NationStates Jolt Archive

Moonlight shone down over the land of Catarl, the nation of one of the many human factions. The Catarl were a nation of horsemen, people who lived, fed, and died on the horse. Their culture was a mobile one, with much of the people traveling with the herds of horses over the vast fields that the horses liked to graze upon. They had an established network of cities spread about as major gathering centers for war and times of crisis, and for supply points. Around those were pockets of towns and villages were the peasants lived and worked for their food, sending portions throughout the kingdom to feed the army and keep the nation going. They had a good system of patrols up, to keep their borders safe and protect their citizens as best as they could. However, they couldn't be everywhere; when reacting to an attack, none were faster than the Riders of Catarl; however, they would need to know of the attack on their people. And in some cases, word could not get out. Such was the case of the poor village of Kithar. A young village, it had been going for two generations on the very border of Catarl and the great mountains that hid the dark lands of Thutha, where the goblins, orcs and trolls dwelt. It was often Catarl who was the first to feel the wrath of the orc hordes and goblin armies that came forth to try and conquer the nations of the civilized peoples with great armies of death and destruction. Catarl, due to its mobility of its forces and spread-out system of cities, it was able to survive. In the periods between the great wars fought against the orcs and other dark races, they come out in warbands, seeking to pillage and raid, with some even carving out minor kingdoms from time to time under crafty leaders, which have to be put down by armies.


And it was today, that Kithar felt the wrath of a goodly-sized orc warband that had descended from the mountains. The leader of this warband was an orc by the name of Gathark; a cruel and mean orc, he was nonetheless somewhat of a crafty leader. He had been part of another warband that had been massacred by a company of Catarl horsemen. They had been hunted day and night by the vengeful humans, for their leader had stupidly decided to rape several towns and burn them. Raiding them and retreating would have gotten them the food and sport they craved, and would have prevented the massive response. However, not all orcs were smart. So, Gathark got a firsthand experience in the tactics of the Catarl, and suprisingly, he began to learn and adapt to them. On the night when the Catarl surrounded the pitiful remains of the warband, Gathark had already known they were going to do that. He had convinced a small band of loyal followers to go with him, and watched from a safe distance as the warband was crushed, showing to them the lesson of folly. He quickly rebuilt the warband, with himself as leader, after leading many successful raids and even ambushing and slaughtering an entire Catarl company, the one that had killed his previous warband. Now, two years later, he was adding another town to his score of victories, as he stood atop an overturned cart, calmly peeling a potatoe with a wicked knife. A building behind him was on fire, and screams sounded through the air, with hooting cries from the orcs as they cut down several villagers and grabbed some of the women for....”sport” later on. Many of the villages militia lay dead around them, unable to fully arm in time, out-numbered, and the orcs being too skilled for those with only minimal skill in fighting.


Gathark smiled and turned his head slightly behind him. He wore a fine suit of armor, for once, although it had been decorated to reveal Gathark's own sense of fashion, obviously orcish in style. He wore a silver helmet that was covered in black soot and paint, a dwarven skull placed on top. It was slanted down the sides of his cheeks to protect them and had a back guard of chain to protect the back of his neck. He wore a slim set of armor, elven in fact, that had been painted red, with designs that showed he worshiped Takarc, the Orc God of Destruction. At his back, was a large black sheath which held his massive greatsword, capable of rending through shield and flesh. He carried no shield, for he did not need such a thing, and could not wield one with his great blade. His eyes glanced over his shoulders as he spoke, his voice deep yet sinister. ”You there, archers. Get up there and pour some arrows into those humans. It would seem we've roused the local garrison. I want them dead; if I come back and they aren't, I will kill one of you. I will keep coming back until they are, understand me?” They nodded and rushed off, eager to do their leader's bidding and keep their skins. Smirking to himself, Gathark walked off, slicing off a section of the potato and popping it into his mouth. ”These peasants can't fight worth spit, but they can sure make good potatoes.” His dark chuckling echoed after his form dropped out of sight behind some buildings. It was time to check on the loot and slaves; the defenders were on their last legs and his orcs could handle them on their own. Those who couldn't, didn't deserve to be in his warband.....

