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Battle Related Forums => Board Battle Archives => Board Battles => The Scrap Heap => Topic started by: Cameron on September 06, 2010, 10:45:05 AM
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Continued from this thread: http://nerdramblingz.com/starforums/index.php?topic=146.0 (http://nerdramblingz.com/starforums/index.php?topic=146.0)
Proceed.
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@Fenwick:
Dennan continues his descent, and when he is close enough that you can feel the gust of wind created by his massive wings, you jump to the right, curling into a roll as you go.
As you gaze upward at the immense creature, you quickly come to the realization that Dennan is transforming again. His talons expand until they are long, gray legs, nearly the size of trees. His body becomes large and leathery, tiny crevices of skin appearing weathered and worn. His feathery tail becomes long and thin, like a whip with a tiny black shock of hair at the end. Huge ears sprout from his head and a long, tube-like nose juts out of his face. Two long, white tusks explode from near his mouth.
You’ve never seen a creature like this before, as it is obviously not native to anywhere you’ve been. You have a split second to wonder where this thing might come from before the beast slams into your body.
Luckily, you had the forethought to attempt to move out of the way. However, this beast is a bit larger than the eagle and its girth still manages to pin you to the ground. You can tell that Dennan is not attempting to hurt you too badly, as he could have easily landed upon your chest, crushing your ribs terribly.
Instead, you realize that he has landed upon your left arm, and though the bones have been obliterated, and a small bit of elbow juts out from the skin, this is likely something that Hestia could fix rapidly. Pain shoots up your arm and wounded shoulder, and as you move, there is an unpleasant grinding sound of bone churning against bone.
Dennan transforms back into his human form, his green eyes glinting in the sun. He reaches out his right hand to you and helps you to your feet. He gently takes your left arm in his hands and mutters some words under his breath. The gut-wrenching pain numbs considerably, and the only lasting effect you feel is a dull, aching throb. The bones will still need to be set and mended, but it seems he has applied a bit of a band-aid upon you for now so that you can effectively continue your fight. Though he might have the power to greatly injure you, Dennnan is, at the very least, a gracious opponent.
“Take a moment if you need to. I will be here when you are ready,” speaks Dennan in his low, rumbling voice. He crosses to the other side of the sparring area and allows you to collect yourself before beginning again.
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The beast before him would have been beautiful if not for the fact that it had just CRUSHED his left arm. He had not expected this, although he had no doubt that he could've been crushed on the chest just as easily as breathing was to Dennan.
Dennan steps off before transforming back, or transform back before stepping off. Fenwick wasn't sure because as soon as the pressure was off of him he gasped out in pain. The clicking and moaning of his bones were like voices to the dead: unnatural.
But he could not drop his guard. Dennan was now approaching him, his green eyes reflecting off the sunlight, reflecting too the fear Fenwick felt. He was a child! Nothing compared to him! He thrusts his right arm out and Fenwick responds by reflexively looking away, preparing himself for the oncoming blow...
...that never comes! Cautiously, he looks back and sees that he is only being offered to his feet. Choosing between the devil and the deep blue sea, he accepts the offer with his right arm, again feeling the pain from his right hand.
As soon as Fenwick is on his feet, his left arm is somewhat healed and feels considerably better. The bone that was jutting out had receeded somewhat. Hestia would still have some work to do, but desperate times meant desperate situations!
Dennan politely allows him the next move. Hurrah.
But what could he do! Desperately, he tries a spell. He knows that it probably wouldn't work once Dennan transforms yet again, if he simply doesn't shrug it off first.
This time, with a few gestures of his left hand, his fingers twitching, he continually mumbles a string of words that would make up the spell. (Wisdom--Spiritual magic: NERVOUS WRECK)
If this works, Dennan will be unable to feel anything from his right shoulder down to his fingers, unless his force of will is so great that he can counter the effect or if his transformation allows for the spell to be broken.
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@Fenwick:
Fenwick likely could have guessed that someone who is so adept at using fear effects would be immune to them. While such a spell might have worked on another Ageless, Dennan does not even seem to take notice. His arms are still crossed over his chest as he gazes down at you with flashing green eyes. Attacking his nervous system was ineffective, but surely there must be something you can do to effect him. Dennan's face is devoid of expression, and he still seems to be patiently waiting for you to attack.
Fenwick’s Intelligence allows him to surmise that Dennan’s mental fortitude is likely the result of a Wisdom skill, something that grants him exceptional WILLPOWER against unnatural effects. Perhaps this is something that Fenwick could learn from the shapeshifter or replicate in some other way.
As Dennan continues to lean upon the fence post, Fenwick is prompted to dig into his arsenal of spells again.
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Sembas was waiting for something, anything from Blood. He rightfully deserved a reprimand for losing his resolve, and she didn't seem like one to pull any punches. When she merely turns away and tends to Jonas he watches with a puzzled expression. Faile puffs out her feathers and shakes off her nervousness. She chatters in his ear for a moment before giving him a soft, sympathetic headbutt.
A group of Ageless leave with Faran, taking him to get patched up no doubt... In more ways than one...
The sudden change of scenery visibly brightens Sembas's mood. He breathes deeply and notices a hint of honeysuckle in the air.
"Finally, no more blasted sand." He says, mostly to himself.
As Fenwick and Dennan prepare for their match Sembas paces over to Archer, a weak smile struggles to maintain itself on his face.
"Gladia I..." He bites the corner of his lower lip. "I hope you don't think less of me for losing my nerve. This whole experience is quite overwhelming sometimes."
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@Kitharsis:
Archer attentively watches the match as it unfolds before her, but when you approach her with your apologetic words, she offers you a sympathetic smile.
“Do not apologize, Sembas. It can be quite overwhelming, but the longer you’re around, the easier it is to process. What you saw Jonas do…” Archer shakes her head, as if attempting to dispel the horrors of what she had seen. “It is terrible, but when the Forsaken are involved, it is all too common, and Jonas…” she sighs heavily, a look of sadness present upon her face. “He knows it best of all.”
“For some time, Jonas lived amongst the ranks of the Forsaken. In fact, he was one of Severan’s greatest assets. He abhorred humanity for the injustices that cruel people had wrought upon him and those he loved, and he needed someone to blame.”
“It is not my place to share his story, but if you truly wish to know the mindset of the Forsaken, Jonas would be the one to ask. It is only by his own strength and force of will, and the grace of the Divine, that he found his way back to us, but so many have been lost along the way and wandered into Severan’s clutches.”
“I am sorry if Blood’s words were a bit harsh, but she was right. You will see far worse in the world, and it will do us no good to dull the gruesome truth that your eyes will soon witness. I know Blood might come off as a bit harsh, but believe me… she means well. I cannot tell you how many times that woman has saved my hide, and her presence brings strength to us all.”
Archer takes your hands in hers, and she looks up at you with shining hazel eyes. “Let me give you some advice… When your mind is burdened, and your eyes burn from the offenses that have befallen them, hold in your heart something worthwhile… something that reminds you of better times and places. It may seem to be frivolous advice, but I assure you, that it will steel your resolve and quiet your soul in ways you had not thought possible. For every ounce of evil in the world, there are spades more of good. We must keep these things at hand and at heart, lest we lose our way.”
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"So Jonas was once part of the Forsaken. It seems he is full of surprises."
He picks at an invisible speck on his sleeve as Archer mentions Blood's tounge lashing. The falconer wanted to say that her words were exactly what he needed, a figurative slap in the face to wash away his despair. Yet he already felt foolish enough as it was and only gave a nod in response.
"...For every ounce of evil in the world, there are spades more of good. We must keep these things at hand and at heart, lest we lose our way.”
"I sure hope so, for all our sakes. I'll have to think of something worthwhile to cling to when my heart sinks." He says the last bit while gently squeezing Archer's hands.
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Fenwick is grimly aware that what he did was out of desperation and he is not surprised to see Dennan simply standing there. His spells were useless, plain and simple. They were made to bewilder and surprise. How in the world was he supposed to know that he wouldn't be able to die and would turn out to be immortal and be duelling with an immortal of said race of immortals and.......
Wow, that really hurt his brain.
Perhaps that's what was needed after all. Immunity or strong resistance usually tends to complacency. If you can make the person fear in other ways...
Fenwick staggered around, looking as though he was hurt. He flailed his arms here and there at times, and made the impression that he was dazed. Yet with each step he drew closer to Dennan, although the said path was criss-crossy and all zig-zaggy.
Under his breath, he resolutely commanded the magic to flow within him. Even as he draws closer to what was perhaps more pain, his eyes started to feel sharper, his nose managed to pick up the slightly more subtle scents of the fields. (Wisdom--Spiritual Magic: HEIGHTENED INSTINCTS)
He knew Dennan would attack at any time, and he hoped that his stronger senses would allow him to dodge the earlier mentioned world of pain in time...
...or at least dull the impact somewhat, he grimly thinks before allowing instincts to overtake him and stagger on!
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@Fenwick:
Dennan cocks his head to one side, almost as a canine might when interested in what is before him. He narrows his eyes, studying the mage as he stumbles closer to him. Dennan’s mind races as he quickly makes connections.
Dennan just healed the man, so he comes to the logical leap that Fenwick really shouldn’t be experiencing much pain, certainly not enough that it would cause him to lose control of his body. After all, he had stood there awaiting him for a few minutes and his opponent had shown no outward signs of fatigue.
As for the stumbling around… Dennan was pretty sure Fenwick was just cracked. Dennan quickly comes to the conclusion that it must be a feint and warily watches his opponent. He sniffs the air to confirm his suspicions.
Dennan, being a man of few words, speaks slowly and deliberately. "Pain has a smell, Fenwick Hux. When a creature is injured, it begins to sweat, to become nervous, to show it's fear. While I sense anxiety in you..." Dennan sniffs the air again. "You are nursing no physical wounds, and even your stumbling leaves a pattern upon the ground. An enemy who is truly off balance will have steps that are much more uneven, yet you place equal weight upon both of your feet." Dennan gestures to the footprints that have been left in Fenwick's wake. "An Ageless must always be observant of their surroundings, and the actions of their enemies."
@Sembas:
Archer smiles shyly, her hands still entwined with those of Sembas. She hears Dennan's words and nods approvingly. "Sometimes I think that boy is more animal than man," remarks Archer quietly. "I am a skilled tracker, but even I lack some of the natural senses he has. He hears like an animal... he can track a bear by the sweet smell of honey borne upon a breeze... he walks amongst them, and they show him no fear... even the mightiest of beasts look upon Dennan as one of their brethren."
@Fenwick:
Back upon the battlefield, Fenwick’s Heightened Instincts allow him to see that Dennan seems to be perfectly comfortable in taking the defensive, and seems to be biding his time. His body language is neither tense, nor relaxed and, as usual, his face his devoid of expression. If Fenwick wants to rise as the victor of this match, he will have to take advantage of a well-placed offense.
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Rrrgh, all this nonsense of smelling and fear was starting to touch a nerve.
Dropping the feint, having closed the distance somewhat with Dennan not moving, Fenwick dashes across what remaining distance remains and stops right in front of the big man.
Facing him, his left foot pivoted to the ground, Fenwick spins around with his left such that his back was now towards Dennan. With the momentum and all his weight, he juts his right elbow out, aimed for Dennan's chest.
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@Fenwick:
Dennan’s reflexes are preternaturally quick, and as Fenwick moves to slam his elbow into the mountainous man’s chest, Dennan reaches towards the mage with one deft movement. Dennan seizes Fenwick by the joint of the elbow and squeezes it between his large fingers, causing pain to shoot up Fenwick’s entire arm.
Dennan’s next few movements are practically a blur as he presses his enormous bicep against one side of the mage’s neck, then presses his forearm against the opposite side. He places his left hand against his right forearm, then proceeds to bend Fenwick’s head towards the elbow.
Fenwick’s breathing instantly begins to strain and he becomes groggy, his knees buckling under his own weight. Dennan has managed to put him into a sleeper hold, and if the mage does not act soon, he will be taking an unexpected nap.
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Somehow his strike failed. Not really a surprise there, but the sudden pain was.
Suddenly, Dennan grabs Fenwick and he is under his mercy. Instinctively, Fenwick struggles against his grasp, kicking his legs and grabbing Dennan's arms in a vain attempt to pull it off. But any small chance of this working is dashed as Fenwick becomes groggy in the next second and on his knees soon after.
His mouth opens, yet what little air that manages to enter does not seem to alleviate his current situation.
All being fair in love and war, unsure where to hit, Fenwick releases his slight grip on Dennan's arms and aims for his privates with his elbows, hoping that whichever makes contact first would also release him.
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@Fenwick:
Fenwick quickly begins to lose consciousness. His grip over reality is fading fast, and when a low, drunken voice demands, “What the bleeding piss is this? Why are they hugging?”
The voice sounds far-off, as if it is some distant echo rather than a drunken, diminutive man with a low brow and eyes the color of stone.
Dennan, his arms still firmly wrapped around Fenwick looks up to see from where the voice emanated. He immediately finds the origin and his eyes settle upon a stocky, solidly built fellow with hair the color of coal and an amused expression upon his face. His eyes glint mischievously, but Dennan senses no ill-intent within him. Dennan looks upon the man quizzically, and quickly recognizes the stranger as one of the Chosen of Alviss. The Chosen of Alviss, the children of the rough-hewn, guardian of the stone, had not visited Avalon in quite some time.
Dennan’s eyes flick to the Chosen’s companion, and the shapeshifter smiles up at his mother who returns the gesture. Her wicked Blood-Warden Commander armor has been replaced with her ceremonial golden armor, something she typically only wears when she is meeting with emissaries from other factions. This short man must be the emissary of Alviss his mother had mentioned previously.
“Is that the best you can do, lad?” questions the stranger.
Dennan releases Fenwick, who topples to the ground. The mage is breathless, but conscious.
@All:
“I assure you that my son is quite adept,” speaks Fury.
“He looks it. Probably a hell of a fighter if he’s the fruit of your womb with a bit of the Archon’s seed spilled in there,” responds the stranger.
Fury blushes at the man’s rather colorful metaphor. The Chosen of Alviss were known for their rather blunt honesty, and she had come to expect so much of the race, even from their progenitor, whom she had met on several occasions. Alviss had sent this young one with a message of importance, and it seemed that the Chosen would be with them for some time.
“He is sheltered in these walls of stone, and quite unlike the majority of my children. He is a peculiarity amongst us, but he has a good heart and a strong arm. Allow him to see the world beyond these pillars of living rock, so that his wandering spirit might be sated by the ardors of adventure. I look forward to your response regarding our alliance, and until we meet again, may the ground be firm beneath your feet.”
Respectfully Yours,
The All-Father
“I would be interested in witnessing the use of your craft, good Brother. Will you honor me with a show of your arts,” requests Dennan respectfully.
“Aye, I will. But this fellow is looking a bit winded. Arm’s been mended, but still a little droopy, and you knocked the wind out of him pretty good. Let me at him, will ye?”
“Of course, Son of Alviss,” responds Dennan with a nod. “And what may I call you?”
“Sigurd, lad, but Sig will do just fine.” The pint-sized warrior kneels beside Fenwick and taps him on the crown of his head with a sausage-like finger. “Hey. Wake up. How’m I supposed to fight ye if you’re lollygagging about the ground, rolling around the dust like a Trog?"
The Chosen of Alviss reaches to his own back and takes in hand a peculiar lute-like instrument. The neck and body are intricately carved with ancient runes, undecipherable by any of the above-ground dwellers. His hand strums at the strings while resonating, dulcet tones permeate the entirety of the sparring area, invigorating the hearts and minds of all who hear it.
Fenwick regains his mental faculties and his chest expands with a gust of air. All of the bumps, bruises and scratches he has suffered are mended and any physical signs melt from his body. His shattered arm, though still in need of Hestia’s attention, feels a little more mobile as well.
Dennan quickly helps Fenwick to his feet. “You alright, Fenwick? I hope I did not injure you too badly.”
“Bah!” scoffs Sig. “Bruises and wounds are but fleeting injuries. Pride, however, is a different story.” Sig, a sly look upon his face, glances up at Fenwick. “I’d wager his pride is more than a little hurt. These magicky types are so easily offended. It’s all the mana… It gets into their heads and makes them crazy. That’s why my people receive the gifts of the All-Father. Our arts are a blessing… sometimes I think the magic you human-types use is a curse.”
“Now then.” Sig claps his hands together. “Fenwick is it? I’m a gentleman so I’ll grant you the first blow… In fact…” Sig turns to Sembas. “You! Lad! With the spear! Come help your mate out! As for me…” Sig scans the crowd and attempts to locate a suitable second. There are several capable warriors around the area, but his gaze is drawn to another of the General’s sons, a young man with ebony hair and piercing blue eyes, the color of a summer sky, or perhaps, the color of the waters that collect in the pools of Adalstein, the city beneath the mountains.
“You, lad!” shouts Sig. “You’ll be my second.”
Bran’s eyes widen and he points to himself. “Me, sir? I hardly think I’m worthy to fight by your side, Son of Alviss.”
Sig waves his hand dismissively. “You’re Fury’s boy, aren’t ye? And the son of the Archon? You would do ME an honor by standing with me, lad.”
Bran quickly responds to Sig’s request and joins the Chosen of Alviss within the sparring area.
“Alright, lads,” speaks Sig. “Let me show you how we amuse ourselves in Adalstein.”
Depheir yet remains untested, and Dethys looks to his pupil.
“I think, perhaps, this might be a good time for you to test your skills, Depheir,” speaks Dethys. “Hey! Sig! Room for another?”
Sig brightens at the challenge. “I do enjoy a good test of strength. I gladly accept your challenge.”
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Rabbits were hopping all over right above him once Dennan had dropped him. There was some talk going on about him, but he ignored them all as the rabbits decided it was best to stomp on his head as they hopped over him.
Soon, he hears a few sweet notes that seemed to surround him, managed to permeate him and not long after, felt quite rejuvenated. His only regret would probably be that the rabbits had disappeared. He sighs, but finds himself gasping for air instead, and he is helped to his feet by Dennan. Fenwick mumbles a yes, finding himself not aching where it should have ached, and his bones mended to a bearable degree.
He hears someone speaking and he turns to the source. The person speaking was... 'stable'. His physical appearance allowed him to seem grounded and sure of himself, or, if not himself, sure of his beliefs.
What he speaks almost striked him down again. First strike? What? Another battle? Not after that beating... but Sembas is called up, and he breathes a sigh of relief. The veteran town guard would give them the much needed advantage.
Bran is called up, and Fenwick quickly calculates what should be done. They would probably aim him first, considering he was the weaker of the two, which would force Sembas to protect him...
He hears Dethys' voice calling out. “Hey! Sig! Room for another?”
Sig responds, and another person joins their team. Fenwick does not recall any formal or former meetings with this newcomer, but from the looks of him it looked as if he was a mage himself. He smiled to himself. The Art would live on, and its knowledge would give both of them power to do so.
With the first strike, he quickly introduces himself to the newcomer. "I'm Fenwick! We can talk more later though, have some matters to settle first."
He also poses his own question. "What magic do you specialise in?"
He then goes over to Sembas. "What's the plan? I was thinking a strength spell for your first strike, or my 'heightened instincts' so you can get a feel of the ebb and flow of their moves. We must plan this through carefully... I think it's the only time we can plan with this much detail, with our first strike and all. What do you think?"
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Depheir remained completely immobile when he watched fight between Faran Beshral and Jonas and when Fenwick fought with Dennan. The last one ended quite swiftly. Dennan pressed his enormous bicep against one side of the mage’s neck, then pressed his forearm against the opposite side. He placed his left hand against his right forearm, then proceeded to bend Fenwick’s head towards the elbow. Mage was losing his breath and consciousness very quickly.
“What the bleeding piss is this?", demanded low, drunken voice. "Why are they hugging?”
Depheir turned around to see from where the voice emanated and saw a stocky, solidly built fellow with hair the color of coal and an amused expression upon his face.
“Is that the best you can do, lad?” questioned the stranger.
“I assure you that my son is quite adept,” spoke Fury.
Depheir stood up, as he heard the message that the stranger had with him.
“I would be interested in witnessing the use of your craft, good Brother. Will you honor me with a show of your arts,” requested Dennan.
“Aye, I will. But this fellow is looking a bit winded. Arm’s been mended, but still a little droopy, and you knocked the wind out of him pretty good. Let me at him, will ye?”
“Of course, Son of Alviss. And what may I call you?"
“Sigurd, lad, but Sig will do just fine.”
"I hope I will have my challenge soon", Depheir thought when Sig kneeled beside Fenwick and tapped him."It would be much better to be a little prepared for this."
Depheir sat on the ground in order to meditate. He didn't know his exact energy pool, but it would be much better to prepare than to find himself without energy in a middle of battle.
His mind cleared from his thoughts, leaving only a darkness. He didn't care what happened at the sparring area, but his ear catched few words.
"...Lad! With the spear! Come help your mate..."
He opened his eyes and noticed that fight is going to prepare. Fenwick and Sembas fighting against Sig...
“You, lad!” shouted Sig. “You’ll be my second.”
...and another of the General’s sons, a young man with ebony hair and piercing blue eyes.
"So, two versus two? Sounds interesting...", Depheir thought. "It will be worth watching..."
“I think, perhaps, this might be a good time for you to test your skills, Depheir,” spoke Dethys. “Hey! Sig! Room for another?”
Room for another? Sig responded, and Depheir smiled to himself, when he joined the team of Sembas and Fenwick.
"So, three versus two. Seems to be an entertaining battle", Depheir thought and almost instantly his teammate mage introduced himself.
"I'm Fenwick! We can talk more later though, have some matters to settle first."
"I am Depheir. Nice to meet you."
"What magic do you specialise in?", asked Fenwick.
"Hard to describe it shortly and precisely, but most of my spells are offensive or can be used offensively. Fireblast, Confusion, Tremor... and Arcane Shield, my only defensive spell. For close-combat purposes mainly."
