The moonlight illuminated the clouds that hung below, drifting through the night sky with a spectral appearance. The grey white wisps moved as the wind took them, save for one - rolling like a fog, a small cloud slunk away from the stars, drifting above the city of Alicris. It rolled along rooftops, between alleyways, against street signs, nearly imperceptible in the darkness. Then, with purpose, the wisps gathered up along the windowsill of a small inn, seeping into the cracks.
In that unoccupied room they began to take shape. What was once insubstantial became solid, and smoke soon gave way to steel, cloth, and flesh. The cloaked knight took one last glance around the room to make sure she was alone before opening the door and heading downstairs.
A Stalwart knight—both literally stalwart and hailing from the town of Stalwart—stood upstairs in his room, surveying the table and wall in front of him like he was a general inspecting troops. His armor, sword, and shield, lovingly cared for and inscribed with the well-wishes of friends and family, sat in the corner. On both the wall and the table there sat a map of the town. An ugly black line labeled convoy was drawn through the main street. The most likely path for the dread caravan. The knight surveyed more of the map, circling areas off the main road leading to the doors of residences. No more than a half dozen men could reasonably stand and fight in such a space, a space they would need to be in to collect townsfolk. The knight grinned. He could take them if they were in such a spot.
"Sir! Sir knight!" A child knocked on the door, then completely ignored the purpose of such a thing and poked his head in. "The—the dough is risen now. You said I should get you when it's big and puffy right?"
The knight stopped concentrating on his one-man war and turned up from his work, facing the boy with a grin. "That's right Ben! I know it wasn't too exciting, but the next part will be, I promise! Now, let me just..." He grabbed the right gauntlet of his armor, securely slid it on, and headed down the stairs. The boy reminded the knight of himself when he was that age—8—all smiles and determination. His dear old dad, a baker like the knight's father-in-law, was taken by the last convoy. The town hadn't had a fine loaf of pumpernickel in months. Luckily, father-in-law gave our culinary hero some grain in addition to the bread and rations. Said grain had been almost completely spent making loaves of bread for these villagers with the brilliant little baker boy. The knight climbed downstairs after the boy—nobody really minded when he set up shop above the bakery—and checked on the pan of dough, sitting on the counter. A roaring fire was also set up, tended expertly by the boy. The knight raised his gauntleted hand and grabbed the pan. "I'm going to teach you something beautiful about life, Ben."
"Really? What—what does bread have to do with life?"
The knight tested the bread, walked over to the fire—really at this point an open-air oven—and thrust the pan in. Then he left his gauntleted arm in the fire for a moment, withdrawing it and sliding the gauntlet off, revealing an unharmed hand.
"See that, Ben? Unharmed by fire. Why?"
"Your gauntlet?"
"Yes. That gauntlet is—and here's the part about life I was telling you about—that gauntlet was made by a family friend, a blacksmith. Look closer at it. Read the inscription on the back of the hand, by another... Family member.."
"...Don't lose this hand, Gerrard. I loved to hold this one the most. Louisa... Who's she?"
"She's my fiancee, Ben." Replied Gerrard, staring into the middle distance. "Her love—the love of all that support me—permeates that glove. Permeates my whole being." He turned to the boy. "I want youto know that you have the same thing. Your dad isn't gone, not really. These walls," Gerrard turned and made a sweeping gesture around the bakery, "are full of love and hope. Your father's and your mother's. The metal isn't what allowed me to stick my arm in the fire, not really. I could never do that without their belief in me, and my own belief in myself." He placed a hand on Ben's shoulder. "The caravan will be coming tomorrow. I plan to destroy it and kill the accompanying army down to the last man, because they are all bad people. I'm not asking you to fight, Ben, but I am asking you to take a stand once the dust settles. Rouse the other villagers. Keep spirits high as I continue my march towards the Dark Lord. But first, off to bed with you."
"Right! Gotta be strong!"
"More importantly, you can be wide awake when you watch me cut down demons and soldiers! Right!"
Ben ran up the stairs, stopped on the stairway, and raised a fist. "Not one step back!" He roared, as valiantly and gloriously as any eight year old could ever hope to be.
"Not one step back!" Gerrard roared back, before Ben ran all the way upstairs to his room. Gerrard turned back to the oven to watch the bread bake; a few hours of that, then some hardcore sleep before the battle. He ran upstairs, quiet as he could, grabbed his sword and shield, then headed back downstairs to sit patiently in front of the fire. No sense in being incautious in an occupied city.