****************************************

“Lothin's Hammer!” He ducked as a barrage of arrows zipped overhead, and he looked back to see the militiaman who had been ducking behind a door was impaled in the lung by one and slumped into the doorway. He cursed and clenched the hilt of his sword. Damn these orcs! He had heard of the other villages who had been attacked in recent years, but he hadn't expected the orcs to get this far north. He knew it was that blaggard, Gathark. Thanks to him, Tarak's company had been slaughtered to a man. Glancing down at his shield, emblazoned with the sword and helmet of Catarl, he prepared himself for a desperate charge. The other militia were helping to evacuate what remained of the villagers, some desperately giving their lives to hold back the warband to prevent any more from being taken. “Garthin!” Garthin turned to see his fellow, Samith, looking at him. He held a bow in his hand, and had a quiver at his side. With the skill of controlled rage, he drew, cocked and loosed in one motion, felling one of the orc archers. More arrows poured into the orcs, as two more archers, the rest of the garrison. Samith waved him over, and Garthin rolled from his spot, and heard arrows thump into the spot he once was, and slam hard into the wall behind Samith.

“What's the status of the villagers? Are they all evacuated?”

Samith shook his head, cursing as an arrow sliced by his ear. “By Lothin's beard! I'm afraid not, Garthin. The militia has gathered the remainder and sent them out of the village, but a large part of the warband is hot on their heels. The militia are fighting desperately to hold them off. If we don't get down there, they'll get all the villagers.” Garthin cursed, and then glanced out at the orcs, seeing the groups of warriors waiting to charge the four soldiers. He swore.

“They have us pinned down, and are about to charge us with more of the bastards! We're trapped, Samith! We can't get to the militia, but they can't hold on their on. How in Lothin's name are we going to save them?!”

Samith looked at him, the same anger and fear in his eyes. “I don't think we can. All we can do is take as many of the bastards with us as we can.”

Garthin smiled grimly. “Very well. You ready for this?”

“Of course. Whenever you are.”

He smiled. “I guess we'll be seeing Lothin sooner than we-”

He was cut off when he felt a soft gush of breeze on his cheek and he turned to see the orcs up ahead retreating, scattered as many of their number were impaled with arrows. Pale green arrows, with fletching done in just the manner of....

”Do not worry about your villagers or the militia. Those orcs are dead or wishing they were as they ran screaming from us.”

Garthin turned and looked directly into the calm, dark green eyes of an Atanarr elven ranger. The dark green cloak, the yew greatbow in his hands, the sheathed blade at his side. He was everything he had heard in the stories and tales, of the legendary bows of Atanarr. The Elven Rangers, the Blades of Cirreat, or in this case, the Bows. The elf spoke again. ”Now, go to your people and seem them safely from here. We will engage the orcs.”

Samith shook his head. “There are too many, even for you, Master Elf.”

The elf smiled. ”Did I say I was alone?” They turned and eyes widened as thirty or so elven rangers crept from various hiding spots, empty seconds before, to come to their position. ”Namail.” The elf turned to look at another.

”Yes, what is it, Ar'thaen?”

“The orcs hounding the villagers are all dead now. Any survivors were in the orc's 'camp' before we could get to them.”

“What of their leader, this...Gatharc?”

“He is angry, Namail. And he is gathering them all to purge the village of us. We seem to have scared him a bit.”

“A cautious orc? A rare find, indeed. A pity for the orcs we shall soon kill him.”

The elf turned to the other rangers. ”Gartir, Ythar. Take your elves and put them on each side of the fork back their. I will remain here and briefly engage the orcs. Do some damage, anger them, and then pretend to retreat. They will be out for blood, and looking for revenge, even their leader will be too focused on us for you to be seen. Then, when we pass by you. I want you to ambush them. We will turn and fall upon them with blades. Between your bows, and our swords, we shall break this fool's warband, and show him the folly of raiding those who cannot defend themselves.”