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Sembas looks to his left and right, shrugs, then walks over to join Fenwick in the ring. This newcomer was a bit of a wonder. Sig, he wanted to be called. A Son of Alviss. Smith spoke of the Chosen of Alviss before, but that was all the falconer had ever heard of them. Sig used his instrument to heal Fenwick, and Sembas could feel the tune invigorating him as well.
So it was Bran and Sig against Fenwick, Depheir and himself. Their opponents were mortals, but Sembas didn't doubt that they would be able to handle themselves quite well.
Fenwick was already forming a plan. Just like a mage to formulate and plot. Of course he wanted Sembas to charge ahead while he pulled the strings from behind. Just like a mage...
Either way, this wouldn't be the last time they would be working together. It was as good enough time as any to see how their strengths and weaknesses worked off of each other.
Ah, Deipher had offensive magic, while Fenwick had supportive magic. A good combo.
"Lets try and not get separated. I'm not sure what we're dealing with here, but lets remember that these two are both mortal." He eyes their two opponents. "Although I don't think that will matter too much, all things considered..."
Faile hops off of his shoulder and glides over to the top a fence post, watching over the ring. She didn't want to be left out of another match, and intended to participate in this one.
"I'm going to assume that Bran is the more melee oriented of the two. I'll try and keep him focused on me. I hope I'm right... Fenwick, you can empower Depheir or I if you wish. But don't leave yourself open in case one of us gets disabled. Use your discretion. Depheir, use whatever spells you can for the situation. And I hope those two scabbards you carry aren't just for show."
He gives a sheepish grin and chuckles a bit. "Haha, listen to me barking orders. I usually work alone, sorry if I'm being pushy..."
Faile squawks at him from the fence. "Shush you! Fine lets get on with it!"
Sembas quickly spins his spear at his side before bowing towards Sig and Bran. "Hopefully you don't find us lacking, Son of Alviss. And Bran, it is an honor."
"Lets go boys!" He shouts at his comrades.
Sembas quickly closes the distance between Bran and himself, spear at the ready. At the last moment he dives to the right as Faile comes screaming behind him, talon's raised. She pulls up sharply at the last moment as Sembas tries to sweep Bran's feet out from under him with his spear, hoping that she has distracted him enough to not notice.
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He had forgotten, after the beating he'd taken, that Bran had yet to die. This Sig fellow apparentely was the same.
Deipher's magic was a good contrast to his own, which was a damn good thing. He also seemed experienced, with two swords hanging by the hips.
The Divine had a very weird way of picking the chosen to be Immortals.
Not be seperated. That was dandy, except that there was the possibility of area attacks, which would undoubtedly destroy them. But then they didn't know what they had in their arsenal, which meant a risk and other factors and...
It wasn't good to think so much during battle, not of this type. So he could do what he liked, which was not really unexpected, given what he knew so far of Sembas (which wasn't very much), but it was a nice thought.
Eventually, after the formalities, Sembas charges in, leading into a move that mimicks the one he used against Archer, except that Faile... pulls up.
He knows Sembas can hold his own, so essentially he had to watch his back. He wasn't sure what Deipher would do, but he screams out a simple 'Deipher! Sig!' After which, he runs up to Sig, chanting his strength spell along the way (Wisdom: Spiritual Magic--STRENGTH)
One hand was not going to do much, oh ho ho, not after the lesson he learnt. Wrapping his right hand around his left, he comes in from Sig's side, arms raised high and ready to be slammed right into the thick skull of his. Just for due measure, he shouts out loud for effect.
Hopefully, during Sig's defense or non-defense, Deipher would be able to get a spell in.
-
Sig grins as Fenwick charges towards him and Sembas charges his teammate. A bit backwards from how he predicted it... he had assumed that Sembas was the more melee oriented of the two. Sig wonders if maybe a mistake was made on the part of his opponents. No matter. He will deal with the one who is attacking him.
As Fenwick begins his leap, Sig pulls a one-handed battle axe from his belt and readies it. He still has his lute in the other hand, and he flips it so that the strings face away from his opponent. Where the front of the instrument is finely crafted and made of wood, the back of the instrument is coated with a strange, off-color metal and seems to have seen it's share of damage. Dings and small nicks cover the still finely polished surface, although the most severe of these have been meticulously mended.
Yet Sig makes no effort to bring either of these forward. Instead, as Fenwick falls on him shouting and swinging his weapon, Sig returns the favor with a shout of his own. Only his shout appears to have more force behind it. (Wisdom: Spiritual Magic-STRIKING BALLAD)
Sig's shout echoes unnaturally across the area and a giant fist-shaped forceis created in front of him. This is launched towards Fenwick, who appears to be too committed to his attack at this point to abort. The fist collides with Fennwick and sends him flying backwards.
Sig capitalizes on the successful counter by leaping after the falling Fenwick with his axe held high. He isn't looking to gore the kid just yet. That wouldn't be sporting. Instead, at the apex of his swing, he turns the axe blade, letting the flat part of the battle-axe catch Fenwick in the skull, should the attack hit. A successful hit would not cut Fenwick, but it would definitely leave him feeling dizzy and may even stun him.
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"Depheir! Sig!", shouted Fenwick.
Depheir stood still, as he didn't know which spell would be the best for now. He saw that Sembas already attacked Fury's son and Fenwick ran up to Sig, chanting a spell.
Sig... he was looking very "stable" and strong. Depheir didn't want to meet him in a close combat.
"Then I will stay at range."
Sig's shout echoed unnaturally across the area and a giant fist-shaped forceis created in front of him. This was launched towards Fenwick, who appeared to be too committed to his attack at this point to abort.
"I must invoke any spell to interrupt him!", Depheir decided and began to cast a spell.(Intelligence:Spellcasting-CONFUSION)
Bright, white arcane bolt fired out of Depheir's fingers at Sig's direction. If it will do what it was intended to do, Sig will become unable to do anything for a short period of time.
-
@Sembas:
Faile, her talons pointing outwards, careens towards Bran, then draws up sharply at the last moment. Bran’s eyes flick to the bird only briefly, as his attention is focused firmly on Sembas, who swipes at the young man’s legs with a well-placed blow from his spear. Bran moves, but the spear still manages to slam into his greaves.
What happens next is both unexpected, and mildly painful. Sembas’s spear is exceptionally well-made, being constructed of diamond-infused Blue Steel. Had the young man before him been wearing normal armor, it is quite likely the tip of the spear would have penetrated the protective coverings upon Bran’s legs. However, as the tip of the spear connects with Bran’s armor, strange runes light up upon his greaves. A shock of lightning explodes from Bran’s armor, dances down Sembas’s spear, and sends a painful shock into the falconer’s hands, causing him to drop his weapon.
Of course he would be wearing enchanted armor! Obviously the General and the Archon would go to great lengths to protect their youngest son. Seizing the opportunity, Bran kicks forward with his heavy, plate boot and slams the sole into Sembas’s chest, knocking him several yards backwards. The boy might be mortal, but his skills rival those of an Ageless. Obviously he inherited a great deal of his natural strength, dexterity, and constitution from his parents.
Sembas lands hard upon his back as Bran, his broadsword and shield in hand, readies himself.
@Fenwick:
Fenwick manages to cast his Strength spell upon Depheir, but the latter does not physically attack, thus not taking advantage of this well-intentioned action.
In addition, Fenwick’s efforts to serve as a distraction have worked, perhaps too well.
@Sig:
Sig’s powerful voice explodes from his lips, instantly knocking Fenwick to the ground. His axe swings forward and the flat of the blade crashes against Fenwick’s head. Fenwick is left feeling scrambled and dizzy in the aftermath of the powerful blow.
@Depheir:
Depheir takes the opportunity to cast a spell, and his efforts are rewarded. Sig, the Chosen of Alviss, is affected with Confusion, but Depheir knows that the effect will be short-lived.
-
Sig is just recovering from his successful attack on Fenwick when he suddenly feels a wave of confusion wash over him. He glances around, suddenly unsure of his footing or his surroundings.
Ach... magic. I HATE magic...
He was going to do SOMETHING. That much was sure. But by the Father if he could remember what it was. He glances back at Fenwick and simply decides to lash out at him again with his axe, but in his addled state he swings high and wide and loses his grip on his axe, which buries itself into the side of a nearby fence post and sticks. Anyone paying attention will notice that a length of solid looking chain runs from the handle of the axe back to the gauntlet on Sig's weapon hand.
Sig swiftly shakes off the confusion, trying to regain his bearings and get back into the fight.
-
It worked! Faile cheers in Sembas's mind as she lifts higher into the sky.
Sembas grins as he realizes his attack was going to hit its mark. His grin quickly and painfully fades as strange runes appear on Bran's armor and lightening arcs down the shaft of his spear. Instinctively he drops the weapon, and before he can react a heavy boot sends him flying several yards backwards.
Separated from his main weapon and lying on his back staring at the sky, Sembas realizes that mortal or not, Bran was quite an opponent. Enchanted armor to top it all off...
Unexpected... Faile mutters.
He gives a groan as he rolls to a crouch and faces Bran. His Hunter's Knife is unsheathed and he rolls it between his fingers by the hilt as he considers his situation. A Hunter's Knife was no match for a broadsword and shield, but perhaps Sembas could use his dexterity and athletics to outmanuever the bulkier weapon.
Making a decision, he grasps his Hunter's Knife with his thumb on the bottom of the hilt, the blade sticking out from the bottom of his hand. He mutters a few words as he circles around Bran (WISDOM SPELL - StoneFall). He wasn't using the full effect of the enchantment, just enough to give Faile a bit more heft than usual.
Sembas continues circling, waiting for Bran to make a move. He is relying on his quick senses to dodge away from the man's attack (DEXTERITY - dodge).
-
Sig had enough time to attack Fenwick before Confusion bolt reached him. He knocked Fenwick to the ground with his powerful shout and struck his head with the flat of the axe. Soon after, Sig was affected with Confusion, but its effect was very short. Sig swiftly regained his bearings and got back into the fight.
"Fenwick is still on the ground", Depheir thought. "I will need something to keep Sig at range."
And then, he had an idea. He began to channel his energy in order to create a living being from it. (Intelligence:Spellcasting - SUMMON ELEMENTAL)
If he will end the casting of the spell, it will exhaust him and he will only avaliable to cast up to three spells before leaving himself out of energy and he will have to spend some time to regenerate it. In addition, element, from which Depheir creates his minion, is picked completely randomly.
-
A force akin to a punch knocked Fenwick off his feet, dazing him. Before he is allowed to recover, he barely realises Sig about to punish him for his naive, drastic action, his Axe raised and aimed for his head. Fenwick quickly starts to cast a protective barrier...
But the words die out as Sig SLAMS the Axe straight into his skull. He nearly pukes from that, but quickly swallows the bitter bile and sees Sig raising his arms high again.
He was prepared to strike again. This time, disorientated, Fenwick raises his arm to block the incoming attack...
...Which never comes! For some awkward reason, he seemed unsure of himself, or at the very least not sure whether his attack would hit. This strange behaviour disarms even Fenwick, but in the space of time, the ringing and pain from the previous attack would be dampened.
Sig strikes, but the attack is such that the axe flies off and gets stuck on the Fence.
Seeing Sig disarming himself, Fenwick notices a chain leading up to the gauntlet, seemingly attached. As Depheir casts another spell, Fenwick seizes the opportunity and, with adrenaline coursing through his body, he grabs the chain and tugs at it, hoping to get Sig off and possibly slam him onto the fence. At the same time, he uses the chance to get himself back onto his two feet, aware of any sudden attacks that Sig might pull off.
-
@Depheir:
Depheir’s spell goes off without a hitch, and though he finds himself quite exhausted, he has also gained the services of an eager elemental who is willing to do his bidding. The earth below Depheir’s feet begins to shake, and puffs of dirt and chunks of rock begin to swirl around him like a tornado. They coalesce to form a rather large earth elemental, who looks down upon his new master expectantly with clear, quartz eyes.
@Fenwick:
Fenwick’s ears are still ringing terribly, and dark, crimson rivulets of blood pour from the fresh wound in his skull, making him sick to his stomach and uneasy on his feet. His adrenaline is enough to allow him to pursue Sig’s chained axe, but as he attempts to yank upon the chain, he quickly realizes he simply is not strong enough to impede the progress of the Chosen of Alviss. Sig’s grip upon his weapon, and thus the taut chain, are firm and immovable. Sig’s Constitution, coupled with his Strength, allow him to easily resist Fenwick’s feeble attempts to move him.
@Sig:
The daze that had clouded Sig’s mind quickly lifts, and the Chosen of Alviss once again finds himself in charge of his mental faculties.
-
Depheir watches as his spell provides him a worthy companion. An earth elemental. Perfect for what he intended to do.
But he realizes that he used most of his magical energy. That means he has to fight in a close combat for quite a while.
He looks at his summoned minion.
"Your current mission is to fight against that one, who is heavily built and wields an axe. Your master commands it!"
Elemental makes a gesture of respect and comes closer to Sig.
Meanwhile, he decides to fight with the other opponent.
"Let's see how my spell works against an enchanted armor.", he says, while invoking his Arcane Master spell at the same time.
He unsheathes his swords, which begin to glow with a strange, white light and runs up to Bran, in order to strike.
If the enchantments placed upon Bran's armor will not absorb the effect of the spell, Depheir's strikes will, at least partially, pierce through it.
-
Sig shakes his head one last time, and feels the last of the unnatural confusion leave him. With his sense of purpose renewed, Sig regains his bearings and sets to finding out what has become of his axe. He follows the chain strapped to his gauntlet for just this purpose and quickly discovers Fenwick attempting to pull on it. Glancing behind Fenwick, Sig can clearly see the head of the axe buried deep in a fence post at the edge of the ring. VERY deep. A sharp tug from this angle would be more likely to rip the fence post from the ground then free the blade...
Sig grins craftily as he sees his next move.
With his left hand, Sig slings his lute back into it's custom sling on his back. At the same time, Sig wraps the chain around his right gauntlet once and grasps it with his right hand. He then grabs the chain further down with his now free left hand. Putting all of his strength into the maneuver, Sig yanks the chain as hard as he can. The chain quickly breaks free of Fenwick's grasp. Behind Fenwick, the fence post that the axe is buried in rips itself from the ground and comes flying towards Sig. (Weapon Proficiency: IMPROVISED FIGHTING)
Fenwick is caught right between Sig and the oncomming post and if he fails to notice and move, he will be struck in the back full force by the flying chunk of wood and steel.
-
Tugging upon the chain, the lack of any slack allows Fenwick to realise that there was no way he could move Sig at all. Not disheartened in the least however, he managed to pull himself up to his feet. His head suddenly spins, and, still facing Sig, it seemed as if the world was tilting back and forth as if on a see-saw. Fortunately, Sig was, for the time being, still stuck.
Or at least it was until he stood up. Within the fog of uncertainty, he saw Sig wrapping his chain around his gauntlet, eventually with him tugging it...
Whatever it was, either his axe or that fence would come flying towards him for punishment.
His footsteps still unsteady, he quickly attempts to tumble out of the way. Reminiscient of his earlier fight (except this time for real), he attempts to get some distance away from the blessed Child of something-or-another before he can recover. As he does so, he becomes aware of just how bad the wound upon his skull is, and attempts to heal himself despite the circumstances. (Wisdom: Spiritual Magic--Lifesaver)
Not too far off, he hears Depheir speaking a few words of what seemed like a command, then he hears something akin to the unsheathing of swords...
-
@Sembas and Depheir:
Bran, his sword trained on Sembas, watches as Depheir joins the fray. The mage, his swords flashing in the bright sunlight, charges towards him. Instinctively, Bran whips his sword around in his hand and plunges the point into the ground before him as he shouts a resounding battlecry.
An enormous shockwave of intense energy sweeps around the young man and explodes outward. Sembas, being prepared for any movement on Bran’s part, is unable to completely dodge out of the way, but his Dexterity allows him to brace himself for the blow, thus avoiding any major damage. He is pushed back forcefully, but his feet are steady beneath him and he merely slides towards the fence post and out of the range of Bran.
Depheir, who had been solely focused on attacking, is not so lucky. The force of the cry violently knocks him off his feet and he finds himself slammed into the fence posts. He finds himself bruised and he is moving a bit painfully, but his natural ability to dodge allows him to avoid the bulk of the damage.
However, a huge spray of dirt and large chunks of rock follow in the wake of the young man’s war cry. Faile, quick on her wings, is able to navigate safely from harm’s way, but Sembas and Depheir will have to act quickly to avoid the projectiles that are flying towards them.
@Sig:
Anything is a weapon in the Chosen of Alviss’s hands. Sig uses his immense Strength to hurl the fencepost, even though his axe is still heavily embedded within. Sig’s attack is successful, but any joy he could have found at this victory is dampened by the heavy, approaching footsteps of a lumbering earth elemental.
@Fenwick:
Fenwick casts Lifesaver, and the spell is enough to retard any more blood from seeping out of the painful wound upon his skull. The spot is still a bit tender, but the majority of the pain has been quelled.
Unfortunately, Fenwick was correct in assuming that the Chosen of Alviss would attempt to use that fencepost against him. The post slams against the center of Fenwick’s back, sending splinters of wood skittering in all directions. The mage crashes to the ground in a twisted heap, his body heavily injured. Luckily, his Lifesaver spell was still in the process of working its magic, and it dulls at least a bit of his pain, though his movements will likely be hindered for some time.
-
Sembas had practice dodging fast objects. Faile is quite speedy and he has gotten quite good at dodging her attacks during their training. But now there was a multitude of chunks of dirt and rocks careening towards him. No doubt he could dodge a great deal of them, but there were just too many to deal with.
Faile is still prepared to utilize the stonefall buff Sembas has cast on her, but the falconer needed some help with defense right now. She focuses on the bond and creates a barrier around Sembas (WISDOM SPELL: Project Shield). The barrier should deflect any rocks or clumps of dirt that Sembas fails to dodge.
Instead of falling back to dodge the spray of dirt and rocks, Sembas charges forward. He attempts to dodge any large rocks or clumps of dirt (DEXTERITY: dodge) but allows any smaller pieces to hopefully bounce off of his shield.
Hoping that Bran wasn't expecting him to run straight through the debris, he charges right at the man. Rearing back, Sembas throws his knife at the armor clad youth. It flies through the air horizontally, aimed for his midsection.
Sembas takes the moment of hopefully distracting Bran with his knife to dive on top of his spear. He tries to snatch it up and roll away unscathed, relying on his (STRENGTH) athletics ability to carry him through the small acrobatic act.
-
Depheir charged on Bran. Foolish act, because Bran noticed him and, instinctively whipped his sword around in his hand and plunged the point into the ground before him as he shouted a resounding battlecry.
Enormous shockwave knocks Depheir down, who finds himself slammed in the fence post.
He stands up slowly and he notices that he is bruised. He is moving a bit painfully.
Then there was multitude of chunks of dirt and rocks careening towards him. Too many to avoid all of them.
"I would cast now Arcane Shield, if I wouldn't have such lack of energy."
He focuses on avoiding any large rocks that try to attack him (DEXTERITY - Dodge) and, meanwhile, comes closer to his opponent, with his swords in his hands.
-
The fencepost slams into his back with a 'poof!'... or a 'thud!'... or a 'boom!'... Or just a mixture of all three. 'Thoom'.
It is funny what danger can do to someone's head, even when they're immortal. Granted, he had just recently become immortal, so his mortal side could be toying around with him, but he had somehow hoped that the fencepost would simply go through him instead of onto-him-with-a-resounding-thoom.
Alas, danger also has a funny way of pulling you back. Danger did this by bruising (hopefully only bruising) his back and pushing him right onto the ground, forcing him to eat some of the grass beneath.
At least it wasn't sand.
Fenwick stood up, but fails miserably! His spell had stopped the bleeding, and it had made Sig's attack dull somewhat, but the worst wasn't over. His head was thumping, or 'thooming' as it was, in regular time. Thoom. Thoom. Thoom.
But in the corner of his eye, he finally recognises the spell that Depheir had cast. The summoned being would cover him while he lay recovering.
And yet he knew it wouldn't last. Sig was strong. Strong enough to destroy this thing AND use Fenwick's spine as a toothpick.
Ah, there was one thing in his favor: himself. Sig had bigger things to take care of, and Fenwick would be left alone. With this advantage (he hoped it was true) in mind, he readies a spell for the elemental, waiting for Sig to strike before casting. (Wisdom: spiritual magic--Protective Barrier)
He couldn't see how big it was from here, and he hoped the spell was big enough for it. Otherwise, he had no control exaclty which part of it would be affected.
He would be used as toothpick otherwise... hmm... a thought fleetingly flew by: what would happen if an Ageless was disembodied?
-
Sig grins as he rips his axe out of the fence post and lets the cracked and battered post fall to the ground. Seeing Fenwick still on the ground and the Elemental approaching, Sig decides on his next course of action. He bows his head, almost in prayer, as he allows the axe to fall to the ground where it embeds itself into the soft earth.
"Father, grant me thy steady hands and dexterous fingers as I bestow upon thee a melody fit for thy grand halls!"
With a flourish, Sig unslings his lute with one hand while taking a deep swig of some liquid from a skin on his hip with the other. He then extends the skin in the direction of Bran, almost as if toasting him, before dropping it back to his belt and grasping the lute with both hands. Bran feels a presence wash over him, and the sounds around him become dull and muted.
Sig raises his hand high, preparing to play a tune.
"Now, everyone! TIME TO DANCE!"
Sig begins to play a lively melody. Everyone within earshot feels the uncontrollable urge to start dancing. As Sig increases the tempo of his impossibly catchy melody, the urge to dance increases to the point where it is irresistible. The only person nearby who does not feel this urge is Bran. To him, the song sounds muted, and has no effect. This leaves him with the perfect opportunity to wreak havoc on any poor fool on the battlefield too busy dancing to defend themselves. (Wisdom: Spiritual Magic - DANCE)
Sig continues to play, extending the duration of the effect. He shouts to Bran.