"We're too late." Lehen said after lowering the binoculars from his eyes, confirming what Auhsed had feared. Alicris was already housing the convoy of enemy soldiers and wranglers. The tank crew was too late to do anything about it.
Not that they really had any chance to do anything about it. Despite Cecilia's vehement declarations that they could and should attack the enemy train successfully, Auhsed had no confidence in their ability to do any damage or make it out alive even if they did. A single war machine just couldn't take on the numbers the enemy possessed. And to avoid being seen they had taken a number of detours. By Auhsed's figuring, the convoy had been in the town for hours already.
"I told you this was a fool's errand." Lehen said as he climbed down from the tank's hull. Auhsed lingered on atop the vehicle's turret, gazing at the town as if wishing hard enough would make the enemy disappear. But whatever god that granted such wishes was as immovable to such prayers as all the gods had been for the past four decades.
"We had to try. We owed it to Alicris. That tiny town has helped us time and time again." Auhsed said to his elf companion.
Up ahead, on the ledge of the cliff they had stopped on, the loud swearing of a loud young woman reached their ears. Cecilia was just now discovering what her older companions had already seen.
"And if we hadn't she would never had let us hear the end of it." Auhsed added. More seriously he said, "I think we should stay here tonight. We can watch what happens from here. Maybe an opportunity will present itself before they leave the area tomorrow."
"I agree." Lehen said after mulling it over for a bit. "If nothing else, we can go in for supplies after the enemy leaves. Maybe exchange information."
Auhsed nodded before looking back to the town. He prayed for their safety, at least for the night. For sure something would happen tomorrow, he sensed it in his aging bones. And he and his comrades would be ready when it did.
edited 5th Jan '13 1:59:45 AM by Parable
Thom Raiwhat?
The house was full of dust and shadows.
The crude straw pallet in the corner of the back room was stuffed with a month's worth of neglect, covered with a thin blanket the colour of apathy. It provided less protection against the cold than the heavily-patched cloak Eliza had drawn around her scrawny shoulders. Her open eyes peered out from underneath the hood, the same shade of blue as a crack in a glacier. They lay embedded in a fine-boned face that might have been pretty without the smudges of dirt and fatigue.
Some nights she slept well. Worn down by hunger and exertion, she would return to the little abandoned cottage and collapse into the pallet, waking up in the morning with a faceful of packed-together straw. Some nights it took more willpower to ignore the pangs in her stomach and the prickling of her fraying bed, but every one of those times, she had forced her discomfort away behind the fuzziness of her tired mind, and had thrown herself into the realm of sleep.
Tonight was different, though. No matter which way she tossed and turned, she could not convince her mind to relinquish its hold on consciousness. She was getting hungrier every day, trying to eke out a living through theft as the town slowly grew smaller and poorer and more protective of its resources. She had spent the little money she had soon after the town had been captured, before scurrying out of sight - terrified that one of the soldiers or remaining villagers would recognise the eyes of a former Resistance member and send her away in the next convoy to gods-know-where.
She'd be okay when they took away the last ones, she told herself. Nobody knew she was here; nobody could give her away. The soldiers would leave when the town was empty, and then she would be free to continue her journey.
But she hadn't been able to find anything to eat for the past two days. By the time night fell, everyone had already consumed what little they had, keeping it safe from the thief lurking in their midst. Now that the town was shrinking, she hadn't dared to venture out, knowing that the odds of being seen and forgotten instantly were decreasing by the day. Dimly, she was beginning to wonder whether she would last until the soldiers left.
She needed to get out before she starved. She couldn't go on like this forever, stealing from people who could barely feed themselves. Maybe the soldiers wouldn't think anything of it when she ventured out; wouldn't connect the young woman to a Verthnix guardhouse ransacked almost four years ago.
Maybe they would; if she didn't get food soon, though, it wouldn't matter anyway. After three days without food, even the shadowy fate the convoys were trundling off to seemed almost preferable to another day wasting away alone in an abandoned house. She would simply go the way of the house's owner, and disappear.
Maybe she was addled with hunger and tiredness, but it seemed so simple that way.