They nodded and dispersed. The human soldiers looked in awe at Namail, who winked at them. ”You go and help your villagers. You'll only be in the way if you stay.” One of the archers grumbled about “arrogant elves”, but Samith looked at him, and then placed a hand on Garthin's shoulder.

“Let's go, Garthin. We both know if anyone can stop the orcs here, it's the Atanarr.” He nodded, and glancing one last time at the elf, he left with the other three. Namail turned and gripped his bow. He was going to enjoy this....

A lone figure rode through the twilight as the last of the sun slipped below the horizon. The night seemed to merge with the armor the figure wore as the horse passed through the darkness. Crimson eyes peered out of the cavernous hood into the darkness ahead of the riding figure.

Several savages were seen ahead gathering as if they were about to raid. The noise of the horse’s hooves drew the attention of the outlying scouts. One of the scouts came running up to the chieftain.

“Tliri ez am emtrujir rejemg up tli roaj.” <There is an intruder riding up the road!”>

The Orcish leader squinted through the darkness trying to see the distant rider. “Bremg len to ni. Tli fooh wehh bi our jemmir tomeglt. <Bring him to me. The fool will be our dinner tonight.>

A hunting party was rapidly thrown together and they began to stalk their prey, their eyes gleaming I the twilight. As the lone horseman approached their ambush they leapt out at their quarry.

“Halt. Yu surrender or yu die!”

The rider pulled up and stopped his horse. The darkly robes rider sat still in his saddle. The wind gently stirred his thick black riding cloak. A clear voice flowed from the figure as he addressed the group of hunters that surrounded him.

“I think you had better reconsider. I don’t think my comrade would like to be delayed by you tonight. I also thing you would not like his bite either.”

The nervous orcs looked around trying to find the suggested companion that might bite them. They were confused when there was no sign of any animal nor any two-legged companion. Only the lone rider and his horse were there.

“Yu pay for trick. Yu horse will feed whole tribe tonight and yu will be meal of Boss.”

The figure reached up two pale hands and pulled the cavernous hood back, exposing the rider’s face for the first time. It is the color of a bleached skull. His flesh and his hair colored milk-white. The long pale hair was carried in the light breeze and whipped it into the air to settle about his head like that of a lion’s mane. From within the face two crimson eyes stared at the Orcish spokesman, the slanted eyes seemingly staring right through the trembling orc. The Orc backed away with a look of terror upon his face before turning and running away. The other orcs in the hunting party quickly followed their fleeing leader, attempting to get to the safety of numbers. As the orc captain ran into the Orc camp, he was yelling to his comrades in Orcish.

“Et'z a jinom! Et'z a jinom! Rum for your heviz! Rum amj leji bifori li kehhz uz ahh! Rum...” < It's a demon! It's a demon! Run for your lives! Run and hide before he kills us all! Run...">

Upon hearing the babble from his would-be huntsman, the Orcish Chieftain snarled an order to his men. “Lohj your groumj, et ez omhy a zemghi omi. Ef you qammot ztamj up to a zemghi feimj tlim you ari mot wortly to bi em ny qham. Git out tliri amj qapturi len. Iatemg a ztromg foi wehh ahhow you to jivour lez ztrimgtlz amj gaem lez powirz. Qatql len amj you wehh biqoni ztromgir.”

< Hold your ground, it is only a single one. If you cannot stand up to a single fiend then you are not worthy to be in my clan. Get out there and capture him. Eating a strong foe will allow you to devour his strengths and gain his powers. Catch him and you will become stronger.>

With a roar, the orcs grabbed their weapons and began to move toward the approaching stranger still atop his horse.





OOC:

I was given permission to RP the literary character in this RP.

In the darkness, another rode through the night. Where did he come from? It seemed quite uncertain, for indeed he was a stranger to these lands, it was almost a sure bet that none had ever seen something like this man riding through the darkness, only heard about them, and only, as a legend, the sort you read when you want a terrible fright.