"I do believe now would be a fantastic time to do some head-bashing, lad!"
-
The Chosen of Alviss takes his lute in hand, and the spirited tune that follows affects nearly everyone who hears it. It charms their minds with its bouncy notes, soothes their hearts with its cheerful melody and invigorates their bodies to motion, thus compelling each to dance.
Despite the fact that they have little control over their actions, everyone affected by this spell is filled with an unbridled sense of happiness, and they cannot help but to experience joy at these moments of levity.
Bran looks around the field incredulously, surprised and a bit amused by what he is seeing unfold before him. His elder brothers, Dennan and Corvus have linked arms and are spinning around in gleeful, bouncing steps. It had been many days since Corvus had returned from the frontlines and had since carried with him a very heavy heart. Bran cannot help but to smile at seeing the towheaded young man rejoice in gladness as the music overtakes him.
Archer shakes her head in disbelief as she watches Besnik hop from fencepost to fencepost as he dances a merry, falcon jig.
Down the path a bit, Blood and Muse are in the process of returning from Hestia’s infirmary. Muse’s face erupts in a look of unadulterated glee and she begins to whirl and spin, her arms stretched out to her sides, and her feet a blur of motion as she dances to and fro.
Blood’s eyes widen as she scans the horizon for the source of this madness. Her gaze locks on the form of a man of diminutive stature. As Sig continues his ballad, Blood’s eyes narrow in irritation. She starts forward to put a stop to this insanity, but finds that her hips are swaying in such a way that they are keeping time with the downbeats. She catches sight of her superior officer, Fury, and gives her a look of desperation. However, the General merely responds with an expression of amusement and begins to tap her foot to the rhythm, though it seems more a matter of choice than compulsion. Blood growls in irritation and crosses her arms over her chest, indignant at the subtle intrusion Alviss’s child has made upon her subconscious.
Sembas finds that he is unable to resist the alluring ballad as it reaches his ears and softly creeps over the entirety of his body. Faile, by some miraculous chance has been equally affected by the spell, and lands upon her master’s shoulder. She hops to and fro, landing upon his shoulder, bouncing to his head, and emerging on the opposite shoulder.
Depheir, also affected by the spell, turns into a whirling dervish. His swords are extended to either side of him and his feet cross and uncross as he happily dances across the battlefield.
Fenwick, too, is affected by the spell, and as the music reaches his ears, he is compelled to engage in the joyous dance that the All-Father has leveled upon the fray.
Sig cries out to Bran. "I do believe now would be a fantastic time to do some head-bashing, lad!"
Bran is instantly spurred to action and his eyes focus on the Elemental that is making its way towards Sig. Bran quickly closes the distance between himself and the creature, throwing himself in the Elemental’s path so that it cannot continue to pursue Sig. Bran holds his sword high above his head, and an earsplitting cry erupts from his lungs. So powerful is the shout of war that the ground beneath the Elemental begins to shake violently. As Bran roars, bits of dirt, chunks of rock, and pieces of minerals begin to fly from the Elemental as its form is stripped back down into its material components. Each particle that composes the elemental falls to the ground where it is quickly absorbed by the earth.
-
Fenwick continues to lay down on the ground, prepared to cast his spell, aware of any move that Sig makes...
...He sees him take out his lute... and play it.
The melodies reach his ear and immediately, the adrenaline that coursed through his veins burn out. He is overwhelmed by a sense of joy as he gets onto his feet, the will of the all-father permeating his mind.
He is a young boy again as his feet sweep the floor and kicks out at the air, his hands holding up his robes from the ground so as to ensure he doesn't trip himself. A gigantic smile has crossed over his lips, teeth visible to all. Fenwick's eyes too, shine brightly as they reflect the light of the sun.
If one were to look into them, however, they'd realise that Fenwick was not mentally in the arena. There is a tinge of tragic hope as he remembers all the times he has gathered around the bonfire with the village, the silent longing within him breaking free and overtaking all his sensory faculties.
Bran roars as he charges the elemental, causing Fenwick to respond by giving a cheerful roar of his own, although he continues dancing to Sig's tune and the memories of his childhood.
-
Depheir successfully avoided the rocks resulting of the Bran's attack. He came closer to him, with his swords ready to strike.
Then he heared Sig's shout.
"Now, everyone! TIME TO DANCE!"
He turned his head on Sig and saw that he takes his lute in hand and begins to play a lively melody.
"What's that supposed to be? Some sort of trick or...", Depheir thought and soon after, he received his answer.
Cheerful melody fills his ears. He is overwhelmed by a sense of joy. Song invigorates him into motion and he begins to dance.
As the tempo increases, he feels more happy and joyful. He begins to spin, with his swords in hands. His feet cross and uncross as he happily dances across the battlefield.
Then, he hears Bran's roar. Depheir feels it was nearly the same roar as previous, it resulted similarly, but he doesn't care.
He allows the happiness of melody to fill his mind.
-
"But... I don't know how to dance..." He says, as he tugs the hood tighter over his head.
The woman's laugh matches the cheerfulness of the music. "Been stopming around in the mountains with your old man for too long, you little devil. Come on now! Its easy, just follow me!" She grabs his hand and yanks him away from the tree he was leaning on. His face burnt, and he was glad his hood was covering his red cheeks. She spun and twisted around him, grinning and laughing at his sudden clumsiness.
She finally stops, allowing him a moment to stop his head from spinning. His hood had fallen down as they were dancing and the hint of a smile was creeping up on his lips.
"Mrs. Maria?" A girl shyly inquires behind her.
"Yes dear?"
"Can I dance with Sembas too?"
The older woman laughs and nods. The girl wastes no time to grab Sembas's hand and drag him closer to the fire where everyone else was dancing.
His head never stops spinning that night, but he never stopped dancing either. All the way until the sun came up. He falls asleep in the back of the cart all the way home the next day...
Faile was doing something reminiscent of a riverdance over his left shoulder. Squawking with the beat, she flaps her wings and bounces in the air, sometimes rolling over Sembas's head during her gleeful trip.
He could see that girl's face from that night in his mind, feel her hand in his as they spun around the fire. The falconer laughs as he kicks up dirt with lis legs and spins with his missing partner. His spear has been tossed aside as he laughs and cavorts like a fool in the middle of the ring.
-
Sig laughs out loud as he continues to play. He watches Bran dispatch the Elemental with ease while the rest of the group dances merrily. He glances at Fenwick, who appears to be slowing down. Sig shouts to Bran and gestures towards Fenwick.
"Oy, Bran! Might want to have a go at this one next. He's coming out of it!"
-
Bran nods in understanding and rushes towards Fenwick, who is beginning to dispel the effects of Sig’s musical incantation.
The young man quickly closes the gap between him and the caster, and holds his sword high as he prepares to strike. However, his arm is frozen in the air as he watches Fenwick prance about gleefully.
Bran frowns, hesitation presiding over his countenance. With doubt in his heart and a sense of guilt in his mind, he looks back at Sig. “Master Sig… This seems… wrong. He can’t even really defend himself.” He gestures to Fenwick with his broadsword. “I mean… look at him! He’s so happy! It’s like striking a child!”
“Bran.” His mother calls out to him gently, and it can be noted that when she addresses her children much of her gruff demeanor is disregarded, being replaced with affection for her sons. “I am very proud that you are so virtuous, and it is important to stick to your convictions… But sometimes, we must cast aside our own feelings in order to attend to the greater good. Were he a Forsaken and you hesitated, he would have killed you already.”
Bran nods, a look of resignation upon his face. It is an unpleasant lesson for a young one to learn, but he understands her words as truth. The hesitation falls away like leaves in autumn, and the young man gazes at the childlike Fenwick with determination in his eyes.
Bran lunges forward with his broadsword and the point punctures the neck of Fenwick’s garment. With one, quick, fluid motion, Bran lifts up his blade, the point still skewering part of Fenwick’s clothing. He lets out a cry as he hefts the mage over his head with his blade and slams the dancing fool on his back, discarding his opponent as if he were a ragdoll.
Fenwick’s head slams against the ground, and his vision explodes in an eruption of colors and lights as he finds himself quite addled again. Just as Fenwick begins to come to, he notices the General’s son standing over him. Bran, his expression devoid of emotion, strikes downward with his shield, slamming the center into mage’s skull, and rendering him unconscious.
-
The music within wavered but just a little. Yet it was enough to destabalise his mental world.
"This seems... wrong................. defend.........-self................so happy......striking......child'
What was that? It seemed to come from the... campfire. Fenwick's dancing slows a little as he frowns, intently trying to make sense of what was going on.
His father comes forth, stands infront of him. He is silent and turns around as if checking to see if he had heard something right. He turns back, but the fire behind him blinds Fenwick. He's unsure whether his father was sad or...
Then his father's hands jabs upwards! It rips through Fenwick's garment and, in surprise, he looks down... only to see that his father's hand wasn't a hand anymore, it was the tip of a sword!! Fenwick manages a gasp before his father, with surprising strength, flings him right over his shoulder. Everything slows down as Fenwick realises that he was going to be thrown INTO the fire!!! he was going to burn!!! 'No father! No!' He tries to scream, but his lips seem to refuse to mouth the words. No sound came out as he lands, but the force is such that the night sky flashes into a bright blue, accompanied by what seemed to be lightning.
He groans, trying to open his eyes, but it was so bright... just a bit more time to sleep... He did, after all, dance throughout all of last night...
But something within him tickles and nudges him to wake anyway. He would normally have ignored it, but it seemed particularly strong today. He opens his eyes reluctantly.
He almost wishes he hasn't as he sees Bran standing over him. He is sparred the image though, for Bran places his shield between himself and his victim, before quickly bringing it down, smack into his skull.
Stunned, time seems to freeze as he registers the shield leaving his skull, before he is unconscious, his body spread out like an eagle.
-
He stops and stands stock still, a serious look planted on his face.
Faile pauses on his shoulder and stands at attention, looking around them. She slowly walks down his outstretched arm and turns to face Sembas. Sitting on his left hand she stretches out her wing and nods slowly her partner.
Sembas nods back and places his other hand against her wing. He dips down and shuffles around the ring. At random intervals Faile hops off of his hand and spins around in the air as he does a circle around her. She always lands on his hand and the two continue wing to hand as they share a happy dance about the ring. Soon their moves become more intricate, with Faile swooping between his legs or flying high into the air to be caught by a waiting Sembas on the other side of the ring. While she is in the air he does flips and somersaults across the ring. Their moves are perfectly choreographed and the two never miss step.
It seems that they've done this before, and the agility and finesse that they are displaying is quite impressive.
-
Sig’s tune continues to infiltrate the hearts, minds, and bodies of all who hear it. His quarry still entranced by the lively music that the Chosen of Alviss commands, the stout Sig bounces rhythmically as he strums his instrument.
Bran glances from Sembas, to Faile, and finally Depheir. As his eyes lock upon the mage’s, he notes that Depheir’s steps are beginning to slow, and he realizes if he does not act soon, the man will quickly regain his senses.
Wasting no time, Bran crosses the distance that separates him from the caster, and each movement the boy takes seems to accelerate. He is not as fast as Archer or Jonas had been, but his speed far surpasses that of a typical mortal.
Once he reaches Depheir, Bran draws back his shield, slamming it firmly into the caster’s chest and launching him backward. With his opponent now prone, Bran stands over Depheir and delivers a flurry of shield blows in quick succession, rendering the caster addled and unable to react.
Depheir regains his senses from Sig’s musical arrest, but the caster finds himself stunned, and unable to move. His vision swims and he finds it nearly impossible to force his eyes to focus again. He sees a well-armored young man standing over him. The boy’s expression is grim and resolute as he smashes his shield into Depheir’s face, knocking him unconscious.
Sembas and Faile, though still affected by the spell, begin to notice that the powerful music becomes quieter and quieter, as if muffled and distant.
-
Depheir began to feel dizzy because of his whilrling dance. He began to slow himself, while the Sig's song, filling his mind and invigorating into dance, became quieter and quieter.
He slowly realized that he is in a middle of battle. He observed, what happened, when he danced.
His wondrous Elemental was turned into a pile of stones, Fenwick was uncoscious and...
"Thud!"
Bran's powerful charge attack, aimed at mage's chest, launched him backward. Then, when Depheir was on the ground, delivered him rapid flurry of shield attacks.
Mage's vision began to blur. He was unable to move. He couldn't react.
Blurred image of a man was before him. He was standing, and wearing an armor.
Then Depheir noticed that some object was quickly coming closer to him.
That object smashed his face. It was a shield.
That last attack rendered him uncoscious.
-
It was nighttime, and the stars were twinkling above them. The moon was high in the night sky far above, illuminating the world in pleasant shades of grey. Old McLellan was picking away on his lute in town a short distance away. They didn't remember the day past, but they both knew there was something about McLellan's song that made them want to frollick about in the night. His tune was simple and enjoyable, as an old man's would be.
He missed a note, causing them to stammer a moment, but continue to bop around in the field above town. Were the stars fading? And the moon was a bit lower in the sky than before...
Another missed note. It wasn't like McLellan to miss so many. He must have been in the drink tonight. The stars were even dimmer than before, barely twinkling through the sky. The moon was almost over the horizon now too.
His feet were slowing, and Faile's swoops and dives were more shallow as she began to lose interest in dancing through the air.
The sun was peeking over the mountains in the east, and McLellan's song was fading away to an end. His feet were slowing to a crawl as he stared out toward the horizon.
McLellan strummed the last chord of his song as the brilliant morning sun engulfed the world around him in brilliant blinding light.
-
Sig smiles as he plays the final notes of his song. He takes his lute in his left hand, flipping it around so that the Alviss-touched steel coated back is facing forward. With his right hand he yanks on the chain wrapped around his wrist and returns his axe to him. Now battle ready, he glances around the battlefield. He is pleasantly surprised to see that there is only one combatant left. Sembas, it was. The one with the bird. The kid Bran had done well taking advantage of his song. Sig would have to remember to buy him a drink later if he could get him away from his parents long enough. He severely doubted they'd approve.
Sig sees that Sembas is recovering from the after-effects of the spell and chooses his course of action. He drops his axe again and slips his hand into his pack on his back. He quickly produces a burlap sack, shouts to Bran, and slings it over to the kid before reclaiming his axe.
"Bran, lad! Catch that bird!"
Sig hefts his axe and charges Sembas. With Bran occupying the bird, this should be a straight one-on-one duel with the one who appears to be the most combat effective of the trio he initially faced. This was the kid that should have charged him in the first place, instead of leaving him to the obvious mage Fenwick. His allies may still have been standing if not for that lapse in judgment.
Sig leaps into the air and aims the flat of his axe straight at Sembas's face. It won't be fatal if it connects, but it might just break his nose. Nothing Alviss can't fix afterward.
-
Bran swiftly catches the sack in his hands and looks nervously to Faile, who is still busy frolicking across the battlefield. The falcon’s movements start to slow as the effects of the spell begin to evaporate, allowing her to regain a great deal of her coherence. She shakes her head, as if dispelling the lingering vestiges of an odd dream, and it is in that instant that she hears the heavy approaching footsteps of a teenager wielding a burlap sack.
Bran looks immensely uncomfortable about this turn of events. He had been trained in nearly every weapon under the sun, but somehow, his parents had neglected to train him in the arts of the burlap sack.
He lunges towards Faile, the sack falling cleanly over her form before she can manage to fly away. However, as he holds the bag aloft, it is quite apparent that this burlap prison will not hold the determined bird for long.
The reveries that Sembas had enjoyed seem as a distant dream and the falconer begins to regain his mental faculties. He hears footsteps somewhere behind him, followed by a loud squawk emitted by Faile, as Bran attempts to ensnare her. However, Sembas has little time to process this information as he sees the flat of an axe bearing down on him, trained to strike him solidly in the face.
-
As she blinks and shakes away the dancing song, Faile realizes she is in the middle of the sparring ring. Young Bran was leaning over her with an uncertain look on his face. She squawked in protest as the burlap sack fell over her and was lifted into the air.
She fumes. How dare he try and restrain her! This smelly burlap sack could never contain one so proud and majestic as she! Faile screams with rage from within the sack, a frightening sound indeed.
The angry Faile rips with her beak and tears with her talons at the meager burlap prison. If she is able to escape she will spring forth, her razor sharp talons trained on Bran's exposed face. She will make him respect the majesty of a falcon!
Faile's surprised squawk immediately snaps Sembas back to reality. He doesn't have time to help her as the flat of an axe was careening towards his face. Faile's rage is pulsing through the bond, setting Sembas on edge. The burlap sack shakes with Faile's battle cry, and a roar wrenches itself out of Sembas's mouth. Seperating falconer and falcon is a dangerous venture to be sure.
As Sig's axe drives towards his face Sembas grabs his arm and pulls backwards (Dexterity skill: Wrestling). He is attempting to use Sig's momentum as he flies through the air against him. Pulling with all his might, Sembas angrily tries to toss Sig behind him and slam the Son of Alviss on the ground. Hopefully on his stumpy, Alviss touched head.
-
Faile, agitated and indignant, is easily able to escape from the confines of the burlap sack. She erupts from the bag, her talons trained upon Bran’s face.
The boy’s eyes widen and he lets out an “Ack!” as Faile’s pointy feet careen towards his exposed features. He reflexively throws up his shield and Faile’s talons plink against the impenetrable metal wall that is protecting the boy.
Despite the fact that Faile is currently attempting to skewer him, rather than trying to attack her, Bran quickly takes off in the opposite direction. Though he knows that she is quite resilient, he also knows how fragile animals may be, and does not want to accidentally hurt her.
Though his gentle nature is quite honorable, both of his brothers slap their palms against their own foreheads in perfect unison as they watch their younger sibling flee from Faile, who mercilessly chases him around the battle ring. Bran’s mother simply rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, a slight hint of amusement affecting the corners of her lips.
As Faile pursues the fleet-footed teenager, Sembas attempts to use his impressive Wrestling skills to slam the Son of Alviss to the ground. Surely this is a maneuver that has been quite successful on many men who have sought to cross Sembas. However, the Chosen of Alviss is not human, and thus, not a typical man.
As Sembas attempts to swiftly take down Sig, he finds that, despite the great momentum that Sembas attempts to employ, the Chosen of Alviss is an immovable object. This maneuver is the equivalent to trying to incapacitate a boulder, and as the falconer seizes Sig by the arm, he finds that the Chosen of Alviss is firmly rooted to the ground, as if part of the earth itself. His stout body is as dense as a rock, and though he certainly does not look it, when Sembas attempts to pull him, he feels as if he is trying to move a 500 lb. boulder.
-
Sig is caught off guard by the speed of Sembas. But as the warrior grabs his arm and Sig realizes what is coming, he plants his feet. His boots tear large furrows into the ground as Sembas manages to move him a mere half a foot. Then all forward momentum ceases and Sig stops cold. Sig is visibly impressed. Normally a mere human wouldn't have even been able to move him that far with mere physical prowess alone.
Knowing that there will be a brief second of confusion as Sembas registers what happened, Sig takes advantage. He comes around swiftly, axe in his right hand, lute in his left. Bringing the two weapons on either side of the head of Sembas, he proceeds to bring the flat of his axe and the back of his lute together on either side of the head of Sembas with as much strength as he can muster. (Strength: DAMAGE, Weapon Proficiency: ONE-HANDED AXE/SHIELD (LUTE)) The goal is to make an Alviss-steel sandwich with the skull of Sembas as the meat. Should this connect, Sembas will be left hearing music of a different sort then the song Sig recently played.
-
Faile continues to pursue the fleeing Bran, and despite the falcon’s insistence that she should be allowed to peck at his soft head for the indignities he had thrust upon her, (A bag?! Indeed!) the boy has exceptional endurance and shows no sign of slowing.
Archer, totally focused upon what Sembas is doing in the ring, does not see Besnik give her a sly look before hopping off of her shoulder and through the fenceposts.
As Bran continues to hurtle around the ring, Besnik bides his time. The young man nears the area where Besnik is carefully perched, and as the lad rounds that particular span of fencepost, Besnik explodes from the fence, talons poised to strike and wings flapping wildly.
“Aaaaaaccccckkkkk!!!!!!”
Bran stops abruptly, so much so that he loses his balance and falls flat upon his back. Faile gives an appreciative nod to Besnik, who responds with a flutter of his wings and a proud chirp.
Faile struts along the ground to where Bran still lay in the dirt. She hops upon his breastplate, her talons making little “click, click, click” sounds as she walks towards his head.
She stares down at him, her falcon eyes unflinching, and the young man looks noticeably nervous.
“Uh… Faile… I hope you know that it was nothing personal,” speaks Bran.
Faile squawks loudly to demand his silence. The two stare at each other quietly, neither of them making a move. Then very slowly and deliberately, Faile raises her right talon. Bran’s eyes widen as he wonders about her intentions.
His questioning gaze is quickly answered as Faile baps him in the nose with her pointy foot.
“Ow!” cries Bran.
Bap! Bap! Bap!
“I said I was sorry!”
Bapbapbapbapbapbapbap!
“Okay! Okay! Just stop hitting me! That hurts! What the heck is Sembas feeding you? You strike like a stone!”
Faile tilts her head and points her wing towards him warningly.
“Okay, okay! I promise! I’ll never use a bag for ill means again! Just please! Stop that!”
Faile chirps in reply before alighting from Bran’s breastplate. Bran sighs gratefully before rising to his feet and dusting off the back of his armor.
-
He pulls with all his might...
In his mind he saw Sig tumbling through the air and bouncing away behind him...
But this can't be right...