Rolling over onto her other side, Eliza closed her eyes once more. She'd find something to eat in the morning; beg everyone in town if she had to, guards included. She'd find something to eat, and then she'd find a way to get out of here, no matter what it took.
She had been trapped for over a month. It was time to break free once more.
edited 5th Jan '13 4:26:45 AM by KiriAme
Anyway here's Blackwall
(World creation ho!)
-Blue mountains, 20 kilometres south of Alicris-
The blue mountains, a mountain range that came to an abrupt halt near the small town of Alicris. In truth Alicris was overshadowed by its second highest peak- a seemingly blue mountain of jagged edges and avalanche prone slopes covered in woolen white snow. It was on this mountain, from a cave near the foot of the mountain that Icarus gazed out and down at the sleepy town beneath her.
It had been less than two months since Alicris officially 'feel' to the government forces but already each day was becoming more restless. Years before- she would have done something, indeed she did do something- perhaps some would still tell obscure stories of how a being of light would appear outside the town on certain nights accompanied by dazzeling displays of raw magic: guesses would be made- a demon hunter, perhaps an angel....But those days had long since drifted away and now Icarus found herself more occupied by the fireplace than the affairs of men. Demon slaying was now a shortlived pasttime that only existed in memories.
Looking out from the cave entrance, Icarus turned her gaze on the small town. As she focused her gaze on base at the centre of town a bright flash of light caught her attention...but there was nothing to be seen anywhere.
Interesting.....
Perhaps thought Icarus, perhaps she should take a stroll- surely the sight of men would remind her the reason behind her own inaction. Yes, a stroll to and perhaps even through the town- an event that hadn't occured for a number of years.
There was a flash of light on the outskirts of Alicris, nothing big since Icarus did not want undue attention yet any with a sharp eye and a long gaze would see a figure in white quietly approach the town. Closer inspection would reveal what appeared to be a young lady robed in a white cloth that seemed to glow faintly in the gathering dark.
Thus Icarus waded through the long grass on barefeet towards Alicris- a sight that hadn't occured for a while.
Until further notice
Mak'kal had set up shop in the blacksmith's house, the previous owner having been one of the first to depart with the convoys. The endless legions of Karnas didn't just arm and armour themselves, after all.
He gripped his hammer tightly, suppressing his anger, and bashed away at the wheel on the anvil.
The guards had mocked him when he first showed up at the gates of Alicris. "An Orcish blacksmith? Might as well hire a Dwarven cook!" Still, they let him in and assigned him to the task of supplying parts for the massive steel wagons that would soon cart the hapless townsfolk to gods-knew-where, a task that he approached with minimal enthusiasm. After a week or two, he had moved up to maintaining their equipment as well, and aside from the periodic spot-check to ensure that he wasn't hoarding anything, they left him alone to do his work.
He glanced around, and - satisfied that he wasn't being watched - exhaled lightly onto the wheel, dragonfire lightly searing the wheel's spokes and barely sealing up the cracks that had appeared. With luck, the wheel would last for a mile or so before falling to pieces, possibly less if the slave wagon was particularly heavily-laden.
Wheels that would not support their carriages, armour plates with conveniently-placed weak points, swords which would stick in their scabbards at the worst moments... He'd made all those and more besides, a petty way of striking back at the Dark Lord. You get nothing more than what you pay for, you bastards, he thought, and smiled grimly as he tossed the frame onto a pile of similarly-defective components.
edited 8th Jan '13 8:56:39 AM by Pyrite
Not a substitute for a formal medical consultation.
An elf walked through the city of Alcris. Though, due to the long years of battle, exposure to magic, and the faint traces of the infinite scars, burns, and bruises coating his body, someone taking a quick glance could be forgiven for thinking of him as something else entirely. His dark blue skin and lack of hair were made curiouser by the limited clothing he wore, and the small, foot-long spear and strangely curved longsword that he had on his hip and back.
Regardless, he continued to walk. He had heard that the Empire was taking over the town, and he knew that where the Empire moved, he could find greater foes. But instead of the greater demons, so far it was just the simple foot soldiers patrolling around the perimeter of the town, and getting past them as they stomped around had been simple, but he had learned after all these years to never underestimate what the future holds. But now, late at night, with nothing else to do, and his blood burning with energy, he took to exploring the town to occupy his mind. Perhaps, he thought, Perhaps I shall find what I seek.
edited 5th Jan '13 12:58:25 AM by nman
FISTINGLY DELICIOUS
In a warehouse somewhere close to Alicris' bustling market-square (which would only just regain its bustle in the wee hours of the morning, the way most marketplaces the world over would), a bunch of barrels, loaded to their brims with apples, sat generally unmolested, waiting for shipment to the bigger cities.