No light reflected off this man, in any way, it was completly absorbed. the thing he was riding looked like a Horse, for it was shaped as such, yet each footprint, seared into the ground as though great everlasting heat had been applied to it, showed evidence of claws, and only the Demon Horses that ran through Hell had claws. Surely this wasn't one of them? Frightful carnivors, they devored the damned and the innocent alike, Their fangs dripping with the blood and entrails of their last victim. This one was had fangs indeed, but his rider took care to regularly clean the beast. It was obviously a herd leader, for it had wings, and so must have been a Demon Horse, the last bit of evidence being its Eyes, glowing red, in day, or night. Occasionally tendrils of smoke curled out it's nose.

However, that was all that could be seen of this man, for as the Myths said, The Legions of The Knights of Doom absorbed the light, and without light, how could one make out the details of a single legionaire?

From where did this fiendish monster come from? If one followed the Creature's trail, the tracks quite suddenly appeared in the dark lands of Thutha, in a place it seemed, a great and powerful fire had raged in a small place where no fire could rage, and even then, raged only for a moment.
His direction appeared to be Catarl. The Legionairs were The Paladins of The Darkness, and this one was selected in particular, to go smile favorably on only one side, or another, to lend the considerable might of event a single Legionaire to the events that were to come.

However, to what side would he give his allegience, to what side would The Darkness help? The Catarlians? The Orcs? Would one force of Destruction be pitted against another? Or would one Powerful Force of Destruction aid and help another? Not even the fates knew for certain.
It all depended so it seemed, on who greeted this man first, and how they treated him.

OOC: You can decide exactly where I am, Telros.

The glorious Empire of Ecclesia is a diverse place, and its armies reflect that great variety. In the rich lands of the south, fight with great experience and fine weapons are put to great use; in the cold north, soldiers rely on rude spears, bows and their faith in the mighty Ulric, god of battle. Such is the size of this great nation of ours that it would take The provinces are the Numerous states; each is ruled by an Imperial Governer or Duke with his own standing army. Though the provinces are theoretically subject to Imperial authority with most listening, in practice they some are virtually independent nations. Any decree issued by the Emperor can simply be ignored by the Governer, and only the threat of arms can bring them in line. It is for this reason that The Empire has suffered under so many centuries of civil war. While there neigbors to the south are now as nomadic culture. The Ecclesian are more stationary preferring to built large, grand cities. The Ecclesians view the catari as the best and experienced horsemen they have ever seen.


Imperial Prince Spencer often himself wandering about past like where he came from. He was sold as a slave to a Knight in altdorf. Even thorough he is the Imperial prince. His Caravan was attack by slave traders to the north. little did they know the imperial prince was riding along. His mother escaped battle with several imperial guardsman. But never made it back to the cavaran to get Spencer. He was discovered by one the slavetraders who brought him to Altdorf. Altdorf or The Imperial Ciyt is the Imperial capital, the seat of the Emperor; home to the Great Cathedral of Church of Ecclesia, the Colleges of Magic and the School of Engineers. The city is a centre for trade and learning; its docks teem with merchants, its taverns with students. to the majestically solid, dwarf-built walls, Altdorf is a city of great beauty and variety.



The Imperial palace is a vast building, easily the largest in the city. The Emperor’s court is always filled with nobility from across the Empire, and is a hotbed of political intrigue, social manoeuvring, and hedonistic frivolity. Foremost on the political side is the Council of State, a group formed from the noble families of the most ancient lineage. Though the Council has no constitutional authority, it advises the Emperor on all matters of state. This where Spencer had ended up at. He was preparing to be leave for the Border State of Kislev. He was brought by a Knight of belonging to the Imperial Knights Corp.