Sembas was grasping a stiff arm connected to what felt like a boulder. His eyes go wide with surprise when he realizes that even his enhanced strength barely even moved the Son of Alviss.
He lets go of Sig's arm and begins to take a step back, very much caught off guard. He doesn't have much time to react before the stout man's Axe and Lute are flying towards his head.
Sembas bends backwards a la matrix style(Dexterity: Dodge), hoping to miss Sig's attack. If he does so he will do a backflip to create some space between the two of them.
All the while he can feel Faile's ire dissipating, if only a little. Apparently she was faring much better than he was...
-
Sembas's preternaturally quick reflexes allow him to avoid the flat of Sig's heavy battleaxe. However, the lute, being a much larger target, and being accelerated with great velocity by the stubby-armed Chosen of Alviss, swiftly connects with the side of Sembas's head. This collision results in a melodious twang as the lute crashes aside the falconer's head.
Sembas is a bit addled by the blow, but no blood has been drawn. He stumbles backward and falls upon the ground in a heavy heap. There won't be any lasting damage from Sig's lute, but that pleasant fact does not stop the throbbing in Sembas's skull.
-
Sig is once again impressed by the speed of Sembas. Not many would have been able to even partially escape from that attack, especially after the failed attempt to pull him over. The Chosen of Alviss regards the fallen falconer. From the corner of his eye he can see Bran in the background, on the ground with the falcon perched on his chest. He shakes his head sadly and decides that the time has come to end this duel.
With a flourish, Sig hangs his broad axe back on his belt. He then raises his lute high overhead. It looks as if he is rearing back to strike another blow at the fallen Sembas.
But then Sig simply allows the lute to slip back into the custom-made sling at his back, beside his pack. With his weapons stowed, Sig extends a hand to the falconer.
"Good show, lad! What's say we call it a draw and go tend to your mates? I do believe I owe you a pint!"
-
The thick backed lute crashes into his head and he sees stars for a moment. His legs keep carrying him backwards as he loses his balance and falls into a heap on the ground. He shakes his head and clutches the freshly growing goose egg with a wince.
Thankfully Sig sheathes his axe, but his lute hangs overhead a moment too long for Sembas's tastes. The falconer tenses and is prepared to dodge another attack before the Son of Alviss lets the lute slip back into a sling on his back.
Sembas lets out a sigh of relief when Sig offers his hand.
"Good show, lad! What's say we call it a draw and go tend to your mates? I do believe I owe you a pint!"
He grasps Sig's hand and tugs playfully, cracking a smile regardless of his throbbing head.
"My gosh you're one hefty fellow! It felt like I was trying to uproot a mountain!" He stands up with Sig's assistance, biting back a groan for his poor head. "You're quite surprising, with that dancing song of yours. Faile and I both had no idea what was going on until it was too late."
Scanning the arena he finally realizes the sad state of Fenwick and Depheir. "It would appear that I owe a few gentlemen a pint as well..."
-
@Sembas and Sig
Sembas and Sigurd, being the only combatants left conscious, and at least virtually unscathed by the day’s events, make their way to the tavern for a well-deserved pint (or five) of ale. Though Sembas was roughed up a bit, a quick trip to Hestia was rewarded with a clean bill of health. She patched him up within seconds and sent him on his way.
Sembas and Sig find themselves accompanied by Archer, Muse, Dennan and Bran. Corvus had quietly departed after the match, and the General was forced to return the Bulwark Headquarters to attend to urgent matters. Blood, looking quite disgruntled, had stomped off in a huff. She had been quite irritated with the effect that the dancing spell had wrought upon her subconscious, imploring her to move and sway her hips against her will. Such was not the way of battle!
Sembas, Sigurd and their fellows make their way towards the tavern.
Dennan claps Sembas upon the back. “That was quite a show! I must admit, you have exceptionally impressive speed, Sembas.”
Faile sits atop Bran’s shoulder. The young man looks infinitely uncomfortable at having her perched there, but he acknowledges that bearing her about the town is likely his penance for the infamous Bag Incident. Periodically, Faile leans down to nip at his ear and urge him to walk faster.
“I am! I am!” protests Bran.
Faile lets out a shrill squawk.
Bran sighs heavily. “Fine, fine. I will make haste immediately, dear lady.”
Faile looks exceptionally pleased with herself and Archer represses a laugh as not to add to Bran’s embarrassment. Besnik has no such tact and nearly topples off of Archer’s shoulder, his wings wrapped around his body as he writhes in amusement.
The group seats themselves at a large table and Dennan gestures for Calming to send them his best stock. While the group drinks and carouses, a heavily-armored, dangerous looking woman appears in the doorway. It’s Blood and she looks fit to be tied. The scowl upon her face looks more pronounced than usual and when her eyes flick towards the table where the group is seated, her eyes lock on Sig’s.
“YOU!” growls Blood. “What kind of madness was that?! Are you out of your ever-loving mind? Do you honestly think the Forsaken will just kick up their heels and bounce around like a bunch of soft-skulled ninnies! I have never seen such a ridiculous display in my entire life! When faced down by an army of Forsaken, what do you intend to do? Dance them to death?!”
@Fenwick:
As Fenwick stirs from his well-deserved slumber, he feels pressure upon his hand and someone’s dainty fingertips clutching his. As his eyes open, he looks up see Cleo looking down upon him. Her eyes are filled with concern, and as she notices that his consciousness has been restored, she breathes a heavy sigh of relief.
“You worried me. You’ve been out for several hours now. Depheir and Faran sleep still. The former is expected to make a full recovery, but I somehow doubt that Faran will ever be the same after his ordeal. Jonas, too, is convalescing. Hestia has implored him to seek some rest, but he has stood vigil over Faran’s bedside from the first, and I do not think he will depart until he is assured that Faran is well.”
@Depheir:
Depheir, too, has been restored to consciousness. His mentor, Dethys, sits beside him while reading a book. When Depheir awakes, Dethys does not take his eyes off the pages.
“Sooo… Done with your nap then? Perhaps we can get to work. I think I’ve finally found the lead we’ve been looking for. It will take a bit more experimenting, but I think I can find you a way into Darastae.”
@Faran:
Faran’s eyelids flutter open. His head throbs terribly and the entirety of his body aches. As his wits gather, he realizes he is in Hestia’s infirmary. When he first moves, a searing pain washes over every inch of his body. His skin is still in the process of reforming, a task which may take yet another week or so. However, he can no longer see his own, exposed flesh, and for that he should be grateful. Despite the pain that still resides in his body, he knows that if it were not for Hestia’s interventions, he likely would have been incapacitated much longer.
As he sits up, he realizes that Jonas is seated in a high-backed chair beside him. The Butcher regards him quietly, but there is a certain expression of relief upon his face in knowing that Faran will be just fine.
-
It takes Fenwick a moment to piece together what had happened as Cleo finishes. It wouldn't normally be that trying of a task, but he felt... different. It was as if something had changed...
"Oh... oh I see. I get it."
He sits up gently and looked around him, but he is unable to register where he was with anything that he could currently remember. His gaze turns to Cleo.
"Where are we?"
There was something tingling. His trusted instinct was telling him something was wrong, something familiar... Mmm... a knocked out Faran... a battle... a tune... a dance...
!!!
"The book?!? Where's my book?"
-
"Thank you, Dennan. Once again your shapeshifting abilities astound me. You must know more animals than I do people!"
Faile is sure putting on a show. Sembas gives Bran a sympathetic smile as she squawks about on his shoulder when she isn't looking.
The ale is welcome after the days activities. A lot had happened, and Sembas has more respect for the Bulwark than he did before. The amount of powerful individuals in this city was incredible. Immortal as he may be, he wasn't going to be getting on anyone's bad side any time soon...
Just then Blood goes off on a tirade at Sig. Sembas can't help but be embarrased, having been of one the 'soft-skulled ninnies' that had been dancing about the sparring ring.
"Speaking of which," he says as he turns to Archer, "what did you think of my dancing?"
-
"...What?"
Depheir was surprised with Dethys' words. He didn't remember, why could he want to go to Darastae.
Moment later, he recalled that he decided to become a spy for the Legion.
"Ah, yes. I've forgot it. That's good news. We can get to work now."
Despite the pain he felt still after the battle, he stood up and turned his head on Dethys.
"And... I've forgot to ask about it earlier... Who is Cardack?"
-
@Fenwick:
“We’re at Hestia’s infirmary,” explains Cleo. “Your friends are still here as well, save for Sembas who went with Sig to the tavern. It seems there are no hard feelings between those two.”
Cleo’s eyes widen as you frantically wonder over the whereabouts of your book.
“Relax, you ninny!” comes a gruff voice from the hallway. Moments later, Hestia, carrying the book in her arms, enters your recovery room.
Cardack’s torso extends out of the book and he crosses his transparent arms over his chest. “You might quite a spectacle of yourself, I’ll have you know. Tongue lolling out of your head like a calf after slaughter. Shameful, it was! What do you intend to do to the Forsaken? Drool them to death? Have I not taught you anything?”
Cardack reaches down and opens the cover of his book. “You see? Table of Contents: Offensive Spells. And did you ever even bother to look at those pages? Hmm? Did you? I think not! You make spells to make you more adept and to barter and bargain and cajole, but did you ever even bother to look at the section that might save your skin? Nincompoop!”
Hestia shakes her head. “Cardack, dear, let the poor boy rest. You weren’t exactly much of a fighter yourself, might I remind you.”
“That is because I am a lover… not a fighter… As you well know my dear.” He gives Hestia a sly look. “And though that may be true, it’s not just his skin riding on this, you know!”
“Skin?” quips Cleo, gesturing to Cardack’s see-through body.
“I didn’t mean it literally!” grumbles Cardack. “What if he gets his moronic cranium bashed and I get whisked off to Darastae to serve as reading material in Severan’s bathroom?”
Hestia’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “What a crude thought, Cardack.”
“Perhaps, but you know he’d do it… you know that he would. You…” Cardack leers at you. “You need to start finding better ways to protect us! There’s not room enough in here for two fellows, and even if there was, I’d refuse to share my personal space with you! So get on it, Fenwick!”
@Rethagos:
Dethys’s countenance darkens considerably. “Cardack? He is the loud moron blithering in the next room,” he replies dryly.
Dethys balls up his fist and pounds upon the wall. “Hey! Shut up over there will you.”
“No!” comes the terse reply.
Dethys shakes his head and gently massages his temples with his fingertips. “Idiot. It’s even worse now that he’s dead. Used to be he could only talk so long before his fool lungs would run out of air. Now, he doesn’t have to breathe so he can just yammer on forever.”
@Sembas:
Archer smiles slyly. “Well, you traipse about quite well with falcons, but they can swiftly get out of the way of your tromping feet.” She nudges you playfully. “However, if you would like to exhibit exceptional skill upon the dance floor, then perhaps you might prove to me your prowess?”
Archer seizes your hand and pulls you out into the center of the room. “Muse!”
“Haha! I get your meaning,” says Muse with a wink. She takes her lute in hand and begins to strum the strings to create lively tune.
@Sig:
Blood, in mid-sentence, stops yelling at Sig long enough to shake her head incredulously. “What is this?!” she demands. “More dancing foolishness?!”
She rounds upon Sig for another fresh round of shouting. “And another thing you diminutive little bastard…”
-
I at last gained my senses and woke to pain. There seemed to be a lot of that going around these days. A familiar ceiling. Where was this? Last time I woke here wasn't there a redhead standing over me? Hestia's infirmary. Right. My vision was blurry, blinking caused pain, and it seemed my eyelids didn't work quite right yet. I was covered from my neck down to my feet in the bedsheets, which was well. I really didn't want to know what I looked like under there. I spared a thought for a certain piece of my anatomy that was wounded during the fight, but quickly pushed it aside before I would become sick to my stomach.
Jonas was sitting there by the bed, looking relieved that I had awoken. Why did he look relieved? What he did to me couldn't have killed me, rough though it was. I did appreciate his concern though. Even though he was the one who did this to me, I felt strangely at peace with that. I suppose others would be furious at Jonas, but I did not feel so. First, I saw how much pain it caused him to do that to me. Second, though his actions, he had shown me more truth than anything I had experienced so far in Avalon. Third, by way of the second, he had shown that he respected me, something else I had not yet experienced here in Avalon.
Forcing myself as hard as I could, I gave him a weak nod and the barest ghost of a smile. I noticed his clothes had changed, though he still wore his customary apron. They looked clean. It had been at least a day since the fight then. Perhaps longer. I felt like hell, but I still didn't know enough of Hestia's talents to say how long I had been recovering. I could have been here for months.
“..oooww lonnn...” Was about all I could manage to ask. My face felt like fire when moving my lips. Pain hot enough to feel cold.
-
Depheir was very amused because of Dethys' response. It was hard to believe for him that his mentor could dislike Cardack so much.
"But wait, there was a reason..."
Depheir regained his seriousness and analyzed the words about Cardack that Dethys told.
" He is dead..., but he is alive. It seems that he is an Ageless that fulfilled his Death Wound, but, thanks to some sorcery, his spirit is still alive. Perharps... a phylactery?"
Then he turned to Dethys.
"Let's get to work. Time is of the essence."
-
It amazed Fenwick how quickly he had adapted and accepted Cardack. Sure, there was the fact that he was the living entity in his book-that-might-someday-according-to-prophecy-betray-him... Maybe that was it. Or it could've been that regardless, it was his book and his book was part of him. That tome was his.
It also surprised him then, to come up with a quick retort after Cardack had finished his rant.
"I never said I would prefer binding myself into that book. I'd rather bind myself to some immobile column or stone than live one day with you. You know what, just for that, I WILL read you in my bathroom, how's that for protection? It'll only be you in your book and me in my toilet! Safety!"
The words seemed to have just blurted out. He couldn't help but smile out loud to himself and the world.
"As for the offensive spells, I really just skipped that. How was I supposed to know I'd die and become immortal and have to fight to save all humanity!! What, did you know?"
Fenwick frowns slightly, his eyes shifting to his left as he pouts. "Maybe that's how my pages turned by itself. Was that you doing it all along?" He asks Cardack.
Questions aside, now that he looked around, it did seem like an infirmary. He wondered where Depheir and especially where Faran was.
A few knocks echoed around, accompanied with Dethy's distinct voice asking them to shut up.
"No!" is the obvious reply. He wasn't sure where that came from, but it was really breaking up the atmosphere.
Well... at least he knew Faran wasn't there. The two did not particularly click with each other.
"Erm... can anyone tell me where Faran is?"
-
Sembas realizes his mistake as Archer pulls him out to the middle of the room. He chuckles and rubs the back of his head nervously.
"Well, Faile certainly does have smaller feet than you..." He blanches. "Not to say that you have big feet! You're not big at all!" He bites his tongue. "Not that you're a midget or anything..."
"Oh, hell... Too much ale..."
He laughs, as he grabs Archer's hand and gently motions for her to spin by lifting it above her head and casually nudging his hand in a circle. All the while he tries to keep his feet moving to the beat.
“What is this?! More dancing foolishness?!”
A "Yip!" pops out of his mouth as he turns to see if Blood was going to tear his head off, but sighs in relief as she turns her attention back to Sig.
"Well then..." he begins to say before noticing his foot planted firmly between Archer's own two feet. "That was close!"
With another chuckle he continues trying to lead the dance and not step on Archer's toes, as little as they are...
-
Sig is simply trying to have a good time. He had sobered up just a bit during the fighting. The ale here is weaker then what he's used to, but it will do. However, he has hardly gotten through his second tankard when the enraged warrior woman begins shouting at him. "Blood" is the woman's name, if he recalls correctly. Real spitfire. Heavily armored to boot, too. Obviously knows what she's doing in battle. Sig briefly wondered to himself why she had not been involved with the duel as he quaffed the rest of his tankard and ignored the ranting.
"When faced down by an army of Forsaken, what do you intend to do? Dance them to death?!”
Sig chuckled under his breath a bit at this. Alviss's blessed song had worked flawlessly, and on more then just the combatants in the ring.
The warrior woman Blood paused for a moment to shout something at Sembas, and then resumed her tirade at Sig.
"And another thing you diminutive little bastard…"
Sig wipes some ale from his beard and hops from his stool.
"Well, now. My musical charms obviously had SOME sway over you, lass. Otherwise you wouldn't be here shouting at me about it. It seems like a lot of your Legion were affected. Are you saying that you are weaker then the Forsaken, that they would be immune to something that most of your own are not?"
Sig grins a crafty grin. This comment was specifically designed to get under the powerful woman's skin. Sig intends on making this interesting.
-
@Fenwick:
Cardack crosses his arms over his chest in indignation as you make your toilet-based threats. “Well! I never!”
You proceed to asking him about the pages turning themselves, but he merely responds to your query with a sneer before asking Hestia to bear him away from “that horrible, ungrateful toad!”
Cleo sighs heavily. “He’s as petulant now as he ever was. I don’t know why he is so bloody sensitive. As for Faran, he’s in a room down the hall. He’s with Jonas now. Hestia says that he may wake soon.”
@Faran:
Jonas leans back in his chair and the piece of furniture creaks under his massive form. “Only a few hours. Hestia did a fine job of seeing that your bits were covered again, but not all the layers have reformed completely. It could be a few days yet.”
Right on cue, Hestia enters the room with a bowl of warm water and an armful of fresh bandages. She smiles warmly as she crosses to Faran’s side. “I’m glad to see you’re awake! You’re skin is healing quite well, but we’re going to want to bandage you up a bit to help you avoid infection. You might not die from such a thing, but no one wants to walk about smelling like moldy cheese.”
Jonas chuckles, a deep rumbling sound that shakes his large stomach. “I will leave you to it. I think I would do well with a bit of fresh air.” He makes his way towards the door of the recovery room and pauses in the threshold to look back at Faran. “I will return soon,” he assures.
Hestia kneels beside Faran and begins the arduous task of cleansing the newly reformed layers of skin and bandaging them while they heal. Despite the pain that Faran is currently in, every place that Hestia touches is absolved of any sense of agony. Whether it is some kind of spell or some innate ability remains to be seen. What is certain, is Hestia is a woman that is exceptional at her job. She works in silence, her focus only upon the task at hand.
After some time, she smoothes the hair from Faran’s brow and presses the warm, damp cloth against his forehead. “Though I know why Jonas showed you that, I lament that you needed to encounter such evil so soon. I recall the first time I saw the Forsaken at work, and it was a sight that I will never forget.”
Hestia’s countenance becomes filled with sorrow. “That was also the last day I ever saw my husband, Aldin. He was a brave and courageous man, albeit chivalrous to a fault.” She smiles sadly. “He held the path while I aided the women and children of the village in escaping.” Hestia shakes her head, as if dispelling the memory. “But that was a long time ago. At any rate, it is important for you to remember that the Forsaken will do all that they can to weaken you. You will experience pain. You will experience loss. However, in the end… I know you will triumph. You’re a strong young man, Faran Beshral, and with Jonas by your side, I know you will become stronger. He may be a stern teacher, but he is a good man.”
Hestia is silent for a moment. “However, I will caution you. Do not allow Jonas to channel those powers too often. In showing you what he did today, it could have killed him. Jonas is a bit of a rarity amongst us. He is an empath, which allows him to experience the feelings of his allies. It allows him to sense their motivations and discern things about them.”
“However, this ability is both a punishment and a curse. It is not my task to divulge Jonas’s story; that is something known only to a precious few, and only he can do it justice. But know this, Faran… Jonas’s blessing can also be seen as a curse. He has a death wound, just as we all do, but there is a second way that Jonas may meet his end. Should his empathic abilities overtake him completely, I am not sure if he would be able to endure it. The Divine works in unusual ways. I can only guess that this is his penance for his past.”
“At any rate, take care with him, and do not allow him to overdo it. I would consider it a personal favor if you were to ensure he does not exceed his limitations.”
@ Depheir:
Dethys quickly tracks down Hestia, who informs him that you should be fine to go about your business. The mage leads you back to his clockwork mansion and into his laboratory. The sheer amount of tomes on the walls and magical spell components before you are daunting. There are jars of specimens, beakers filled with foul-smelling liquids, and several open books strewn about the room. Given the mess, it is quite apparent that Dethys has been hard at work.
“To be honest with you, I don’t think that a spell is going to do it this time. We need something that will cause a more lasting effect. I don’t know how long you will have to be undercover, so we need something that will endure indefinitely,” explains Dethys.
He leads you to a table near the center of the room. Upon the table, a large mortar and pestle rest and Dethys begins to grind the contents within. After some time, he dumps the mixture into a nearby beaker that is filled with an odd, green liquid. He uses a long, glass rod to stir the components, then hands you the glass.
“Bottoms-up.”
As you drink the liquid, you feel a strange, tingling sensation in your throat.
“Well?” asks Dethys.
You belch in reply, but immediately notice something is amiss. A gout of flame erupts from your lips and nearly burns Dethys’s eyebrows to a crisp.
“Well… I guess that formula is not quite correct.”
@Sembas:
Archer’s feet move lithely as you lead her around the dancefloor. Her steps are quick and well-executed, and though her movements are a bit more refined than your own, she does not complain when you nearly stomp upon her foot.
Across the room, you see Besnik and Faile perched upon either of Bran’s shoulders. The two bobble and bounce in unison, but after watching you for a bit, they decide to join you and your lady upon the floor. Bran seems quite grateful that the two fouls decided to depart and breathes an audible sigh of relief to be free from Faile’s watchful eye.
Besnik and Faile swoop around you and Archer in wide circles. Besnik dips low, nearly sweeping his talons upon the floor, while Faile arcs upward, giving you a playful sweep of her wing across the back of your hair as you continue to dance about with Archer.
When the song eventually ends, you and Archer are greeted with a room of applause as every person in attendance applauds your dance. That is, save for Sig and Blood who are apparently in the middle of a heated argument.
From somewhere in the back of the room, you hear a voice call out to you. "OY, LAD! That was pretty good! But I bet you I can do you one better!"
