his soul was still weary.

The Evenstar laughed at Azrael's boasting and continued laughing until they had boarded the plane. Soon after takeoff, however, Dayne was asleep. As the plane touched down in Toke, however, he awoke and looked to Azrael, his smile grim,"You think you're ready for what's next? Your father faced it, and I know it shook his soul. Prepare yourself."

Leading the boy from the airstrip and into the car, they rode the short distance to the Seastone Palace. Entering the towering stone structure, the Evenstar led Azrael through a maze of hallways and cavernous halls. Finally, he stopped outside the door and turned to lookd Azrael over.

His purple eyes gleaming in the dim light, he asked,"You think you are ready to meet her, Azrael? Then go."

And he would say no more. The boy was on his own.

{OOC: AIM, AMF.... Heh...}

Dayne had walked away leaving Azrael in front of a large set of forboding double doors. This made him feel uneasy...the tone of Dayne's voice, the scenery, and knowing that...."she" was waiting for him. His hand teased the doorhandle abit, and he was unsure if he even wanted to see what was on the other side. But his curiousity got the better of him, and one of the large doors slowly creaked open.

The room was large and barely lit by a flickering fire, and a highback chair sat in front of the fire. Azrael shut the door and it closed with a loud thud, and he cringed slightly. He stretched his collar and adjusted his sword which swung from his right hip, walking forward slowly and cautiously. He opened his mouth to speak, but no word exited from his maw. He cleared his throat and with a bit if unease in his voice he introduced himself. He knew his father, a man who feared not the Gods themselves, was shaken by this woman's presence, but he figured there was no turning back now.

Greetings, I am Azrael, called The Advocate. I'm sure you know this already, for I was told my presence was expected. I come to you with an open heart and mind, ready to hear what you have to say to me.

The crone sat motionless by the fire, and Azrael wondered if the old braod even heard him. He stepped forward again, his armor clanking and heart racing. The crone slowly turnd around and looked upon him, her face alive with shadows cast by the burning fire. Azrael was instantly filled with fear and he felt his face growing hotter, and beads of sweat began forming on his brow.

Under the eyes of the Crone, the moment that Azrael stood must have seemed an agonizing eternity. Her skin wrinkled, her eyes usually clouded with confusion... but not tonight.

This night she seemed vibrant, full of life. Her head tilted slightly, as if curious about Azrael. Her eyes caught the light of the fire and reflected it dully, a small pit of embers in the shadowy pools of her eye sockets.

When she finally spoke, it was in a small voice. Soft, but not weak, she rasped,"I know you, Azrael, though the name 'Advocate' vexes me. This is no Souname. This name does not tie you to the Land. As dark and terrible of a beast as the Dread Fire is, he still carries ties to the Earth and Wind through his Soulname. You... do not. There is another name for you, Advocate. A terrible name, fit to scour the souls of friend and foe alike....

"I do not know if you are fit for such a name... But, it is not for me to decide... It is not for me to tell you, either..."

Glancing up at the shadowed corners of the room, the Crone chuckled,"The Evenstar is eager to hear what I would say of you. He spies on me, as if I did not know. Well, LORD REAVER! I know!"

Seemingly pleased with herself, she stood and turned to level a gnarled finger at Azrael's chest,"I've seen the Fire's threaten all... I've seen Cold so deep it will crack the bones... I've seen men far greater than you fall ill with a cold and die in their beds, while I've seen coward men rule mighty Kingdoms."

"Rule you may, Azrael, I do not know... But I know that together, you and the Evenstar will shake the earth to its very foundations. It will end in terror and tragedy. This I have seen... But through the fog of despair will burn the torch. You will plunge us into the depths of terror and eternity, for on the far side lies salvation..."

Her cryptic tone turned angry as she growled,"Yes, Azrael, that is our future. Through horror and madness to the tranquility beyond. Remember that, but also remember that there is no guarantee that we will see this peace. That path is for you to see us through. Fail, Azrael, and all will suffer terribly, and for eternity..." A small smile crept onto the corners of her mouth, but were gone almost immediately as she turned her back.

With an obivous dismissal, the Crone let her head sink to rest against her chest, and almost immediately a small snore escaped her.

Azrael scoffed and snorted, a little disappointed in the meek words the old woman had spoken. He shook his head and uttered to himself This was the woman that made my father cower? It cannot be... Azrael drew his sword in a flash and placed the very tip under the chin of the crone. Awake. Is that all you have to say? You speak of things so obvious a fool could decipher it! Of course terror and tragedy will strike us, as that is the ways of the universe.