Spencer walked into the stable with the little belongs to him he grabbed his horse. he was riding with which looked sickly he approached his master and said

"Lord Sigismund Mannifred im ready to go" said Spencer

"Good we have a long journey ahead of us a two ride" said Lord Sigismund

Lord Sigismund moved out he rode with 50 other knights under his command the ride would perriolous. Especially threw the Blackfire pass which is the only sensible way of reaching Kislev. Which is ninety percent mountainous

"So where are you from" said Lord Sigismund to Spencer

"I don't know anything about my past except that i was a slave all my life" said Spencer

"Well that's horrible i don't approve of slavery i wish i could have brought all the remaining kids with me" said Lord Sigismund

"Well yes slavery is horrible", "so how long have you been a knight". said Spencer


"Thirteen years" said Lord Sigismund

"yes thats a long time" said Spencer

Lord Sigismund his battle hardened Veteran he has seen one war and numerous border skimishes that he has losted count of. His was poor noble famalies make him a poor knight. He is famous in Kislev for a great battle prowess and strength and courage. The Colum rode into the knight preparing to stop at Walfed to rest.

Andermani-Catarl Border:

"Graff, that sounds like combat."

"Herr Captain, I had in fact mistaken it for a slaughter for my own part."

The three knights and 15 men at arms were travelling down a road, as best such might be called, even this short distance from the Imperial border. The extensive network of roads and canals in the Anderman Empire was more than equal to any other, but among the Catarl, it looked even better by comparison.

"We should at the least investigate. Ignoring the plight of ones neighbors is often to your detriment."

"Very well. Leftenant Vogel, we will proceed at a gallop towards the township. Whatever condition we find it in, we will attempt to render assistance. Unlimber bows and prepare for battle."

A flurry of motion among the men at arms as they drew forth their compound horsebows and shook themselves into some semblance of a formation. Not a minute later, the company galloped towards the sounds of conflict, drifting faintly across the breeze towards them. They wouldn't meet the run into the main force, but the Orcs harrying the fleeing townsfolk would be hit hard in the side by the onrushing mass of horses and men.

Southern mountains

Crown Prince Samael of Forthshore stopped to mop his brow as the evening came on. He gestured to the flat area of land the scouts had found.
"We camp there," he said, "Hopefully we can find the monsters tomorrow."

As the knights moved away to see to the disposition of the army, Samael thought back over the last week. Orcs and goblins had raided suddenly into Forthshore, burning and killing. They had been thrown back by an army commanded by Samael's father, King Neil. After the battle the royal pair had stood amongst the devastation watching the last few orcs running into the mountains.
"They'll need to be stopped," the king said, leaning on his sword hilts, "You'll have to follow them, boy. Find out where they come from and finish it."
Samael knelt.
"Yes, father. I won't fail you."
Since then the prince had taken a force of twenty knights and two schiltrons of 150 spearmen each. As he moved into the hills he had gathered a force of about 50 archers and scouts from the mountain villages.

Now he looked down over strange lands, wondering what kind of people lived here and if he could find the source of the goblinoid raids.

OOC: I'm not sure how to proceed with this as I don't want to tread on anyone's toes by barging in. do we have a GM?

At the strangers sudden appearance, Gathark could only feel a strong sense of annoyance. He was already busy with purging the elves who had suddenly appeared in HIS village. He was more worried about them than this strange visitor, no matter how demonic he looked. Gathark knew well the prowess of the elves, and he did not yet know the hidden power of this individual. As such, he detailed a part of the warband to take care of him. The dark elf on his horse, would see a group of orcs, about ten to twenty of them, gathering in a circle about him. Some had bows, which were being knocked and aimed at him, while other wielded spears as they prepared to charge the horse. A few held swords, to deal the finishing blows to the foolish visitor, so he could be their meat. After several moments, they gathered up enough courage to charge, and they attacked. Arrows zipped towards him, spears came at his horse, and swords waited to administer the coup de grace.

As the orcs attacked the lone rider, the Knight of Doom was heading for the same spot, coming from the only direction the orcs did not command, the rear. They were still some stragglers heading for the refugees, loosing arrows and making runs at the innocent villagers. However, just as he arrived, the Andermani horsemen crashed into their flank and chaos ensued as orc roars filled the air, and the sounds of combat began. Steel rang on steel and bows twanged as the disorganized orcs rapidly began to reorganize and struggle to fight off the attack. If the Knight of Doom entered, he would be able to end the battle quickly.