Smith makes his way to the center of the room and politely bows to Archer. "My dear lady." It appears that he is about to show you how to cut a proper rug by dancing with Archer, but instead, he turns to you and takes your hands in his. "Alright then, hot stuff. You lead."
@Sig:
Your insult has the desired effect and Blood bristles. Her face flushes a bright shade of crimson and you are quite certain that she is about to seize you from across the table and pulverize you into a bloody smear upon the floor.
“You dare to make such an attack on my honor? Very well. Let us settle this appropriately.”
The series of bouts that would follow would be talked about for years to come, and would serve as a testament to both Blood’s stubbornness and Sig’s resilience.
However, Blood, being a truly honorable person, would allow you to name the contest that would determine who was the superior warrior.
-
I gave Hestia the best nod that I could, she had not yet tended to my head and neck and so the pain had not left me wholly. I tried to put respect into my nod as well, though I couldn't be sure how well it came through. While I tried to reassure Hestia as best I could, I hadn't the slightest idea as to how to stop Jonas if he entered such a mood. When he had decided to flay me, the others had been very vocal about his descision, but none of them had actually moved to stop him. That made me wonder how much of a chance I stood of changing his mind.
Empathy. It made me wonder exactly how Jonas had been one of THEM to begin with. Or had he aquired the gift only after leaving the ranks of the Forsaken? Or did he leave them because of the gift? Did he leave once he had learned how much pain and suffering he brought the world because of his actions? It seemed likely. I could have almost sworn that Jonas was harming himself as much as he was harming me out there. While my own wounds would heal, and could be tended, could the damage Jonas did to his soul be as easily healed? How much pain did this man carry around with him?
Would I ever be free of questions? The thought amused me. I simply lay as Hestia finished her work. I tried to think as much as I could on everything: being an apprentice to Jonas, the inevitable battle with Forsaken, my place among the Ageless. So many unknowns and I was eager to put them behind me.
-
How rude! A sneer in response. It was Cardack after all though, so it was not that big of a surprise.
He responds to Cleo. "I see. Then perhaps I should visit him soon. Did Hestia say it's fine for me to move around?"
-
Depheir, previously impressed by Dethys's quick research, realized that he should expect that the formula isn't correct. Blood told him that Dethys can be easily distracted.
"Yes, it isn't correct", Depheir replied. "But I hope it will be prepared soon."
-
@Faran:
After several moments, you hear Jonas re-enter the infirmary. You can hear him discoursing with Hestia in the hallway, and you realize that the two immortals are obviously debating something. You can only hear bits and pieces, but are able to surmise that you are their topic of discussion.
“Not ready… needs time… rest…”
“Strong… he’ll adapt… must begin… running out of time…”
“Can’t rush… more harm than good…”
“Learn to endure… might save him one day…”
This conversation continues for several moments until you hear Hestia’s audible sigh and the conceding reply of “Fine.” She does not seem thrilled by the prospect of allowing you to leave her care so quickly. However, you know Jonas to be a rather convincing sort, and he has obviously managed to provide her enough reassurance to convince her to allow you to depart.
Jonas, his massive frame obscuring a great portion of the doorway, stands in the threshold of your room.
“Well. I do believe that you have napped long enough. If you are quite done indulging in your laziness, I believe we will be departing soon,” announces Jonas, a slight smile twitching the corners of his lips.
He turns on his heel and departs again. He is, indeed, a stern teacher, but if you are to fully understand the ways of the Forsaken, it seems Jonas Philosophy is your best possible source of information.
@Fenwick:
You can hear Hestia muttering to herself in the hallway. As she walks by your room, on her way to her study, you can see her throw up her hands and shake her head in disbelief.
“Hestia!” calls Cleo.
Hestia comes to an abrupt stop. Looking from Cleo to you, the anxiety upon her face quickly evaporates and she forces a comforting smile.
“Yes, dear?” responds Hestia.
“Is Faran alright to accept company?” asks Cleo.
Hestia frowns. “Me? I would say that he is in need of rest. But what do I know? I’ve only been a committed healer for hundreds of years! However, certain parties seem to think he is fine to be up and running around mere hours after being flayed alive! Perhaps while he’s at it, he can attach raw meat to him and allowed him to be chased by wild dogs! Perhaps he’ll allow him to roll around in the sand while his skin continues to heal!”
Hestia sighs in exasperation. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry.” She recollects her tranquility and her face becomes visibly more serene. “I’m sure he’s fine to accept company. If you wish to speak with him Fenwick, I’m sure he would not begrudge your company.”
@Depheir:
Dethys shakes his head as he ponders his mistake. “Hmm… This will require a bit more thinking. Why don’t you go out for a bit, Depheir? Get yourself some fresh air. Or maybe take a nap or something? You’ve had a rather rough day and the rest may do you some good. Or, perhaps you should stroll about Avalon. Find something constructive to do while I…” Dethys looks at the beaker ruefully. “Fix this debacle.”
Dethys dismisses you from his laboratory. As you exit the madman’s sanctuary, you pass a pretty young girl on the stairs. You recognize her as Serenity, one of Dethys’s assistants. She looks frantic and noticeably upset as she bustles about to and fro. You watch as she hurries into the living room where you can see Dethys’s wife, Carina, seated upon a small couch. Her face is pale and her skin is beaded with feverish sweat. Constancy, Serenity’s brother, is seated upon a chair nearby. In his arms, he cradles Dethys’s infant son, Laertan, who appears completely oblivious of his mother’s distress.
Serenity takes Carina by the arm and leads her up the stairs and towards the master bedroom. Serenity and Constancy exchange a knowing look as another racking cough affects Carina. Constancy’s gaze settles upon you and he wordlessly makes his way to another section of the house without properly acknowledging your presence.
-
A bit more color fills Sembas's cheeks as everyone applauds he and Archer's dance.
"OY, LAD! That was pretty good! But I bet you I can do you one better!"
Smith approaches them and bows to Archer. Sembas begins to back away from the two of them just as Smith grabs his hands.
"Alright then, hot stuff. You lead."
Faile giggles in his mind as he stares at the blacksmith. A smile cracks his lips as he raises their hands higher into the air.
"I knew I'd have to pay for those weapons eventually!" He says, with a slathering of sarcasm.
He lets out a "Whoop!" As he kicks up his heels and motions for Smith to spin as he'd done with Archer.
-
Hestia's response was certainly uncharacteristic of her, but it lasts for seconds before she regains composure, punctuated by her seemingly reluctant approval to allow Fenwick to visit Faran.
Oh well! A visit's a visit!
It takes Fenwick a few moments to find Faran's room, but he does so just in time to see Jonas walk off in the distance.
Faran lies upon the bed, bandaged in many areas, a cloth upon his forehead to supposedly keep a fever down. He was in terrible shape, but at first glance, did not seem to be angry or spiteful.
"Er, hello." Fenwick sits where Jonas was sitting previously. "How do you feel?"
It was perhaps an awkward start, but a start nonetheless. Faran had been an asshole before, but, as much as Fenwick could tell, that was because of his own views and perception of the Immortals.
With the battle, perhaps that had changed, and with that, perhaps a new start could be achieved between the two of them... at least thats what Fenwick hoped.
-
Several snarky remarks came to mind immediately, but I held them all back, feeling bad for thinking them. It was bloody decent of Fenwick to visit. I hadn't had much contact with the man, indeed not much contact with any of my contemporaries in Avalon. That Depheir fellow was still a mystery.
“Not bad, all things considered.” I said, in response to his question. With a heave I sat up in bed. It wasn't that my muscles weren't working. I felt like I could run a mile. I was bracing myself against the pain of moving, thankfully lessened by Hestia's skill in her art. The pain was still there but it was like it was blocked by a wall of glass. It didn't touch me but I was still aware of its presence, menacing. “It's really amazing what Hestia can do.” I flexed a hand to demonstrate how little pain I was in.
My body was covered in fresh bandages. If I didn't know any better I'd have thought I was an embalmed corpse fresh from my tomb. Looking under the covers and finding myself decently covered (by the aforementioned bandages) I swung my legs off the side of the bed and stood. I wobbled a bit at first, My body was still in some form of shock, I assumed. I eyed Fenwick, wondering if he saw my faltering. No matter. I gave him a grin, no doubt it looked ghastly but I was trying for levity, damnit. “Really if that's the worst the Forsaken throw at us I think we'll be in good shape.”
I went for my clothes and began dressing myself. Sure, I was already covered but I think it's said somewhere: 'the clothing makes the man' or some such. “Jonas Philosphy, don't know if you've met him or not, has me on something of a schedule. He's agreed to train me in combat. We're going to need every edge we can get in this fight and there no time to waste.”
I stomped my boots, laced them up and stood, back twinging with a memory of pain. I looked at Fenwick then. It didn't look like he had gotten it too hard in... whatever sparring he'd been involved in. I was too busy bleeding to watch. I wondered, then, if I had been an example to the others. True, Fenwick, Sembas and Depheir had probably greatly benefited from.. the display, but my wounds could have had another purpose. I hadn't made a lot of friends in Avalon, and pissed off more than a few. I might have been an example of another sort. One that says: “Don't piss us off.” I could be imagining it. The pain in Jonas's eyes was genuine. I trusted him... but I had yet to see about some of the others.
-
Fenwick thinks he sees Faran's lips twitch a little before he replies. Not bad? For someone who had relatively just become immortal and had himself castrated and what not... he was not bad. Wow. If Fenwick was in that state instead, he was sure he'd be bitter to the core. Being humiliated was not healthy.
To prove his point, as Faran had already shown himself a man of action, he sat up. Surprisingly, he didn't seem to be in much pain, or if he was, he was hiding it with artful skill. He comments on Hestia's skills, flexing his hand either to test it or to further prove his point.
"Yea, we're lucky to have someone like her in our society."
Then there was that moment of silence. That comfortable one where all parties have their attention on a single thing. This 'thing' in this case was his body. Bandages were wound around, and it shamed Fenwick a little, seeing that, compared to his companion, he was barely scratched. Faran looks under his covers, and actually SWINGS his legs off.
Damn.
This was negated, thankfully, by some wobbling. Fenwick notices Faran eyeing back, but attempts to hide the fact that he had seen it. His following grin was nothing short of funny looking on him, made him look ghostly. But if that was the worst the Forsaken could do, he says, then we would be in good shape.
"You look like those monsters parents tell their children before bed. If the children could see you now, I think they'd be quite assured!" He jokes.
Well, in immediate hindsight that was a horrible joke, but what's said was said.
All this time, he dresses himself. Even though he was already bandaged, Fenwick looked out of the room simply for decency's sake.
Faran mentions that Jonas has him on a schedule.
"Well, seeing him against you, I think, is meeting him enough." Indeed, the pain they both felt was touching. Gruesome and disgusting and irksome, but touching and human.
It was only when he heard Faran stomping his boots and lacing them that Fenwick looked back. Coincidentally, Faran was looking back at him. It took a while, but eventually, Fenwick realised that Faran was accessing the damage that his own body had suffered. He hoped he didnt blush then, but he again looked away for good measure.
Another silence. Both lost in their own thoughts.
"So, will you be joining us?" Fenwick asked, hopeful, as he attempted to make eye contact with Faran.
The room seemed stuffy to him, or perhaps it was the fact that Fenwick had been lying down too much, but he decided to stand and pace around the room.
"I mean, you know, coming with us instead of going alone? I really hope you will."
-
Fenwick seemed somewhat abashed by my scrutiny of him. I must have been looking a little more intently than I had intended, while lost in thought. A good sort, this one. Trustworthy. His question gave me pause, however. He deserved a little more in depth answer than I could give. I looked quickly around for my planned alternative to being asked sensitive questions like this. I spied what I needed, a desk with a quill and some small pieces of parchment.
I began walking over to the desk. “Oh, well, “ I said to the room. “I'm something of a wanderer and joining things really isn't my style.” I said while quickly scribbling on the paper. “Maybe once I have a reason to stick around, well, you know.” I finished scribbling and held the paper up for Fenwick to read.
Walls have ears. Ears named Dethys Night. Among others. Don't trust them yet. Don't KNOW them. Trust Jonas. I'm not going alone. I'm not joining either. WILL fight Forsaken.
I made sure Fenwick had read the note and then, with a soft note to my voice, the paper flashed to ash in my hand. I rubbed the ashes as fine as I could, making them vanish enough to avoid notice. I realized I probably looked a bit paranoid. Hey, I told him the truth. I didn't trust this place yet. I looked at Fenwick and shrugged, as if that could forgive my eccentricities.
-
Now that was very surprising... and discomforting.
Ears? Dethys Night? Dethys? Don't trust them? But they were good people! Dethys has a family!
"I see. I hope you'll reconsider." Fenwick said out loud to answer what Faran had spoken. Yet he couldn't help but mouth a bit 'What!!??!?!', frowning, going back and forth from the paper and Faran. Was this guy just freaking insane? Paranoid? Practical surely, but this!?!
On the other hand, Fenwick realised, he himself was quite naive. Yet, try as he might, he could not shake off the feeling that he could trust these people, Faran included.
As if in answer, Faran takes the paper and disintegrates it. He shrugs in reply. That too was surprising. Fenwick had braced himself for a counter or a lash out or something... Faran-ish.
Fenwick mirrors the shrug, scratches his head on the spot a bit, before giving a cough. "Right then, I'll see you later. Rest well!" He meant that last line. The line before? He wasn't sure if he actually wanted to.
He returns to his ward, grabs Cardack, and realised by that time that Cleo had gone somewhere. All for the better, he thought, he needed some alone time to take a walk.
And take a walk he did.
-
"Ah. It seems that he truly focused on the spell research. Okay, I won't disturb him."
Depheir left Dethys' room and felt distress as he saw everybody in the house is nervous yet. Serenity, one of Dethys' assistants, was noticeably upset. He watched as she hurried into the living room where Dethys’s wife, Carina, was seated upon a small couch. Her face was pale and her skin was beaded with feverish sweat. Constancy, Serenity’s brother, was seated nearby. In his arms, he cradled Dethys’s infant son, Laertan, who appeared completely oblivious of his mother’s distress.
Depheir observed the whole situation for a while. Moment after, he made an unnoticeable shrug gesture.
"It isn't my problem. She will be fine."
He went outside Dethys' house and began to stroll about Avalon.
" I have to visit every place here before I'll go to Darastae. It's a truly beautiful city."
-
@Sembas
Muse begins to strum another rousing tune and you quickly find that Smith is quite an adept dancer. He is surprisingly fleet-footed for a man built like a bulldog. His steps are lithe and his movements graceful as he spins about the room with you. He dips, twirls and hops about before hoisting you into the air over his head and spinning you around in wide circles.
He tosses you high into the air, so high that you can feel your heels graze the rafters. Once you descend, he catches you in his arms like a pretty maiden, then sets your feet upon the floor again. He proceeds to place his fists upon his hips and his feet lapse into a merry jig. He gestures for you to copy his movements and you find that you are quite good at it.
The rest of the tavern patrons clap in time and Archer laughs at the antics between you and the Smith. As the dance ends, Smith gives a gracious bow before crossing to the bar for another pint.
Archer throws her arms around your neck and plants a gentle kiss upon your cheek before steering you back to the table where the Bran, Faile, Besnik and Dennan smilingly await you. She guides you to a seat between herself and Dennan as the latter claps you upon the back.
“Very nice, Sembas,” remarks Dennan agreeably.
Bran is staring into a tankard of ale that Sig had previously thrust into his hands. He sniffs the liquid warily, then squinches his face in disgust.
Dennan appears amused at his brother’s reaction, but his attention is quickly drawn elsewhere. He sniffs the air, as if scenting something upon the subtle breeze that washes through the open window at the front of the tavern. A look of concern crosses over his face and he promptly dismisses himself from the table with a terse, “Excuse me.”
Several moments after Dennan’s hasty departure, Aloysius Keeper enters the tavern. He scans the room, as if looking for someone specific. His gaze settles upon Archer and he quickly crosses the room. Archer, noticing his path, rises to her feet.
“Keeper. What is it?” inquires Archer curiously.
Keeper’s expression is grim, but he says nothing to betray the true reason for his visit. He simply says, “You’re needed at the Bulwark, Archer. The General has requested that you bring your companion as well.” He gestures to you with a slight nod.
Archer takes you by the hand and motions for you to follow her through the streets of Avalon and towards the Bulwark’s Headquarters. You take the same, familiar path that you once trod to reach the location of The Blood-Wardens and soon find yourself escorted to General Fury’s offices.
The General stands by the glowing orb that serves as a communication device. Her brow is furrowed and her expression ill-at-ease.
“What do you mean you don’t know where he is?” demands Fury. Though she does not raise her voice, there is an unpleasant edge to it as if she is attempting to mask her own anxiety.
The voice on the other end is calm and collected. “He was to leave in the company of the Archon, but he asked to stay behind. The last we saw him, he was obliterating the Adversary’s creatures, but he simply vanished. No one could sense him, there was nothing of him left. We know he was not destroyed… we would have felt it.”
“Then they took him. Where?” questions Fury.
“We believe the Forsaken intend on constructing a new outpost not far from Il’adoul. If that is the case, then the local human population may be in imminent danger. They may be holding Aras there.”
“If there is any truth to this, we should scout the area and see what they’re really up to. We may have to evacuate the humans for their own safety. Even if we can drive off the Forsaken, I have the feeling they’ll be back again. Il’adoul has no strategic value to them. They must be looking for something,” Fury reasons. “I’ll send a small party to investigate, and if need be, eliminate any threats. Thank you, Antiman. And do not fear for Aras. We’ll see that we get him back safely.”
“Thank you, General.”
The orb grows dark and General Fury turns to regards you and Archer. “That was Antiman of the Shar’ada,” she explains to you. “The Shar’ada are a group of our mortal allies, but their leader, Aras, is one of us.”
Archer sighs heavily. “So, Aras has gone missing. I suppose you’ll want me to look for him.”
Fury frowns. “What has past is in the past, Archer. Despite the problems between you and Aras, he is still our companion and we cannot simply abandon him to the will of the Adversary. Besides, if the rumors of this new outpost are correct, than there are a number of humans who could be in danger. It is our duty to protect them.”
“I understand, General.” Archer gives an obedient bow.
“I will send a small company with you, but it must be small. If I send too many of our people, the Adversary will see us coming a mile away,” explains Fury. “I want you to take Sembas with you. Show him how to track, how to scout, and how to hide amongst the shadows. These are all skills he will need if he is to aid us.” Fury turns to you. “I trust you have no objections, Sembas?”
-
Smith turned out to be more nimble than Sembas would have guessed. The falconer couldn't help but laugh as he follows along with the surprisingly graceful blacksmith. He matches his unexpected dancing partner's bow before Archer collects him with a kiss on the cheek and returns him to the table.
Sembas was nearly getting used to Dennan's claps on the back by now. He was even able to keep the sip of ale he had just taken in his mouth during the big man's gesture of approval.
After swallowing, Sembas chuckles out a, "Thanks!" before shaking his head at Smith procuring another pint at the bar.
Just then Dennan excuses himself and Keeper arrives moments later. Something is going on, and he wonders what Dennan knew that he left so suddenly.
The Bulwark's Headquarters is a familiar sight. It's not long before he and Archer were standing before General Fury. Faile of course would never stand with being left behind, and she perches on his shoulder waiting intently to hear what they were summoned for.
Fury speaks with the orb, and an individual seems to be in trouble. Archer's heavy sigh results in a curious glance from Sembas. Apparently there was some history between this Aras and her. He will have to ask her about it later... delicately.
“I trust you have no objections, Sembas?”
"No, General. While I've had meager experience tracking small game in the woods back home, there is much I'd like to learn. And I can't think of anyone better than Archer to teach such things. I am greatful that you are allowing me to accompany her for this task." He finishes his statement with a bow towards General Fury, followed by another for Archer.
"At your command, my lady."
-
@Sembas:
“We’ll prepare at once,” responds Archer with a slight bow to the General. She leads you out of the Bulwark Headquarters and back to her home. The short trip back to her arboreal abode is shrouded by stony silence. Archer says nothing, and her demeanor seems to have changed quite drastically. There is no trace of that pleasant smile lingering upon her lips, and her hazel eyes have taken upon a stormy quality, with a gaze so cold it could freeze hell itself.
You watch as she gathers her belongings and Besnik, too, appears to be aiding her in gathering materials. He flies to and fro, gathering vials, arrows, and other components for the journey, then carries them to the bed where Archer has laid her pack.
Archer runs her hand through her dark brown hair and shakes her head in discontentment. “I’m sorry, Sembas. I do not mean to be so ill at ease. Aras… the man we have been sent to rescue…” Archer’s posture slumps and she wearily seats herself upon the bed. She leans forward, her elbows resting upon her knees.
Archer looks up at you, offering a wan smile as an apology. “Well… I guess it really should not matter. What is in the past is best forgotten. Aras was a large part of my life, but that is no longer an issue. We shall do as the General bids us, but we will not tarry in the company of Aras for long. Gather your things, Sembas. I must gather our company. I shan’t be long. When I return, we will claim some rest, then we will depart at first light."
-
Sembas's thought to ask Archer about Aras waned during the short walk to her house. Whatever happened between them certainly left Archer in a less than cheery mood. Either the two had very clashing personalities and did not get along, or they got along too well and had kept companionship for a time. He wasn't sure which would be worse, rescuing a man his leader and... daresay lover couldn't stand, or rescuing her former love.
Upon arriving at her house her demeanor did not warm at all. For the first time in Avalon Sembas felt out of place.
He is standing, leaning against the wall when Archer runs her hand through her hair and shakes her head.
“I’m sorry, Sembas. I do not mean to be so ill at ease. Aras… the man we have been sent to rescue…”
She slumps before sitting on the bed. The situation is making her visibly fatigued. Apparently this was effecting her quite a lot. Her weary smile is far from convincing.