Azrael took a step back and sheathed his sword, a chuckle escaping him. My father cowered and shook upon hearing such things? I know him for a fool, but I did not know how big of a fool he is. Indeed I will rule in his stead when the Gods call his number, but I will not rob him of his rule. It is dangerous to betray such an unholy and dark man, for spiritual energy almost seethes and broods around him.

Azrael stared at the decaying broad for a second, his eyes locked with hers. Doom and prophecy, is that all you have for me? Know this, I am not a tool of destiny, I forge my own path. While I may not be as battle hardened as The Evenstar or as brutal and terrible as Dreadfire, but I am no coward. You say that Azrael and Dayne will shake the Earth to it's core, and I believe that to be true.

Another laugh filled the room, and Azrael took a seat on a nearby stool. His expression then turned serious as he continued to stare deeply into the glazed eyes of the mad crone.

Angels and demons.....doom and prophecy, tell me more.....

Wiping a thumb across her chin and staring at the small drop of blood without expression, the Crone was silent for a long moment. With deliberate steadiness she rose and looked Azrael over. Her lips curled into a smile without humor as she spoke,"You think you are fit to be spoken of in the same breath as the Evenstar, Dreadfire or Bastien? Boy, you are not fit to lick their boots....'

"I serve Pantera, boy, and you are vital to the future of the Reavers... However, should you ever think draw our steel against me again, you had best use it swiftly, for I will watch you die writhing in horrible agony. I have skinned live men who would have cut you to pieces and drank your blood. Never bare your steel to me, boy, or your nightmare will truly begin. That, I vow..."

The lifeless tone of the Crone's voice made her threat all the more ominous as she advanced toward Azrael. Her scowl deepening over shadow-hooded eyes, she spoke again,"Prophecy? You wish for prophecy, Advocate?" She coated the name with disdain, advancing step by step until she thrust a gnarled finger into Azrael's chest,"You demand more? You demand I tell you more? Then so be it. You wish to hear prophecy, boy? I will do you better."

Opening her hand she pressed her palm against Azrael's forehead. Her voice dropped to a whisper, mostly inaudible, but Azrael caught a few fragments of her prayer,"... allowed to part the veil... ...show him the Path... show him.... show him... show him... SHOW HIM!"

Her final cry echoing, she drew her hand back in a snatching motion, as if drawing a cloth from the boy's eyes. Azrael convulsed violently, and truly saw the terror that she had spoken of.

Corpses lined the city streets as he walked, their limbs twisted and their stench overwhelming. Carrion birds swept about and squabbled over the festering flesh of the bodies, but he knew it was only the beginning of the Darkness to come...

Clawing his way from the hole into which he had fallen, the man screamed a wordless cry, but no sound escaped from his dust-choked throat. Buried alive, he was, but this was no dirt, he knew... It was the powdery bones of those who lay slain at his hand...

The countryside burned as the man stood, watching. It was his doing, though he knew not why. The screams echoing around him were only whispers compared to his own wailing cries...

A crown of gold is what the people had given him, but he saw that the gold was only paint. The gilding chipped and flaked away, revealing the still-bloody bone beneath the glitter...

His fingers brushed the boys face, so serene in death. Unmarred below the hairline, he seemed asleep until one saw the gaping, leaking ruin that was the top of his head...

Naked, the man struggled against his bonds and tried to lift himself above the flames that licked at him from below. Like an animal on a spit, he was tied to a pole and he was slowly being roasted alive. He screamed for his people to help him, but they only cheered, chanting his name in loving adoration. HELP ME he cried, but they only offered him praise....

More... More... Terrible visions of horror, decay and death. Faster and faster they came until they were no longer seperate visions, but blending a single, horrificly simple emotion: Terror.

The Crone's voice was a soft rasp compared to the screaming horror of the vision,"And now, you have seen but a taste of the misery that your coming will cause. The Evenstar knows he is cursed, he always has. Now you know as well.'

"And now you know what I see every second of every day, Advocate. Was it worth it? Was the knowing worth the price? "

By now Azrael's heart was pounding inside his chest and was visable to the crone. His mouth lay agape and is pupils were dialated as he twitched and shivered. A single tear crept it's way from his right eye, running down his face and in turn his neck. He looked at the crone with weak eyes and attempted to speak, but nothing audible could be heard. He turned his back on the old woman and walked away a few paces and buried his head in his hands. He began to weap, but instead held it in. He knew that he could not show his weakness in from of such a person, for if an old woman could make him cry, then what would his enemies do?