As all this happened, however, the Elves of Atanarr were not blind to what was going on. They could hear the faint ring of combat, due to their enhanced hearing, as well as the roars behind them. They could also sense something....not entirely normal coming from up ahead, a strange power. Ar'thaen came up behind him. ”What shall we do?” Namail narrowed his eyes.

”Take half of the archers and go through the alley and flank the rear of the orcs. I will slam into them head on, take advantage of the confusion to attack and rout them. They appear to be close to it, as they appeared to be under attack. Now, hurry go, and let us end this battle quickly. There are too many distractions entering into this; we need to hurry if we are to kill the orc leader and his warband.!” Ar'thaen nodded and moved back. After a single hand signal, half of the rangers turned and left down the alleyway he had shown, and vanished. Namail then put away his sword and reached for his bow. Nodding to the elves behind him, they crept up towards the orc rear. Namail eased up to a corner, and he glanced around and saw a bunch of orcs huddling behind carts, doors, anything they could find. They were archers, and pouring arrows down to the battle that was going on. The elf was shocked to see a Dark Elf, of all things, fighting the orcs. Angry mutters came from behind him, as the elves vented their anger at this. They had no love for the Dark Elves, for the Kinslayer War that had occurred long ago, when the elves were young, was not forgotten. They had banished their cousins to the dark earth, and they knew they held no love for Atanarr. An elf came up behind him and quietly whispered into his ear. Apparently, a company of knights had slammed into the orcs which had regrouped to attack the refugees, and there was a being who joined them. They couldn't see him well, due to the fact he drew in light, but they could sense his magical power. Namail's eyes narrowed as he nodded. He gestured and his rangers took up positions, and readied their bows. Glancing over, he saw Ar'thaen crouching behind a wall, and noticed Namail's gaze. Nodding to him, Namail made a series of gestures to intimate the changes in plans. Ar'thaen's brow furrowed as he considered it, and then nodded in understanding. He drew his bow, along with his command, and they waited for Namail's signal. He waited as the archers let off a volley and quickly reloaded before loosing another. At the moment they loosed their arrows, he cried “Loose!”. Thirty elves unleashed their arrows into the bodies of the orcs, and a loud series of thudding intermingled with the cries of pain and dying from the orcs sounded. As the orcs crumpled and dropped their bows, Namail drew his blade, and rushed forward, his elves following suit. Ar'thaen and his elves provided support, loosing arrows to hold back any orc counterattack, and picking off stray orcs.

The battle was dangerously close to becoming a rout, and Gathark realized this. He had knights hammering his harassing group, and was under assault by a Dark Elf, and now the elves were hammering his rear, if the great cries of the orcs and the yells of the elves meant anything. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed a horn from his belt and sounded it. Gathark, always the cautious one, had even managed to keep some orcs back as reserves. Now, as the Dark Elf and Namail fought to crush the orcs, a company of thirty new orcs joined the fight, coming from a path that led up to the mountains. In their hands were crossbows, plundered from the stocks of the human kingdom of Telemnar. A nation that focused heavily on well-armored pikemen, defensive towers, and large armies of crossbowmen, capable of holding off enemy cavalry, and fighting equally with infantry.

Namail blocked a downward slash with his sword, then pushed it aside and swung the blade back to slice across the orcs gut. It howled in pain, just as the horn sounded. He reared up, looking about in alarm. “Namail! They bring reinforcements, orcs with crossbows from the mountains!” He gritted his teeth.