“Well… I guess it really should not matter. What is in the past is best forgotten. Aras was a large part of my life, but that is no longer an issue. We shall do as the General bids us, but we will not tarry in the company of Aras for long. Gather your things, Sembas. I must gather our company. I shan’t be long. When I return, we will claim some rest, then we will depart at first light."
Sembas pushes off from the wall and shoos Faile off of his shoulder. She silently glides over to the window and perches on the sill.
He flicks back his hood as he paces over to the bed. Taking a seat next to Archer, he wraps his arm around her shoulders.
"He must have meant a great deal to you, to effect you so. Sometimes things... Well, you see fate..."
He sighs and hugs her tighter. "I'm afraid I'm not as eloquent as I'd like to be right now." He frowns and pauses for a moment. "Regardless of what happened in the past, just know that I'm not going anywhere." With that he kisses her on the cheek and rises to his feet.
"Although I may need to leave and clock this Aras fella a good one for making you so sad!" He comically shakes his fist at the wall, before adding, "after we rescue him, of course..."
-
@Sembas:
Your awkward, yet somehow comforting, words seem to put Archer at ease, and she affectionately presses her forehead against yours.
“You’re a good man, Sembas.” She kisses you softly on the lips and presses a warm hand against your cheek. “You possess such warmth and compassion. I am lucky to know you.”
Archer sighs heavily and reluctantly rises to her feet. “Well, I suppose I had better tend to our affairs. I fear if I linger here with you any longer…” Her gaze drifts to the bed. “… that I simply will never leave.”
Archer disappears through the doorway and leaves you to gather your belongings in preparation for the coming journey.
@All:
As the sun washes the borders of Avalon with the first subtle intonations of its rays, Archer readies her party for the departure. It is a small, but functional company, and as Sembas was asked to attend, his companion thought it might be wise to include a few of his comrades.
Archer had found one of the mages, Fenwick, studying in the library, and the other Depheir, enjoying the sites in Avalon.
Under the advisement of General Fury, Archer had also sought out Blood, who had been fairly easy to locate. She had been locked in both martial and mental combat with the Chosen of Alviss since their little altercation at the bar. In fact, when Archer had entered the tavern, she found the two with their hands still firmly pressed together as they stubbornly continued to arm-wrestle.
“Relent, you filthy ox!” growled Blood.
“And let you best me, you cloud-eyed harpy? Never! A Chosen of Alviss never loses a bet!” countered Sig.
“I hate to interrupt you two,” spoke Archer. “But I really must speak with you Blood.”
“If you can’t tell, I’m rather busy,” returned Blood sharply.
Archer narrowed her eyes. “I assure you, it is far more important than this lunacy.”
“LUNACY?!” shouted the Chosen of Alviss. “I’ll tell you what’s lunacy! This bloody barwench won’t stop a-squeezing my thumb like a vice! Who taught you how to arm wrestle?!”
“What’s the matter, Glorrack? If you can’t handle the pressure, you can just quit.” As she uttered these words, it appeared that Blood began to gain some leverage on him. She began to press his arm backward, but the Chosen of Alviss refused to relent.
Archer shook her head in irritation. “Look, the General just got a report in… Aras went missing.”
Blood’s eyes widened considerably. “Aras?” She nearly faltered in her manual contest, but was able to catch herself before Sig could fully take advantage of the distraction.
Archer nodded.
“Alright. What do you need from me then?” asked Blood.
“I can only take a small company,” explained Archer. “It will be rather dangerous, but I think it best that Sembas and the Childer come with me.”
“So you need a babysitter to help you? Someone to herd the cats?” returned Blood simply.
“Well, if you’re not too busy getting plastered in taverns and arguing with foreign dignitaries, yes, I could certainly use your help.” Archer crossed her arms over her chest.
“Very well,” spoke Blood. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Well, I should certainly be done pummeling this misshapen hobgoblin into the ground by then. I have some other matters to tend to before I can depart, but I am guessing you will have to journey by foot for at least a week as to not raise suspicion. I do not know if I will be able to see to my business before then, but I will follow shortly thereafter. For now, take Dennan with you. He is a far more efficient scout than I am anyway.”
Archer looks over the small group assembled before her. Cleo has her arms wrapped around Fenwick’s neck and is reluctantly kissing him goodbye.
“I may tarry here another day or so, but I think it best I return to my station, at least until you return. If you have need of me… should your situation become dire… you know how to reach me.” She gestures to the Sigil that would summon her, should the need present itself. “Be safe, Fenwick.”
Nearby, Dethys claps Depheir upon the back. “I hope to have something worked up by the time you get back. This is a rather dangerous scheme we’ve got, and if I don’t get it just right, you’ll be fed to the wolves as soon as you enter Darastae. Be well, Depheir.”
Dennan stands with his arms over his chest and appears quite a force to be reckoned with. His enormous, silver greataxe hangs upon his back, and his thick, leather armor has recently been tended by Armen Smith. Though it is simply leather, his armor is easily as strong as platemail, and contains several enchantments to keep the mountainous man protected, should anyone be foolish enough to come so close to him. There is falcon atop each of his shoulders. Faile and Besnik proudly stand vigilant atop their lofty perches, both eager to be going on an adventure. Dennan’s expressionless face warms as he sees his mother and brothers approach to bid him farewell.
Constancy and Serenity embrace each other, as the former will be accompanying you, but the later will be staying behind. Serenity seems nervous at the prospect of being parted from her much adored brother. The two are rarely seen without the other. However, Constancy assures her that all will be well and that he will return soon enough.
Archer watches the exchange and glances over to Sembas. “I can hide a great deal of our trail, but Constancy here will be able to give us a bit more added protection.”
When all goodbyes are said, and well-wishes given, the company is ready to depart. Archer leads all of you towards the main gates of Avalon, and the portal you passed through to get here. Cleo, who has followed behind, mutters a few words under her breath and you see the portal flash in an explosion of vibrant shades of orange and deep crimson.
“That should do it. That’s about as close to Il’adoul as I can get you without drawing the attention of the Forsaken,” states Cleo.
Archer leads all of you into the portal. The journey is slightly less unnerving than your previous passage, but you find yourselves still rather unaccustomed to this mode of travel. It will definitely take some getting used to.
When you emerge on the other side, the portal slams shut behind you and quickly evaporates into nothingness. You find yourselves in a lush, heavily-wooded area. The trees here are some of the tallest you’ve ever seen, and off in the distance you see rolling fields of tall, green grass. A small, crystal pond glistens in the sunlight, and everywhere around you is the chirping of birds and the minute croaks of small toads.
There is a worn, dirt path not far away from your point of arrival, but Archer relates that she has no intention of parading you about the main road. Instead, she motions for you to follow her through the woods.
Every few steps, you see Dennan sniff the air, likely checking to ensure that no harm or other unpleasant surprises have the opportunity to fall upon you.
Meanwhile, Archer’s form takes on a soft, shimmering glow, and if you are observant enough to realize it, you see that every plant you trod upon, every twig that cracks under your weight and every fallen leaf that is smashed under your heavy footsteps is returned to its natural order as she passes over it. Constancy raises his arms over his head and a small translucent sheet rises into the air before falling over you. As it touches your skin, it feels refreshing, as if composed of tiny water vapors that cleanse you completely. Dennan sneezes and glances over at Constancy.
Constancy frowns. “Sorry, Dennan.”
Dennan merely grunts in reply. He looks to the three younger Immortalis, who have not experienced such a thing before.
“He’s masking our scent and muting the sounds around us,” explains Dennan. “It will be more difficult for the Forsaken to perceive us this way.”
-
"Well, I join a rescue quest. At last some REAL action"
Depheir arrived to the meeting place and saw a group assembling. There were many friends already. He sat on the ground and was preparing mentally, when Dethys clapped Depheir upon the back.
“I hope to have something worked up by the time you get back. This is a rather dangerous scheme we’ve got, and if I don’t get it just right, you’ll be fed to the wolves as soon as you enter Darastae. Be well, Depheir.”
The mage stood up and, then, he saw an explosion of vibrant shades of orange and deep crimson. The portal.
“That should do it. That’s about as close to Il’adoul as I can get you without drawing the attention of the Forsaken,” stated Cleo.
Archer led him and the rest of the squad through the portal.
When he emerged on the other side, the portal slammed shut behind him and quickly evaporated into nothingness. He found himself in a lush, heavily-wooded area.
There was a dirt path not far away from there, but he had to follow Archer through the woods.
Constancy raised his arms over his head and a small translucent sheet rises into the air before falling over them. As it touches their skin, it feeled refreshing, as if composed of tiny water vapors that cleanse them completely.
“He’s masking our scent and muting the sounds around us,” explained Dennan. “It will be more difficult for the Forsaken to perceive us this way.”
"Right. We're going that way and then arrive at Forsaken's territory. How will it be possible for me to spy them in Darastae after that?"
Then, quietly, he asked Constancy:
"Should I use my spells down there? You know that I'm going to spy at Darastae. If they will remember my fingerprint, the advantage of being unknown to them shall be forfeit."
-
Fenwick's walk takes him over to the library, where he decides to pass the remaining time reading a few books. It soon was clear that all that had passed earlier on was tucked neatly away in a corner of his mind as he dwelved deeper into his books.
Yet as his journey into 'Known cultures of the mortal world' is cut short as Archer interrupts him, quickly explaining about the journey they were about to undertake.
He is eventually led to the bar, where Cleo was waiting. They embrace, whereupon he is kissed upon the cheek. Fenwick is quickly reminded of the sigil, lest danger draws close...
"No need to worry, I have the others to watch over me, I think I'll be fine." He replies, accentuating it with a smile.
The rest of the time is spent in preperation, with a last minute check, for the fiftieth time, that his tome was still safely tucked within his robes.
Alas, the road is clear as Cleo opens a portal and the team step through...
The woods were free from human intervention, save for their own footsteps and the occasional sniffing from Dennan. It does not take long for Fenwick to sense that something was weird, but it takes him a good ten minutes more for him to finally realise that everything they treaded upon was quickly restored. It takes him a split second after to deduce that Archer's glow was probably causing it.
Constancy casts a spell which results in a light sheen of water upon their skins. It is explained that it would mask their scent, also demonstrating once again how sensitive and how feral Dennan was.
Fenwick continues walking in silence, head down as he watches his footing. It would look foolish if he were the first to stumble.
-
Sembas's cheeks are warm after Archer leaves the room. With a sigh he shakes his head. "I am lucky to know you too, Gladia."
After a lingering glance to her bed he claps his hands and rubs his palms together. He finds his spear and straps it to his back. It is still in remarkable condition after the sparring matches. His knife is the same, he notices, as he straps it to his hip. The bow he brought with him from the militia is leaning against the wall. He plucks the string as he holds it in his hand. It is slung over his shoulder along with the quiver that archer had given him. A good number of his own arrows are mixed in with the enchanted ones. Hopefully he won't pull Archer's out and use them up by mistake.
Faile was already outside somewhere, having left during Sembas and Archer's little moment. Not like she wouldn't know everything that he was feeling anyway. He couldn't help but grin when he realizes that she was out looking for Dennan. That man must keep meat in his pockets, for how much she likes him.
Everyone who iss coming with them has gathered together. Sembas is standing between Dennan and Archer, watching as others are saying their goodbyes. She mentions something about Constancy's reason for coming, which is given a nod from Sembas in recognition.
"Walking, bleh." Faile mutters in his mind. She still dislikes the sensation of travelling through the portal.
But she thoroughly enjoys where the portal deposits her. Sembas nearly has to grab her to stop her from taking off into the trees. She settles onto his arm, giving a huffy chirp as she does so.
They follow behind Archer, Sembas doing his best to stalk through the woods. He nearly thinks better of it when he sees the effects of Archer's glowing. The leaves overturned by his feet right themselves, and any cracked twigs mend back together. Constancy's spell quickly follows, feeling oddly refreshing. Apparently they were pulling out all the stops for this mission. Sembas was waiting for an invisibility spell to spring up around them next.
"Hey," he says to Faile through their bond. "Lets work on an invisibility enchantment for you next. I think that could be useful."
"And fun!" She replies. "Think of the pranks we could pull on that oaf Besnik!"
Sembas sighs and smacks his forehead with his free hand. Faile shifts her weight and sits smugly on his arm. They continue following after Archer, wondering how far it is until their destination.
-
@Rethagos:
Constancy shrugs in response to your question. “I cannot pretend to know what manner of mischief Dethys will employ to mask your ‘fingerprint’ so to speak. However, I know he is far more capable than some give him credit for.”
Archer frowns. “Dethys walks a very thin line between genius and madman. Though he is brilliant, he can be a bit… unstable at times. I doubt the use of your spells will cause you problems later on. My guess is the majority of the creatures we’ll be fighting won’t be strictly Forsaken. There has been a surge of the Adversary’s creatures as of late, especially in these parts. After all, that is why Aras was here to begin with. I wouldn’t give it too much thought. Besides, if you hold back, it may bode ill for all of us.”
@All:
The first day’s journey passes uneventfully. Being Immortalis, you have a certain natural endurance, and continue through the night. During the second day’s trek, at one point, Dennan’s lips curl back into a snarl as he senses something in the distance. Besnik, Archer, Sembas and Faile scout ahead, but whatever was once there has quickly passed and they have no luck tracking the source of the disturbance.
That night, camp is made. As you all gather around the small fire Archer has made, you realize Dennan is taking pains to avoid all of you. You note that Dennan’s behavior is becoming increasingly erratic, as if he is constantly on edge. Any attempt to speak to him is met with little more than a grunt and his attention seems to be entirely elsewhere.
It is not until the third day that the presence of the Forsaken is keenly felt. Fensten lumbers beside his master and Dennan reaches out a hand to offer an affectionate pat to the bear’s head. However, Dennan quickly halts in his tracks as he once again senses something amiss.
Faile and Besnik take to the sky, and report back to their masters that there appears to be something burning on the main road about two miles away. Constancy casts a spell that allows all of you to quicken your steps and within moments, you find yourselves by the roadside.
Tufts of black smoke emerge from the smoldering wreckage of what may have once been a wagon. The two chestnut steeds that once bore the wagon are little more than piles of torn flesh and broken bone. The sight of three human corpses bring a gasp to Archer’s lips and she covers her mouth in disgust.
The party moves closer to investigate the gruesome scene. You note that the first corpse is that of a man, likely in his late 30’s. His dark, brown beard is mottled with sticky, red blood and his torso looks as if it was collapsed by an astonishing weight. Broken bones stick out of his crimson-stained shirt and one of his lifeless hands is wrapped around the hilt of a shattered dagger.
The second body is that of a woman, slightly younger than the man. There is a silver wedding ring upon her left ring finger, and it would be correct to guess this is likely the man’s wife. Her body is covered in multiple stab wounds and you come to the horrific revelation that her tongue has been cut out. Blood pours from her open mouth and you find the discarded muscle several feet away.
The last body, and perhaps the most tragic, is that of a little girl. She was likely about five or six years of age and her pale hand still clutches a crudely made ragdoll. Unlike her parents, it is likely this child met a quick ending, as there is only one wound: an arrow that sticks out of her throat.
As Sembas is standing beside Dennan, the former can see one of the beast-like human’s ears twitch as he picks up on a soft sound. It is scarcely more than a whimper, but within seconds, the rest of you hear it, too.
The sound is coming from a twisted, broken form nearby. Archer moves closer and shouts for the rest of you to come quickly.
“It’s a little boy!” shouts Archer. “He’s still breathing!”
As the rest of you move to join Archer, Dennan hangs back.
The boy, who appears to be around 8 or 9 years of age, has difficulty willing his eyes to focus on your faces. Despite the agonizing pain he is in, he desperately attempts to force out words.
“Attacked…” he manages to rasp through ragged breaths. “Forsaken… killed… killed mother. It hurts… It hurts!” his tiny hands fall upon a deep wound in his side and the boy cries out in pain.
“It’s okay. We can help you,” explains Archer gently. “We’ll heal you and get you to safety. Don’t fear.”
Archer motions for Constancy to come closer. The mage kneels beside the fallen boy and moves to press his hands against the gaping wound.
Before he can do so, Dennan lets out a feral growl and bounds forward. He roughly pushes Archer and Constancy aside before reaching down, seizing the bleeding, broken young boy by the throat and holding him aloft in the air.
The boy cannot mask his shock and horror and he weeps terribly as he struggles to break free.
The glint in Dennan’s eyes is one of madness and his chest heaves as he snarls and growls.
“Dennan!” Archer struggles to her feet and attempts to intercede on the boy’s behalf. Dennan, his eyes flashing with unbridled fury, shoves Archer aside again. She lets out an “ooph!” as she is knocked from her feet and lands several yards away.
“KEEP AWAY FROM ME!” snarls Dennan.
Constancy moves to his feet and readies a spell, but before he has a chance to use it, Fensten tackles him to the ground.
The boy’s eyes begin to roll back in his head, and his already pale face takes on a sickly pallor. You get the sense that if something is not done soon, Dennan will quickly end him.
-
Being able to stretch his legs in the wilderness was a welcome change of scenery for the young falconer. Avalon was a majestic and impressive city indeed, but nothing compares to wide, untouched wilderness. His caution for Faile was relieved, and she freely flew above them mentioning anything interesting she saw. More often than not it was a tasty squirrel or rabbit, but she would have time to snack once they stopped for a rest.
He relished getting to scout ahead with Archer and Besnik, yet Dennan's demeanor worried him slightly. Truthfully he didn't know how the man acted outside of Avalon. Sembas just hoped there wasn't something to be worried about from his new friend.
The third day came and the peaceful hikers were reminded of the mission at hand.
"Smoke from the road. No movement over there, but it couldn't have happened too long ago." Faile relays into his mind.
Sembas covers his face with his forearm at the sight of the remains. It looks like a family was slaughtered by something or someone. The woman wears stab wounds, but the husband looks like he was crushed by a giant boulder. Sadly, a single arrow pierces through the throat of a little girl still holding a doll. And two good horses are mutilated into near non-recognition.
"Each killed a different way. That seems... odd." His golden eyes scan along the road for untouched tracks, anything that could give away who or what had done this.
But his search is cut short as he glances at Dennan beside him and notices the large man's ear twitching. Soon he hears the rustling too, and spots the little boy.
Sembas stands next to Dennan as Archer and Constancy tend to the child. He was uneasy about this whole scene, and the fact that such efficient killers would leave a little boy alive was bothering him. The boy tries to explain what happened, but he was clearly injured.
It is then that Dennan lunges forward and lofts the boy in the air by his throat. Archer tries to intercede but is gruffly shoved aside.
"Hey!" Sembas yells as he runs to Archer. He quickly makes sure she is ok, knowing that she would be fine without him either way. Extending his hand to help her up he stares a hole into the back of Dennan's head.
"Dennan! Explain yourself! I'm just as uneasy about this scene as you are, but thats no reason to finish the job that the forsaken failed to do!"
Faile lands on a branch above Dennan, her piercing gaze meeting his.
-
Depheir calmed his mind as he was walking through the wilderness with the rest of his friends. The lush, untouched forest was much different to his senses than the city of Avalon, but that wasn't very important to him.
Nothing was happening for the first two days, but Dennan sensed something in a distance. The scouts, unfortunately, had no luck tracking the source of the disturbance.
Second night, at the camp, Depheir sensed that Dennan was acting somewhat strangely, but he didn't care about that. He didn't know how Dennan acted outside Avalon.
The third day came and the scouts noticed a smoke from the main road. Constancy casted a spell and, suddenly, Depheir found himself by the roadside.
Black smoke emerged from the wreckage of a wagon. Two horses were little more than pile of flesh and bone. A family lied nearby, slaughtered by something. Woman's body was covered in multiple stab wounds. The man looked like he was crushed by something heavy. The little girl had the throat pierced by a single arrow. Depheir turned his head to cover the sight of the remains.
“It’s a little boy!” suddenly heard Depheir. “He’s still breathing!”
Archer was standing near a twisted, broken form nearby.He moved to join her and saw a heavily injured boy, which tried to explain what happened, but he wasn't able to express. Archer and Constance were tending the child.
Then Dennan lunged towards the boy, with unbridled fury inside his eyes, clearly willing to end him. Archer tried to intercede but was shoved aside.
"KEEP AWAY FROM ME!", snarled Dennan.
Depheir decided to act swiftly. Raised his hand and aims it at Dennan's direction, with magical energy gathering inside.
"STOP. RIGHT. NOW.", he shouted and launched the energy towards Dennan as a white, glowing missile of his Confusion spell.
-
Dennan had been acting strange lately, but with the presence of a lumbering bear and surrounded by a forest, it was not entirely surprising.
Yet, he had taken it a bit far. He held a dying boy by the neck, his blood still clearly trickling down from his wound. The rest were forced to back away, or at least freeze where they were. Fenwick did not want to believe it, but he did not doubt that Dennan would kill the boy, even though he had no reason to.
Sembas tries to be diplomatic, appealing to the immortalis within him. But any hope of this working is instantly dashed as Rethagos is worked up, firing off a spell of his own.
Fenwick had only a split second to think. The spell most likely would not affect Dennan, but interfering with the spell would most likely give Dennan enough incentive to break through his hesitation.
In the end, he decides to brace himself, ready to cast a protection spell on the boy if required...
-
"Dennan! Explain yourself!” demands Sembas. “I'm just as uneasy about this scene as you are, but that’s no reason to finish the job that the forsaken failed to do!"
Veins bulge in Dennan’s arm as he continues to hold the child aloft. He clenches his hand fast around the squirming child’s throat, and the boy looks as if he will lose consciousness at any moment. Despite the fact that the child appears to be at death’s door, you all come to the realization that it is Dennan who appears to be in an excruciating amount of pain, so much so that the single word that escapes his lips seems to be a combination of both whimper and snarl.
“CARNIS.”