With water in his eyes and with a trembling voice, Azrael turned around with anger across his face. He clenched his fists and gnashed his teeth, and the tears began flowing more freely. Hate and resentment filled his voice as his temper erupted. Do not mock my title, wench! All I have gotten here in Pantera is scorn and snide remarks, and htat is not why I came! On the beaches I proved my worth, and I need not prove it to anyone ever again! You speak of death and torment as if I should be affected by it. All my father talks about these days is death, vengeance, and cleansing fire, and I'm SICK OF IT!!! Azrael's emotions were in the driver's seat, and he began rambling uncontrollably.

My father is a tortured man, his weakness runs deeper than you know! Since Bastien's death he mopes around his palace, drinking and smoking himself into fits. At night, his cries fill the palace and find their way into my room. In his dreams he cries out to Bastien and sobs uncontrollably, I am not even sure if he is aware he is doing it. The death of the Lord Reaver has driven him mad.....he is a disturbed man.

Have you ever heard the mad cries of a disturbed man? Have you ever heard a man that is nothing but pure rage and burning flame sob and weep like a woman? Azrael took another step towards the crone, his face awash with hate and his eyes a raging river that had broken it's way through the flood dams. He clenched his face and cried out at the top of his lungs, shouting directly in her face. I am not that man! I am not doomed to his fate! I...hate him so much...he never even knew I existed until recently. My childhood was spent being bounced around from barrio to ghetto, all the meanwhile watching my father living large.

At this point Azrael did not even know he was saying the things that he was. He knew he was going to regret it later, but still his mind and heart empited themselves.

One day I will succeed him, you will see. And on that day foul knaves such as yourself will see that my pillar will stand taller and shine brighter than his ever could. In fact, it will overshadow his completely. Stories and songs will speak of me and my endeavors, and my face will be on every street corner. One day, you will see.....

Azrael turned and moved at a fast pace towards the door, for he knew he said too much. He knew that his words were arrogant and foolhardy, and he wanted to leave the room before the old woman capitalized on it.

OOC: Internal conflict = fun!

Taking the seat she had vacated, the Crone looked into the flames as she called to Azrael's retreating form,"Yes, boy, your songs will be sung... Oh yes... But I think you may be expecting a glorious hymn, but what you will get is a million voices joined in the Death Chant.

"Enjoy your torment, Advocate. You will earn it. That much, I know for certain."

OOC: Damn! This is good!

Azrael stormed put of the room and went off to find Dayne. After a short trek and few wrong turns, he happened upon him. Dayne opened his mouth to ask how everything went, but Azrael lifted his hand and silenced him. This enraged The Evenstar, but Azrael spoke his peace regardless.

I am a better man than she thinks I am. I am not some worthless tool of destiny, doomed to work and fail. I set my own path, and I don't need some crusty old wench to tell me otherwise!

Azrael took a seat, anger and emotion still written all over his face. His eyes were blood red from the tears that he cried, and his face was sore from all the frowning and yelling. He ran his right hand over his sweaty forehead and looked away from Dayne.

How much longer must I remain here? I yearn for my homeland.... He realized that Dayne must think him a whiney bitch, so he stood up and straightened himself out. What tasks lie ahead that need completing? Though my mind is shakey, my heart is both steel and stone. After hearing THAT, I am ready for anything....

Dayne frowned as he listened to Azrael. His lip culred as the boy finished, and he rose. Looking down at him, the Evenstar waved a hand dismissively,"We are all but tools of destiny, my friend. Yes, you choose your own path, but who is to say what obstacles lie in wait, eager to trip you up, to make a journey of torment that much more difficult...

"You think you are ready to go? Then go. You are your own man, free to go where you please. By all means, return to Dreadfire."

OOC: What do you think Pantera? Should we move this forward or move on from here?

OOC: Dunno. This week has been vicious on me. False labor, drugs, booze, family feuding, flat tires, cursed popups, a trojan, and a dismal job-hunt have all taken their toll on me. Today is the last of it, I hope, though... I have to run into town until this afternoon, but after that I'll hurry home and see if we can get something popping...

BAH. I'd almost forgotten my AIM died on me. It doesn't agree with my popup sweeper at all and it ruined it for me. I'll try to fix it so we can talk more on AIM tonight...

*CURSES*

OOC: Alright. I've come to the conclusion that my AIM is totally burnt. I uninstalled it completely, reinstalled, and still I get errors all over the place. I tried twice, to no avail, so I'm going to give up. I have MSN, and I'd be willing to get anything else, but AIM is dead to me.

That said, I may have a good idea for an RP. I'm not happy enough with it to start anything, but I'd like to get with ya and see what you think, mebbe modify or change it, but I've having fun with Azrael and would like to continue.

OOC: You should use Yahoo instant messenger. I've used it for years and I've never had a single problem.