“Fall back to the town and find cover. I will not waste lives trying to fight them in the open like this. Also, send a messenger down to the company of knights, and find out what they are doing here.” Turning to the Dark Elf, he yelled. “You, if you want to leave, I suggest coming to the town with us!” He turned and ran towards the town, as Gathark retreated with what remained of his warband around him, beating a fighting retreat from the elves towards the incoming crossbow-wielding orcs. Meanwhile, down at the rear, the crash of the knights, in tandem with the horn call, caused the orcs to scatter. Many were run down and killed, but many ran off in any direction, with some heading for the mountains. One of Namail's rangers, dressed in dark green and light brown, appeared from the city and looked up at the knights.

“Greetings, I am Sar'kaim, a ranger in the service of my lord, Namail. He bids me to tell you that the orcs are retreating, and have brought reinforcements, orcs with crossbows. He suggest we let them retreat, as it will take forever for their leader to regain order, and it is important we salvage the village. If you wish to talk with him, he is in the village center. Unless you wish for me to bring a message to him, I will take my leave of you now.”



OOC: Yes, that would be me.

"I am Gustav von Stueben, Graf von Stueben, of his Imperial Majesties Royal Knights. Tell your master that I will meet with him directly, but first we will harass the crossbowmen and ensure that the Orcs do not become emboldened and decide to attack while we are meeting."

The men at arms had taken a few minor cuts and scrapes, but the suddenness and ferocity of their attack had left the orcs with little hope of recovery. Lance, horsebow, backsword and broadsword had crushed enemies of the Empire many times before, and now their tried and true power was shown again as they hacked orcs into pieces. The 15 men at arms peeled away from the trio of knights, and re-drew their bows, nocking arrow to string and letting fly as soon as they were in extreme range of the fleeing orc tribes. The three knights didn't engage at all. Bolts for their crossbows were EXPENSIVE, and tended to be wasted after a single use, especially if they were explosives, they couldn't justify wasting them on simple orcs.

"Now, if you'll lead me to your master, we'll see if we can't find and root out these murderous pigs." The massive ebon warhorse beneath him shifted uneasily, and the animals azure eyes regarded the elf with a quiet intelligence.

As the orcs closed in on him, the white faced rider spurred his horse to ram the orcs closest to him. As green flesh was trampled, the rider slid down and gained his footing, keeping his mount between him and the main group of attackers.

“You really should have not done that. Now I will have to feed my friend. You asked for it.”

The albino drew his runesword and wielded it like it was made of smoke. The huge black sword easily dodged to block the few arrows able to strike at him due to the cover provided by the stomping and trampling horse. With a high pitched voice, the stranger began to call out battle cries in a language unknown to these lands and his blade shot out, easily cleaving an orc in half. A second backhand swing sliced through three spears that were attempting to pierce him from behind the mount. He quickly turned and swung his sword shoulder high and the head of an archer rolled into the road while blood spurt skyward, a surprised look still upon its face. The sword was beginning to come alive and a low moaning sound could be heard as he took the life of a third Orc. Flickering black flames enshrouded the blade and a black radiance grew. As the stranger slew orcs or blocked weapon strikes, the howling of the sword (http://www.aliensurgeon.com/SBringer%20Anger-77-zakas.mp3) grew as its hunger for the souls of the orcs sated its hunger. As orcs died and fed the thing in the albino’s hands, their strength flowed through his arms and banished his exhaustion.

A shouting in his ear awakened him from the bloodlust he shared with his sword and he noticed many of the Orcs he fought had arrows sprouting from them. “You, if you want to leave, I suggest coming to the town with us!”

Leaping upon his wounded horse, he rode along behind the retreating elf, holding the dark-flaming runesword above as he left a pile of severed orcs ringing the battlefield.

“Greetings, I am Sar'kaim, a ranger in the service of my lord, Namail. He bids me to tell you that the orcs are retreating, and have brought reinforcements, orcs with crossbows. He suggest we let them retreat, as it will take forever for their leader to regain order, and it is important we salvage the village. If you wish to talk with him, he is in the village center. Unless you wish for me to bring a message to him, I will take my leave of you now.”

“I would very much like to meet with your Lord. Tell him a traveler from a distant land would like to speak to him. If I were to tell you where, you would probably not believe me.”