The child’s mouth opens just as Depheir’s spell reaches Dennan. However, as the feral man has phenomenal Willpower, the effect is nullified. Unfortunately, it is in that instant that one of the powers of the Carnis is revealed. It absorbs the power present in Depheir’s spell, reflecting it back at the unwitting mage and causing Depheir to be hit by his own spell. In addition, it finds itself invigorated by the magic and seeks to renew its escape from Dennan’s grasp.
“RUN!” shouts Dennan again.
Reflexively, Archer seizes Sembas by the shoulder. “RUN!” As her celerity is exceptionally impressive, she manages to flee the area with great speed, dragging Sembas behind her. Beznik, recognizing what is happening, urges Faile onward. Fensten whines at his master, but Dennan urges him to escape.
“GO FENSTEN! LEAVE ME!”
The bear grasps Constancy by the robes and hurtles in the opposite direction of his master. He barrels towards Fenwick, knocking the mage off his feet, and forcing him onto the bear’s back. Fensten speeds forward, and it would be advisable for Fenwick to hold on or he may lose his perch on the massive beast.
Once the party is safely out of range, Archer stops and gathers everyone around her.
“What was that?!” shouts Constancy.
“It was a Carnis,” responds Archer. “It is a being created by the Adversary himself. They are masters of deception and will always prey upon a sense of sympathy in its victims. Truth be told it likely sensed our nature and knew we were of the Ageless. It made it appear as if the Forsaken had attacked a caravan. Dennan does not think or sense as we do. The Carnis are often only recognized by creatures of the wild. It is possible that Dennan sensed it days ago, and simply could not recognize what it was. The man, the woman, the children... all illusions... and we... we were fool enough to fall for it.”
In the distance, Dennan’s ear-piercing screams of agony can be heard. Fensten roars and moves to return to his master’s side, but Archer seizes his fur and attempts to calm him. An immense explosion, bathed in washes of scarlet erupts in the distance. Whether this signifies the destruction of the Carnis, Dennan or both remains to be seen.
Constancy's eyes widen. "Archer! Depheir! Depheir is missing!"
-
Pale-faced, livid, unusually stiff, Fenwick holds on to the fur of Festen. What they had thought to be a boy had turned out to be a Forsaken. How fortunate that Depheir's spell reflected off first, for his own protection magic may have given the 'boy' enough incentive to kill them all on the spot.
Archer explains what that thing, a 'Carnis' was. He had never heard of one, but maybe they could have been the ones that killed his family, not 'humans'. Who knows, it could have been one, or several. Fenwick decides that this information is important, and tucks it away in his mind for future reference.
Dennan screams in the distance, causing Festen to try to return to its master, but Archer is remarkably able to grab onto his fur and stop him.
In retrospect, a protection spell on Dennan before leaving would have been beneficial...
But they had other things to worry about now, such as finding out where Depheir had disappeared to.
-
"Dennan! Explain yourself!” demands Sembas. “I'm just as uneasy about this scene as you are, but that’s no reason to finish the job that the forsaken failed to do!"
Dennan continued to hold the child aloft. The boy looked as if he would lose consciousness at any moment, but Dennan appeared to feel an excrutiating pain.
"CARNIS."
"Uh. That's not good..."
The trap has sprung. Boy opened his mouth wide, absorbed the spell and reflected it back to Depheir.
As the Confusion bolt reached the mage, he began to feel a weird numbness and stopped to care about anything around him. He glanced at the boy, which seemed invigorated by the spell and reattempted to escape Dennan's grasp.
Dennan shouted something and everyone began to run away.
"Where are they going?"
Depheir slowly realized that he is in danger, but still didn't know, what to do. He glanced at his comrades, fleeing away, then turned his sight on Dennan, who shouted in agony. Finally, he saw a crimson explosion and everything around blurred and darkened.
-
"CARNIS."
The word escapes from Dennan's struggling form. The pain and struggle in his voice confirms Sembas's wariness of the situation. Depheir's spell launches at Dennan, only to be shrugged off by the elder Immortal. The Carnis, on the other hand, absorbs the spell and flings it back at Depheir.
"RUN!"
Without time to react Archer grabs his shoulder and takes off. He can barely move his feet fast enough, and it is apparent that she was dragging him more than he was keeping up with her. Faile takes off with a slight nudge from Beznik. The wind catches below her wings and she is soon very high in the air above the forest. Her and Sembas's thoughts are running rampant through their bond. Confusion and fear run rampant, but worry and anger for their friend are also present.
At a suitable distance away Archer explains what, exactly, a Carnis is. The danger of the situation weighs heavy on Sembas. They walked right into a trap, and now Dennan was stuck alone with such a foul creature.
Dennan's screams ring out through the forest. Sembas, for a moment, mimics Fensten and takes a step towards his friend and the Carnis. The scarlet explosion stops him in his tracks. Feelings of shock and anger pour forth from Faile high above in the air.
"Archer! Depheir! Depheir is missing!" Constancy panicedly reports.
"Faile, can you see any signs of Depheir? His confusion spell was turned on him. And also, what of Dennan?" He asks over the bond.
With a moments pause, he adds, "And don't stay out in the open too long, we don't know what else is watching us. I'd have you here with me."
"Faile is looking for Depheir. It might be difficult with the thick forest around us, but her eyes are far better than ours." He says to everyone.
"What is our next move, Archer?"
-
Archer looks to Besnik who is busily hopping to and fro as he attempts to investigate Faile for injury. She squawks in annoyance, as she has repeatedly indicated to him that she is fine, but he still pokes at her wings and feathers with his beak as he insists that he check for himself.
“Bes. I need you to go back to the site. We need to know if Depheir and Dennan…” There is a slight quaver in Archer’s voice when she speaks Dennan’s name. It is obvious, as the appointed leader of the party, that she feels guilty for allowing all of you to blunder in to such a trap.
Archer’s lips become a tight line as she tries to take on a more resolute composure. “See how they fare, or if the Carnis has succeeded in punishing us for our stupidity. I do not doubt that as a creature of the Adversary it is in league with the Forsaken. I would like to think I could sense the Forsaken if they were close, but just as we have ways of masking our presence, I'm sure they do as well.”
Besnik gives a nod before taking to the skies. He heads in the direction of the explosion, leaving the rest of you to wonder over the fates of your companions. It is about ten minutes until Dennan returns. In the distance, Archer can just barely make out a large, lumbering shape. Atop its shoulder, Besnik is perched. He waves a wing to Archer and you all manage to make it to Dennan before he collapses upon the ground again.
“Dennan!” Archer crouches beside him, a look of intense worry present on her face.
Dennan grunts in reply. He is bleeding from many wounds, the worse of which is a gaping, bloody mess where his abdomen should be. His hands are badly burned and dark, crimson rivulets pour from a deep cut upon his forehead.
“Constancy! Help him!” cries Archer.
Constancy, his face ashen at the state of his friend, kneels beside the human giant’s side. He presses his palms against the worst of the wounds to accelerate the healing process. Dennan’s eyes are scarcely open, but he seems coherent enough.
Archer shakes her head in disbelief. “A Carnis… I’ve never seen one up close, and I pray that I never will again. If it wasn’t for you, we’d all be as injured as you right now. We’d make easy prey for the Forsaken then.” She puts her hand on his and gives him a mock scowl of disapproval. “You foolish boy. Why would you go and do such a thing? Blowing yourself up like that! Your mother will have my head.”
Dennan chuckles weakly. “What mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“She could probably bloody well hear that explosion all the way from Avalon. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was standing in our midst within moments.”
“You’re right… she likely already knows. But she also knows that I will be fine,” assures Dennan.
Archer frowns and looks to Constancy for affirmation.
Constancy nods. “We’ll be able to piece him back together in no time. Honestly, if anyone was to be blown up by a Carnis, we’re lucky it was Dennan and not any of us. He regenerates far faster than the rest of us. I’m honestly surprised that he’s managed to stay conscious through all this. I’ll need some time to work on him though. We should find somewhere safe to make a camp.”
“We still need to find Depheir,” reminds Archer. “Dennan, was he not with you.”
Dennan frowns, his expression grim. “If he was, he would be with me now. I was out for a few moments. When I came to, no one was there. The Carnis has moved on… there is no trace of it at the site.”
“Sembas and I will look for Depheir,” states Archer. “Fenwick and Constancy will tend to a making camp and putting you back together. Fensten will help to stand guard. In the off chance that the Carnis is still near, you and Fensten should be able to sense it.”
Archer, Besnik, Sembas and Faile make their way back to the place where they encountered thCarnis. Depheir is nowhere to be found, but there is a set of tracks that leads in the direction of Il’adoul.
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When Depheir comes to, he is keenly aware of a sharp pain in the back of his skull. His chest throbs and several small cuts mar his hands, but miraculously, he seems to be little worse for wear.
“Well… It’s about time, meatbag.”
Depheir is not sure of where the voice may be coming from, but it seems amused at its own little joke. Depheir looks down and comes to the shocking discovery that he is walking, and given the tracks behind him, has been for some time. How he managed to do so while unconscious remains to be seen.
“Maybe now that you’re conscious again we can move a little faster. I was having difficulty dragging your sorry ass along, you stupid slab of pork.”
Without consulting Depheir, the mage’s legs begin to move of their own volition. His pace begins to quicken substantially and Depheir aches as he realizes his ankle was likely damaged in the blast.
“Come on! Surely you can go faster than that! You must be resisting. Stop it. It’s annoying. I have a very important appointment to keep, and you’re going to ensure that I keep it. So quit trying to slow me down or I’ll blow you up like I did the large human.”
Depheir’s legs move faster and faster, and it appears, like it or not, the mage has become an unwilling vessel for a very impatient Carnis.
-
Fenwick dismounts the giant bear and takes a moment to recover from the shaking in his legs. Besnik had been spent to search for Depheir. The atmosphere was tense, unsurprisingly. None of them had expected such a rough encounter this early in their journey. Fenwick curses himself silently. The Immortalis can be damned for not informing and teaching them of such dangers, but it was ultimately his failure to actively prepare themselves better.
It is not until ten minutes later that Dennan manages to find his way to the group with Besnik's help. Constancy goes up to heal the wounded man, who seemed to be bearing his exploded abdomen pretty well considering his conversation with Archer. Then again, when one can't die, one doesn't fear much either.
Shortly after, Fenwick is grouped with Constancy to bring the man back to shape as best as they can. Fenwick clears a space on the ground around a tree and together with Constancy's help attempts to make him as comfortable as possible.
The damage is great, but it seems that Constancy's skills along with Dennan's natural regeneration has stemmed the worst. Attempting to help, Fenwick casts a spell of his own. (WISDOM: LIFESAVER).
"Are you okay?" Fenwick asks, "What I've casted will take too long to have an effect, and it might be that you're too badly wounded." He turns to Constancy. "What can I do?"
-
When Besnik finally finishes inspecting Faile for the umpteenth time she gives a shake and hops onto Sembas's outstretched arm. There is a silent exchange between man and falcon as they look into each other's eyes.
Faile nearly takes off into the sky after Besnik as he flies away. Sembas places a gentle hand on her head to stop her as she spreads her wings.
"We don't need both of you featherheads clouding up the skies right now. Sit put." He says to her out loud.
The ten minutes pass ever so slowly. Faile paces across his shoulders as Sembas paces back and forth himself. He has checked and readjusted his weapons numerous times. The thought that the Carnis might be lurking nearby is enough to set him on edge.
Faile chirps up, causing Sembas's head to snap in Dennan and Besnik's direction. The group charges towards them. Sembas stands back as the large man collapses and is tended to by the others.
After a brief exchange Archer and he make their way back to the last sighting of the Carnis. Sembas was sure to pat the large man on the shoulder, and Faile gave a few chirps of encouragement before they made their way.
At the site, Sembas crouches to get a better view of the tracks. He frowns slightly before clearing his throat, finding it tight from the suspense of earlier.
"Something bothered me about this place before all of... that happened. It wasn't just uneasiness feeding off of Dennan's demeanor. Not all of it. None the matter, though. It didn't help the situation at all." He seems to be just talking for talking's sake. Coming back to the place where Dennan was torn to shreds is a tad unsettling.
He pokes at a footprint with a gloved finger. Faile lingers on his wrist and leans over to get a better look at it also.
"Do these match Depheir's shoes? It seems like something he would wear." Sembas's golden eyes squint at the tracks ahead of him. "These steps are odd. Heavy." He looks up at Archer. "He casted a spell as everything was happening. I don't know a lick about these Carnis things, but I don't think it turned out well for him." Sembas points the way the tracks lead. "I think this might be the way he went?" He says as more of a question than a statement.
-
When Depheir regained his consciousness, he felt a sharp pain in the back of skull and noticed few small cuts on his hands. Then he looked around. He found himself far from the place where he met Carnis. It seemed like he walked all the time he was uncoscious.
“Well… It’s about time, meatbag”, Depheir heard from somewhere. “Maybe now that you’re conscious again we can move a little faster. I was having difficulty dragging your sorry ass along, you stupid slab of pork.”
Depheir's legs began to move with their own volition and a sudden, sharp pain in his ankle made him sure that he suffered more damage from the blast than he thought before.
“Come on! Surely you can go faster than that! You must be resisting. Stop it. It’s annoying. I have a very important appointment to keep, and you’re going to ensure that I keep it. So quit trying to slow me down or I’ll blow you up like I did the large human.”
Depheir realized that Dethys won't help him in spying Forsaken, because he already was going to Il'adoul, which was obviously controlled by them. He had to improvise to fulfill his role.
-At last some of you found me... - Depheir told to Carnis. - I'm not willing to slow you down, but my ankle hurts and it's annoying, too. Can't you do something with that?... Of course not. You are here to destroy, not heal. Anyway, nice explosion.
Hopefully, with his broken ankle, the rest of the party will get him before he arrives to Il'adoul.
-
Dennan gives an appreciative grunt as Fenwick attempts to aid in healing him.
Constancy raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. “You haven’t worked with healing arts much, have you?”
He puts his hands over yours and presses them against a piece of bone protruding from Dennan’s side. The rib has been smashed pretty severely, but as Constancy presses his palms against the backs of your hands, and further presses your hands against Dennan’s side, you see the bone begin to fuse back together and mend.
“See?” Constancy removes his hands and allows you to practice this new skill again on Dennan’s broken collarbone.
After some time, Dennan appears more himself as opposed to a broken, bloody mess. His regenerative abilities, coupled with the efforts of yourself and Fenwick, ensure that he is only a little worse for wear. Though his injuries may still cause him a bit of pain, the less severe have been easily healed, his bones have mended, and even his humor has improved.
Fensten presses his muzzle into his master’s outstretched hand and Dennan smiles reassuringly. “It’s okay, old boy. I’ll be just fine.”
“You should get some rest… lunatic,” says Constancy with a frown. “Your mother would have skinned us all alive had the Forsaken used the Carnis to take you. I suppose it’s a good thing you have such a solid head on your shoulders.” Constancy looks to you. “Oh, right… I suppose you know little else about the Carnis than what you’ve already been told. As spirits of sort, they don’t really have their own physical bodies. They can create convincing illusions, even make it so you can see, hear, smell or feel them… but they are most powerful when they have a host body. It’s a wonder it didn’t try to take one of us.”
“It tried,” responds Dennan quietly. “I could feel it knocking upon the door of my mind, but I shut him out. I think he was afraid that he encountered such resistance, because that is when it fled.”
“Thank the Divine for that!” replies Constancy.
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Archer follows Sembas’s gaze to a set of heavy footprints in the ground. “These could scarcely pass as footprints. See how the pressure on the foot is uneven. There is a step here…” Archer moves forward, following the tracks. “But then the opposite foot just drags along in the dust. Depheir could be injured, perhaps limping.”
She presses her hand into the ground and mutters something under her breath. Ahead of you, the tracks illuminate, creating a glistening path of footprints that are exceptionally easy for you to follow. “Given the footprints, the injury is likely a break of some sort.”
You and Archer trace the tracks across the dirt road and to another large patch of dense woods. Archer frowns and shakes her head. “I don’t think that Depheir is moving on his own accord. Perhaps I’ve been spending too much time with Dennan, but I can practically smell the Carnis here. I’ll need Dennan to confirm it, but I’m almost positive that the Carnis and Depheir are acting as a single entity right now. It is possible for a Carnis to possess a living being. However, as Immortalis are generally strong of will, they tend to avoid us unless they are accompanied by other agents of their Master. Despite this, you are all Childer Immortalis. It’s possible the Carnis took Depheir. Come. Let us inform the others.”
After some discussion you return to the edge of the woods. Dennan moves stiffly, his hand still pressed upon his tender side. He sniffs the air and his gaze drifts to the illuminated tracks before you.
“He’s injured. I smell blood… and weakness. He is fatigued as if moving against his will. The stench of the Carnis is heavy here.”
“He’s taking him to the Forsaken! To Il’adoul!” exclaims Constancy.
Dennan grunts and looks to Archer. “No.”
“No,” echoes Archer. “Because this is not the way to Il’adoul.”
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“Some of you? What are you talking about?” snorts the Carnis derisively. “You Immortalis like to think you know everything!”
Depheir’s ankle throbs terribly and with each step he takes the searing pain shoots further up his leg.
“Ugh. You’re so slow!” grumbles the Carnis. “And for your information, I do know how to heal… I just happen to like the sound of your whimpering. Besides! I need all the power I can get right now and I’m not about it to spend a bit of it on helping your sorry ass along. So… MOVE FASTER.”
Your legs move even faster and the pain in your ankle becomes almost unbearable. The injured foot drags behind you at an awkward angle and you stumble forward and collapse to the ground.
“Argh! This is ridiculous. I should have just left you back there. I wanted the big man! He would have been useful. But no! I got you! A whiny little wench who cries over a little booboo!” The disgust in the Carnis’s voice is evident, but it seems he realizes you won’t make a very useful vessel if you can’t move naturally.
You feel a shock in your ankle, as if you’ve been struck by some electric force. Your ankle numbs and the pain begins to subside.
“There! But that’s all I’m giving you!” grumbles the Carnis.
It pulls you to your feet and you begin moving forward again. Your ankle is far from back to normal, but the pain isn’t nearly as excruciating.
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Back in Avalon, Sigurd Glorrack wakes up with the worst headache of his life. As a Chosen of Alviss, Sig has an incredible tolerance to spirits. However, the sheer amount of drink he had imbibed the previous night far surpassed any amount he had managed before.
As your eyes flick open, you find yourself in unfamiliar surroundings. Gone is the tavern of the Ageless, and in its place, a soft, comfortable bed with dark brown blankets and a song of fulfillment in your heart. You go to move, but quickly finds that you will be going nowhere. Thick, sturdy ropes are tied around your wrists and your eyes follow their paths to the bedposts above you. A glance towards your feet reveals that your legs are in a similar position. Not only that, but it seems you are stark naked.
“What the bloody-” Sig looks around the room for some sign of what transpired the previous night. The walls of the room are adorned with numerous weapons mounted upon the walls. A complete set of plate armor stands in the corner of the room and a look upward reveals a dark, cranberry red canopy that adorns the immense, four poster bed where he is currently confined.
“Ah. I see your big, hollow head has finally managed to leak out the last bit of alcohol,” comes a female voice from the doorway of the room.
Blood’s armor has been replaced with a red, silk robe that hugs the curves of her body. She looks quite different outside of those pounds of armor and her typically grim expression bears the subtle marks of a smirk of amusement. Her light brown hair (usually tied up) cascades over her shoulders and her gray eyes, typically intense and intimidating, have a certain levity to them now.
You feel strangely affected by her appearance (or maybe you just have to pee.)
“Ugh,” remarks Blood, her face twisting into a look of disgust. “Really? It’s not enough I had to carry you back from the tavern and had to give you my bed because you kept falling off my couch, but this is how you greet me?” She reluctantly comes towards you. “I suppose I can cut you loose… That is… if you are done trying to show that empty suit of armor ‘who is boss.’”
From your limited vantage upon the bed, you see your lute upon the ground near the suit of armor. Several of the strings have been broken, likely in an unsuccessful attempt to teach that suit of armor a lesson.
Blood reaches over you so that she may take a dagger from its mount upon the wall. In doing so, you find that her breasts are dangerously close to your face.
“Don’t even think about it, Alviss-Spawn,” speaks Blood quietly. “Or I may just miss when I attempt to remove your binds. Given your resilience in battle and the fact that you refused to relent in our contest, you have managed to garner a bit of my respect, I would not dash it so soon.” You can’t tell if she is serious or just toying with you.
At any rate, she moves to the task of cutting your binds. You see that the blade is exquisitely made, and the inscription on the hilt is in some strange, foreign tongue. You see one word, “Blut” and given your KNOWLEDGE are able to discern that its meaning is “Blood.” Perhaps the dagger is a trophy or some small token gifted to the woman before you.
Within moments you find yourself freed, but still very naked, with a woman who wished nothing more than to kick your ass yesterday.
-
Sembas grunts in recognition as Archer examines the tracks. One foot is indeed dragging along the ground. Whatever Depheir is doing, he isn't trying to be sneaky about it. Archer mutters something and the tracks illuminate, making them oh so easy to follow. He feels something, watching her create the glow. A sort of tingle. With a small smile of satisfaction, Sembas realizes how the trick works and notes to practice it later.
"The Carnis is possessing Depheir?" His eyes narrow with worry. "I hope he doesn't meet Dennan's fate. That could be... messy." Faile nods solemnly.
They meet up with the others, and it appears Dennan is up on his feet again. He is a bit worse for the wear, but Sembas is relieved to see him walking again nevertheless.
"Do you have any idea where his tracks are leading? If these Carnis are as devious as they seem we could be following Depheir right into a trap."
-
-Smart boy - replied Depheir sarcastically, when Carnis attempted to heal his broken ankle.
It was still broken, but not as much as before, and it was much easier to walk.