Sheathing his complaining runesword, he checked his mount to see how injured it would be. With time, the wounds would heal but she would not run for some time without difficulty.

Sar'kaim nodded in respect to Gustav and watched as his archers went out and unloaded arrows on the orc crossbows. The orcs quickly came under fire and, seeing that their kinsmen had duly retreated enough, quickly fell back, firing a last volley of bolts to the soldiers. Sar'kaim smiled grimly and then turned towards the town. "Milord, if you will follow me, I will lead to you Namail." He then began to walk towards the town, his cloak flapping in the harsh wind that began to blow from the North.

Namail walked into the center of town, which was now smoking as the elves had already put out many of the fires. He sensed the rider coming from behind him, the albino elf and felt something....wrong with his aura. He also sensed Sar'akim returning, with the humans in tow. Nodding to Sar'kaim, the elf came running over and bowed. "I bring Lord Gustav von Stueben, and Graf von Stueben. They wished to speak with you. And as does that elf who has come behind your retreat. He said he wished to speak with you and was a traveller from a distant land."

Namail nodded and motioned for him to rejoin the company. Turning so he could look at both the rider and the Stueben's, he spoke. "Greetings, strangers, to the world of Teniciel. You are in the land of Catarl, the land of the horsemen. I thank you for your aid in dispensing with the orcs who raided this village. Now, what is it that you wish to speak with me about?"

“No, it is I who must thank you for the aid. They had me surrounded and I might not have made it without your archer’s assistance or calling upon aid I would rather not.”

The albino removed his hood, letting long silver mane loose in the gentle breeze. His hand was resting upon the pommel of the huge runesword at his side. It had fallen silent after the battle so not it wasn’t even murmuring. The black iron blade was uneasy to look at, the raised runes giving a feeling of danger and some other dark emotion.

“I am Elric, son of Sadric, and I am the four-hundred-and-twenty-eighth and last emperor of the folk of R'lin K'ren A'a, who landed upon the Dragon Isle ten thousand years ago. I fell through a worldgate into your world and now I seek one back to mine. Would you know of any?”

Sar'kaim nodded in respect to Gustav and watched as his archers went out and unloaded arrows on the orc crossbows. The orcs quickly came under fire and, seeing that their kinsmen had duly retreated enough, quickly fell back, firing a last volley of bolts to the soldiers. Sar'kaim smiled grimly and then turned towards the town. "Milord, if you will follow me, I will lead to you Namail." He then began to walk towards the town, his cloak flapping in the harsh wind that began to blow from the North.

Namail walked into the center of town, which was now smoking as the elves had already put out many of the fires. He sensed the rider coming from behind him, the albino elf and felt something....wrong with his aura. He also sensed Sar'akim returning, with the humans in tow. Nodding to Sar'kaim, the elf came running over and bowed. "I bring Lord Gustav von Stueben, and Graf von Stueben. They wished to speak with you. And as does that elf who has come behind your retreat. He said he wished to speak with you and was a traveller from a distant land."

Namail nodded and motioned for him to rejoin the company. Turning so he could look at both the rider and the Stueben's, he spoke. "Greetings, strangers, to the world of Teniciel. You are in the land of Catarl, the land of the horsemen. I thank you for your aid in dispensing with the orcs who raided this village. Now, what is it that you wish to speak with me about?"

"We are aware of our location lord Elf. While we have not yet had a great amount of contact, the Catarl are known to us, while your people are truthfully almost myth among us. I represent Emperor Gustav Adolph of the Andermani, second of his name. I was on a mission to act as embassy between my masters and the Catarl nobility. My guards and assistants are here with me, but we detoured on hearing the sounds of combat on the winds." The horsemen shuffled behind him, tending to their wounds and their horses while he spoke with the mysterious saviors of the town. "I am a Knight Captain of his Majesties Imperial Knights, and empowered to make whatever arrangements I see fit on his behalf, barring the levying of open war, and the formation of any alliance other than one between ourselves and the Catarl."