Despite the favor, Depheir automatically disliked the Carnis, while not being sure, why. It could be because the fact of possessing, or personality of the Carnis.
"Such a poor creature. It seems like being polite is beyond his mind capabilities..."
Then, he continued to deceive Carnis:
-You know, Smartie, that you messed the whole action? From beggining to the end. Well, almost. The illusions you made were quite impressive, but, as you saw well, it didn't work on the big guy and that bear. Good for you, I was there. I attacked him and gave you an opportunity to free yourself from the big guy's grasp. Didn't you wonder, how did I get there? I'll tell you - Depheir began to separate words from themselves, seemingly to make Carnis understand. -I joined that group only to meet the Forsaken at the battlefield and join their ranks... - Depheir made an angry sigh and started talking normally. - I hoped I'll find somebody MORE competent, but I've found an idiotic suicide who makes illusions to be perceived by the perfect host, then blows him up, only to cry over himself unable to possess him!
Depheir stopped talking for a moment, made another angry sigh, and continued.
- Really, it must be horrid to work with your kind... Very well then, Smartie - Depheir attempted to look around the scenery. - What are you intending to do now? Can you enlighten me with your marvelous plan? Let me guess... more illusions? More explosions? A successful suicide this time? Or you will just drag me like that further and further?
-
"Well, I... um... er..."
Sig finds himself uncharacteristically at a loss for words as he is lowered to the ground. Something is wrong. Instead of his normal over-confident self, he finds himself feeling shameful and more then a little bit fearful of the woman standing in front of him. He can't even bring himself to make eye contact with her, which ends up with him staring at her chest for a few seconds longer then most would consider appropriate. He suddenly realizes his error and looks away quickly.
Sig takes a few hesitant steps towards his lute. The strings appear to be hopelessly broken. he tries to imagine what would need to be done to fix them but the very actions he would need to take are muddled in his mind. He nervously hums a few bars to one of his favorite melodies and finds that he is extremely off key. Looking down at his hands, he notices that they are trembling slightly. His fear mounts as he realizes what has happened. When he speaks, his voice cracks, making him sound like an adolescent going through puberty.
"By the father... I'm SOBER."
Sig checks for his flasks, but of course he is naked. Why is he naked? Sig can't remember. The whole situation is like a bad dream. The only piece of his property that he can see in the room is his lute. Breaking into a sprint, Sig dashes to the fallen instrument and collects it. He rummages around inside the hollow of the lute until he grasps a small hidden flask strapped to the inside of it. He pulls it out and drops the lute with an unceremonious jangle of notes as he rips the lid off the flask and takes a giant swig...
...of air. The flask is bone dry. He must have drank it the previous night and neglected to refill it. Panicking, Sig tosses the flask to the ground and runs around in circles, trying desperately to remember-
Wait! The emergency elixir! Of course he knows where that is!
Sig stops suddenly and reaches into his own thick beard, groping around. He finally finds what he's looking for buried in the thick folds of hair. Sig produces an intricate clear glass vial. The contents appear to be glowing with it's own unnatural light and Sig regards it with wonder and awe before pulling the stopper. A powerful smell permeates the chamber, bringing with it visions of good food, full kegs, song and dance, laughter and merriment, joy and elation. Sig allows himself the smallest sip from the vial before replacing the stopper and stuffing it back into the safety of his beard.
A visible change takes place almost immediately. Sig's hands steady. He closes his eyes and sighs deeply as the fear and nervousness leave him, replaced by confidence and peace. He hums his tune again, and the pitch is perfect. The warmth of the small sip of drink shoots to his extremities, and he feels completely invigorated. He lets out a loud belch, and a small jet of fire actually escapes his lips as he does so.
"Ahhh! Now THAT'S more like it! Now then!"
Sig regards Blood, making full eye contact, a slightly amused expression crossing his features.
"if ye could be so kind as to direct me to my clothes? There's a slight draft in here."
-
The Carnis does not seem impressed by Depheir's bravado in attempting to belittle him.
"Heh. You're a bigger fool than I suspected. I can read your thoughts, you dungheap. I know everything that has ever happened to you, ever miniscule thought that crosses your mind, and even when you need to make a bowel movement!So, if you think your little, 'I want to be a bad guy' act is even the least bit convincing, you are sadly mistaken."
"As for you giving me an opportunity to free myself, you did no such thing. The fact of the matter is, you turned on your supposed ally at a moment's notice... not because you wanted to 'join the Forsaken' (as if they would even accept you!) but because you were AFRAID. Being an Immortalis requires LOYALTY to your brethren. Whether Ageless or Forsaken, they protect and aid their kin. I'm a Carnis and even I know that! But you! You turned on a man who wished nothing more than to protect you. Even the other, the man with the bird, saw something was amiss, but you blindly took action, which is why they are safe somewhere, and you're being paraded about like a meat puppet."
"Furthermore, in regards to my 'plan,' there is no plan. I told you I have an appointment to keep and that is all there is to it. Truthfully, I can get there on my own, but using you allows me to move faster, even at your rather pathetic pace."
"I don't know what you mean with this suicide dung. I can't die, moron. I'm a spirit. Whenever my host gets destroyed, I just move along to another one. But for now, you will have to do and keep in mind... you have only as much free will as I allow you. You are a Childer Immortalis and lack the will of your elder brethren." To illustrate this point, it seems the Carnis decides to provide you with an example. You feel your hand clench and begin to rise into the air. Against your will, your own fist careens towards you with immense power and slams into your forehead.
"See? Stop punching yourself! Stop punching yourself!" Again and again, your fist slams into your face. The blows leave no permanent damage, but it's fairly obvious who is in control here. The Carnis has chosen you as its vessel, and unless you find some means to break from its grasp, you're along for the ride.
Your fist falls to your side. "You also lack the power of your elder brethren, so I would think twice before crossing me, and drop the charade. I know who you are and what you're capable of."
After some time, your feet stop in their tracks and the Carnis seems to be looking for something. "Ah. There it is."
He turns your feet away from the trail and soon the road becomes a distant memory. "Night will be falling soon and I can't take any chances. I might not be able to die, but there are fates worse than death."
Archer regards Sembas's question thoughtfully. "Hmm... Admittedly, I have not been this way for quite some time. If memory serves, the closest place of any consequence would be a small human city called Ardian, but that's quite a trek."
Dennan grunts. "I can't imagine why the Carnis would venture that far south."
"Nor I," agrees Archer. "However, while we stand around pondering, Depheir may be in grave danger."
"Then we can't waste any time," speaks Constancy.
Fenwick nods. "We're going to have to move quickly."
"I can take care of that." Constancy crouches and presses his hand upon the ground before him. The ground beneath all of your feet illuminates and you feel as if the soles of your boots have grown lighter somehow. "That should hasten our journey."
Archer bids you follow her and the party sets forth at a quick pace. Despite Dennan's previous injuries, he seems to be keeping pace just fine, though Fensten casts him the occasional concerned glance.
After some time, you note that Depheir's tracks veer away from the road and your party follows them to a dense section of forest in the heart of the woods. The sun is setting and the darkness sweeps in with an all-consuming ferocity that permeates every glimmer of light and abolishes it from the horizon.
Dennan, never much of a talker, grunts and you see his eyes illuminate in the blackness that surrounds you. They gleam with an otherworldly glow, casting shadows on the corners of his face. Deftly, he and Archer move through the forest, leading you deeper into its grasp as they follow Depheir's path.
Ahead of you, you can just make out the faint glimmer of torchlight.
"Torches? In the middle of the forest?" wonders Archer allowed.
"I cannot sense any Forsaken here," speaks Dennan.
A voice comes from somewhere behind the small, illuminated area ahead."That's because there are none here."
"That voice," says Archer quietly. "That voice... I know it."
"As you should," comes the reply.
The Ageless around you instinctively reach for their weapons as a dark figure emerges from the trees and steps into the light of the torches. He is tall, standing around 6'5'' and a bow is slung on his shoulder. Two longswords, one sheathed at either of his sides, glint silver as he moves closer to you. His eyes are a deep shade of green and his lightly tanned skin remarks of days in the sun.
Dennan snarls and prepares to charge forward, but Archer's cry of "Wait!" breaks the silence of the night.
"Wait! Dennan! It's Aras!" cries Archer.
Dennan shakes his head. "Aras? No. It is not. I know Aras. I could sense him if it was truly him. It is some trick. Some illusion made by the Carnis."
"You doubt me?" The man raises his hands in the air to show that he means no harm and you can all see two very apparent scars on either hand. The scars are nearly perfect circles of a three inch diameter and mar each of his palms. Each of you recognizes it as a Death Wound.
"Aras, I know it is you... but it cannot be. What magic is this that masks your nature? Some spell?" questions Archer in confusion.
"That is no spell," remarks Constancy. "A spell could mute what he is, but could not hide it completely."
"I will explain it all in due time," promises Aras.
"Why should we trust you?" asks Fenwick warily.
"What choice do you have? Were you not sent by the General to fetch me? I will not be returning with you, and you must tell them all why." Aras beckons for all of you to come closer.
Constancy appears nervous. "What do we do?"
"We do as he bids. He is only one, and we are many. Should it fall to battle, we can dispatch him," replies Archer quietly.
"But you said you don't know what he is! It's obvious he's neither Ageless nor Forsaken. He can't be Aras," argues Constancy.
Aras sighs. "I knew you would make this difficult." He shakes his head and an amused expression crosses his face. "That's because I am neither Ageless nor Forsaken any longer. I belong to the Lady of Shadows."
Archer cannot hide her surprise, but Dennan's expression betrays little. This announcement is met with curiosity by Constancy, and ignorance by the rest of you. Fenwick recalls reading something of the Lady of Shadows in one of the tomes in the library. The entry was sketchy at best, as not much was known about her. She was said to be a spirit of some sort that did not often associate with neither Ageless nor Forsaken. Her part in the glorious war between the two factions was neutral, and she never directly interfered in the affairs of the Immortalis. What is known is that she is an immensely powerful being of indistinct age. The earliest accounts of the Lady of Shadows extend over a thousand years.
"Come, your friend Depheir awaits you within." Aras beckons for you to follow him and Archer and the other Elder Immortalis warily lead you forward.
You follow Aras to an immense, black tree. Its gnarled, craggy branches angrily claw at the sky, and a large, hole can be seen in the side of the trunk that faces you.
You all follow Aras down into the tree and when you arrive, you find yourself in a wide corridor. At points, the roots of the tree can be seen creeping along the ceiling or across the walls. Soon, you arrive in an enormous chamber. The floor, impressively enough, is of a smooth, flat stone, and the walls are lined with torches. Upon a throne at the far end of the room sits a woman clad in ebony robes. Her sanguine, red hair falls across her shoulders, and as you enter, she turns her violet eyes to face you.
"Welcome, Children of the Divine." Her voice is soft and alluring."I knew you would arrive, but I was not so sure when it would be. Luckily, Lai arrived with Depheir and told me you would likely be following your friend. I hope you will forgive his previous actions as he took you for our enemies. At first glance, he thought you were human."
"Humans are your enemies?" asks Archer incredulously.
"Not all humans, Child... It is the Otaktay who are our enemies," explains the presumed Lady of Shadows. "It was for them the trap was set."
Constancy appears deep in thought. "Otaktay... 'they who kill many?' They are humans who have committed themselves to the decimation of the Immortalis, both Ageless and Forsaken alike. With no way to kill us outright, they seek other means. We are aberrations of nature to them and they would like to see us struck from the earth."
"Yes. As of late, they have been patrolling this area due to the Forsaken presence in Il'adoul."
"So the Forsaken are in Il'adoul," notes Archer.
"Yes. However, the Otaktay are becoming an even bigger threat than the Forsaken. They are looking for a way to enter the battlefield," explains the Lady.
You all take this to mean the area where the Ageless and Forsaken war against each other without interference of outside entities.
"Why?" questions Constancy.
The Lady shrugs. "Even I know not. However, despite their hatred of Immortalis, the Otaktay are human and see it as their duty to protect other humans and hunt down the Immortalis whenever possible. The trap made it appear as if humans had been beset by the Forsaken. Lai was to wait until they came to investigate, then obliterate them."
A rumbling voice, Dennan, asks "Where is Depheir?"
"Resting," responds Aras. "Unfortunately, it was only after Lai set upon you that he realized what you are. It was foolish and irresponsible on his part, but believe it or not, he meant well."
"The Carnis has a name?" Archer shakes her head in disbelief. "He nearly destroyed us."
"You keep a creature like that as a pet!" cries Constancy.
"He is an ally... an important one. Look, I know there is a lot that needs to be explained, but I fear it is a rather long tale," speaks Aras.
Meanwhile, several rooms away, Depheir is seated at a table with an immense man of incredible stature. He seems the quiet sort and has spent the last hour or so staring at Depheir curiously. His long, raven tresses fall across his shoulders. His sky-like eyes are piercing and intense, and Depheir finds himself uncomfortable being watched by him.
Since arriving at the hollowed tree, Depheir has learned that the "appointment" was between the Carnis and this Lady of Shadows. Upon being introduced to the woman, Depheir could sense her incredible power. He learned that the Carnis was called Lai, and that he no longer served the Adversary, but answers to this mysterious woman. So, too, had he learned that Aras serves the Lady of Shadows, though the reason why had not been revealed to him. However, the woman had treated him with hospitality, offering him food and drink, and the Carnis had even grown cordial since arriving at the tree.
"Depheir? Aren't you hungry? You should keep your strength up," advises the Carnis.
After some time of wandering the northern lands once inhabited by the Ebonmane Clan, Fiorin had been sought out by the Lady of Shadows, an enigmatic woman who offered him a new purpose in life. Though the Thunder Caller was dead, she told Fiorin that a part of him still lived on in the terrror his brethren, the Forsaken, inflicted upon the innocent. She had come to collect him personally and with little purpose left since he had defeated his Clan's greatest enemy, he had come with her, more out of a sense of curiosity than anything else. He had known nothing of the Forsaken, but he quickly learned of their nature, and that of the Ageless. He, himself, had ascended to the ranks of the Ageless, and the Lady promised he would one day meet more like him. However, that had been months ago, and now, this wounded mage before him was not one of the strong, intelligent, honorable warriors that he had expected to meet. The Lady told Fiorin that once the Ageless arrived, they would claim him and welcome him into their fold. Perhaps he would even see Avalon, a place Aras had often told him of that serves as the seat of power for the Ageless.
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Blood casts Sig a curious glance as he runs about the room like a maddened fool. He examines his lute forlornly, and she cannot mask her confusion when he reaches into the belly of the instrument and plucks out a flask. He seems exasperated when it is empty.
He nakedly flails about in a crazed effort to locate another flask before finally pulling one from the hairy confines of his beard. Whatever is within the vial has an exceptionally fragrant scent.
A satisfied belch escapes his lips and Blood's eyes widen when it is followed by a gout of flame. Not taking her eyes off him, she points to a dresser in the corner upon which his clothes are folded.
"So... that was... I don't know what the bleeding fuck that was. What was that all about?!" She shakes her head in confusion.
-
To say the events of the recent months were surreal would be a vast understatement. When first found by the Lady of Shadows, the she spoke of so many things that Fiorin did not understand at first. In truth, until the shade of a woman had informed him, Fiorin was not even aware he had died at the hands of the Thunder Caller, though he did not question it. It was no wonder. So many days he spent wandering, locating and burying the dead of the Ebonmane Clan, yet he did not tire, he did not hunger, and he did not thirst. Having lost everything and everyone around him, one does begin to wonder why he remains.
The Lady of Shadows taught Fiorin many things about this new world of immortality in which he found himself neck-deep, yet so many questions remained. But, for the first time ever, the juggernaut of a man was meeting individuals more powerful than he, and his motivation to become stronger grew to new heights. The Lady of Shadows spoke of immortals just like himself, the Ageless and the Forsaken, powerful and bitter foes constantly at war with each other. Aras told him of a mighty city of warriors they called "Avalon," the very thought of which sounded nostalgic to Fiorin. He would meet these Ageless and see Avalon; perhaps there, he would find his destiny and feel what he did when he fought the Thunder Caller: purpose.
So Fiorin sat, staring at this disappointingly puny man before him.
"This... is a warrior of Avalon?" Fiorin thought to himself. He wasn't sure exactly what to make of the Ageless he had been inspecting. On the other hand, the Lady of Shadows was only one of two women he'd met who commanded such power in his lifetime. Perhaps he was mistaken about this Ageless, after all, Fiorin had come to learn muscle mass is not everything.
After a moment more of judgmental eyeballing...
"Your name."
Fiorin broke the silence abruptly with something one might mistake as a question. His voice was frightening enough to silence a weeping infant, and deep enough to wake the dead from their graves. It was clear the barbarian wasn't for introducing himself... or etiquette, for that matter.
-
Constancy's spell pushes their pace as they trek through the woods, and Dennan's glowing eyes allow him to blaze a path through the darkness. The torchlight is a puzzle, one that sets Sembas on edge. Stumbling upon a camp in the middle of the forest is one thing that Sembas usually avoided.
The voice from the darkness makes Sembas reach for his spear. Faile is on his free hand, not liking to fly in the dark in such a thick forest. Her talons grip tighter on the leather glove covering Sembas's arm as she tenses with apprehension. Archer calls out to wait and gives the man a name.
Aras...
Sembas's expression turns dark he continues reaching for his spear. So this is the man that affected Archer so. What's past is past, but the memory of Archer's reaction to his name is still fresh on his mind.
The argument over whether to trust this Aras or not furthers his intent. Sembas's spear was sliding out of the sling on his back as Archer finally concedes to follow the man. He sighs and lets his weapon drop back into place. Instead he pulls his hood lower over his face and gives Faile a pat on the head. Frustration grinds through the bond between them. A glance in their direction would give away their sour feelings toward the situation.
The Lady of Shadows means nothing to Sembas and Faile. The fact that Depheir is inside is a surprise but it only adds to his suspicion. Sembas follows behind the others taking the tail. His hand rests on the long, diamond infused knife strapped to his thigh.
The tree is imposing, and the further they travel down into it the more impressive it becomes. The torchlight flickers off of his golden eyes as they dart to and fro. They finally come to rest on the woman sitting on the throne before them. This must be the Lady of the Shadows.
So, Lai is the name of the Carnis. And they are hunting humans who hunt Immortals. Depheir was here resting somewhere. Or so they were told. Sembas wasn't usually so suspicious, but the presence of Aras put him ill at ease. Plus, being out in the field turned on his militia training. It seemed that the only option was to hear them out, and wait.
-
Depheir was somewhere in the encampment, seated at a table with an immense person on the opposite, which was constantly glaring at him for a long time. Depheir wasn't completely sure if he was alive, because he didn't sense any magic inside him and didn't see any movement of the huge one since he saw him, but his gaze was still disturbing and highly uncomfortable.
He began to think about the recent events... at least the summary of them.
"Right, we've found Aras with no losses. The whole action turned out quite well... But damages were still unnecessary."
Then, that chapter was closed for him. Depheir never put value to the past events.
-Depheir, aren't you hungry? - suggested Lai, which grown strangely cordial since arriving at the camp. - You should keep your strength up.
-No need - Depheir replied softly. - I don't feel hunger. Really.
Depheir's exceptional CONSTITUTION: ENDURANCE didn't allow him to feel hunger or thirst. Yet, the whole resting time was more for his still broken ankle than for him.
Then, when he began to enjoy the scenery, a trembling voice demanded:
-Your name.
Depheir was sure the voice came from the front of him, but he saw noone there... except the large person seated at the table. Mage turned his gaze on him. Yet he saw his eyes blinking, his chest rising and falling with each breath.
"Another non-magic thing. Great."
Then, slowly and steadily, he turned his head to face the big one. He began to feel some sort of disgust towards that one, but he still kept an eye contact with that immense person.
Finally, with a voice resembling the barking of an angry wolf, he replied:
-Depheir.
-
So, this warrior of Avalon was known as Depheir.
Through that small-- and somewhat awkward-- vocal exchange, Fiorin could tell much about the man before him. He seemed to have a few things in common with Fiorin: confident, headstrong... but most importantly, he was no coward. So far, he liked this warrior of Avalon.
He nodded to Depheir in acknowledgement, and spoke once more. "I am Fiorin."
Fiorin could not help but notice Depheir talking to himself a moment earlier... it was either a sign of madness, or a sign that Lai was present. He decided to assume the latter.
"Lai," Fiorin's focused eyes eased off of Depheir, but it seemed something was bothering him, "are there many beings in this world like yourself? To be able to freely control a man's mind... to be unseen..." while it pained the barbarian to admit it to himself, should he ever encounter a being of Lai's nature, he would likely be helpless against such a force.
"...How does one fight a spirit?"
As he asked, one could tell it was something he'd been meaning to ask for some time. Perhaps it would be rude to ask Lai such a thing, but on the other hand... no one would know better than he.
-
Sig has managed to locate his clothes and is in the process of getting dressed when Blood asks her question.
"Begging yer pardon, milady, but I tend to get a bit flustered when I'm off my drink. It's uh... how I stay in touch with Alviss's blessings. Pretty much useless without em."
Sig finishes getting dressed and glances at the sorry state of the suit of armor in the corner. He is already idly restringing his lute with the speed and dexterity of a master.
"If you'd like, I can take a crack at repairing that for ya."
-
The Lady of Shadows. The small amount of literature on her didn't seem to do her any justice, considering the fact that an enemy of the Immortalis was her follower of all things. Really now, who does that?
Then again, it also meant that some of the forsaken were reedeemable. They could be brought back.
Although he was worried about Depheir, he somehow knew that he could trust this Lady of Shadows, at least for now. If she says that he is safe, then there was nothing to worry about for now.
With nothing else to do but wait, Fenwick goes through the healing technique that was taught to him a few hours ago. It would take some time to really assimilate it in his memory, but it would no doubt be worth it.