Well, most of them, at any rate. One of the barrels, the only one with a lid firmly slipped down, looked rather at odds with the clean oakiness of the others. In fact, it looked rather old and worn out, as if was the later stage of its life. It also did not hold apples.
In fact, this skeevy-looking barrel's lid slightly tilted upwards, as if the contents were scanning the area for anyone around. Satisfied that no one was up this late or even patrolling such an important location as a warehouse full of sundry goods, the lid closed again. Only to be lifted up a moment later by the contents of the barrel, which was one rather scruffy-looking man with a tattered blue duster and a satchel almost as worn out as the cloak. The man stepped out of the barrel with the lack of grace of one who'd been hiding in a barrel for more than a few hours and replaced the lid. Then he stretched gloriously, painfully.
The man, whose name was Arvy, made an effort to fix his appearance and straighten his clothes. When he seemed to look as presentable as the aftermath of an arson, he made his way out of the warehouse and into the darker streets beyond, those not full of light and people active when all others were sound asleep and dreaming of livestock and scantily-dressed women and other things. The man paused by the alley of a bakery, whose armed-looking occupant appeared to be waiting for something. Arvy, for he looked like an 'Arvy', circled around the bakery, deeply intent on finding a better place to bed down and generally not be seen.
edited 5th Jan '13 1:39:11 AM by mantlemask
The hits keep rollin'!
CAPTAIN MEMEFACE
Alicris. The latest town to be taken under the effects of Karnas and his demon horde. The effect of the Dark Lords' conquest were clear from the outside, due to the high amount of soldier guarding the gate. Arxis was clearly not going to get in that way. However, the walls looked like they were crumbling, and they were not so heavily guarded. Hiding in a bush, Arxis saw the perfect opportunity- the back wall. Guarded by a single orc, in the dreaded black armour, it was the best place to gain entry. It was also crumbling down. Arxis used his magic to grab a few bricks at the top, and when the orc was below them, gently sent them tumbling down onto his head, knocking him unconscious. Arxis merely had to walk up and lift his own body weight over the wall using his magic.
Knowing that he only had a few moments before the guards arrived, he ran over silently, closing his eyes. The concentration required to move his own body was large, but luckily there were no distractions. By the time a guard checked the noise, he was over the wall, and mingling in with the population. The only problem now was how to set about freeing this place.
WELCOME TO MEME HELL!!!
THE SLORG!
From near the base of a mountain, just under a set of cliffs, a lone traveler from beyond the borders of the Empire looked out at the town just below, sitting and leaning back against a tree. He had never seen any collection of people so large, of any race; and in fact, this was really the first sign of civilization, large or small, that he had seen since he set out from his home weeks ago.
From what had been told to him by his father, this was just one of the smaller towns at the edge of the Empire, and could get much larger. The sight would've seemed so much grander, had it not been spoiled by knowing the cruelty that was occurring in those large towns; those, 'cities' as his father had called them.
I could turn back. The thought came to him as he looked up at the night sky, faintly imagining the things he could've instead chosen to do with his life. I could move away from the Empire, and use my knowledge to live a simple and peaceful life as a farmer, beyond the reach of all this darkness.
He looked back down at the town, at the lights in a few of the buildings, and the faint lights moving around the edges. I could. But I won't. His resolve was absolute. He may be only a farmer's boy, equipped with nothing more than a hunting bow, a handful of arrows, and a few scraps of leather, but he would not turn back. He just... Wouldn't let himself.
He finally tore his gaze away from the town long enough to glance at a small fire pit he had started to make earlier, that still remained unlit. The light could've been seen from the town, he had realized almost too late. He would have to rest in cold darkness tonight, but considering how many down there were likely doing none better, he decided he would just have to withstand it.
He looked back at the town once again, wondering what he would find down there tomorrow. Honestly, he wasn't sure, as he had never been to a town and had little to go on, so instead just focused on the night and his plan for it. For tonight, he had propped himself up against the tree so the first light of dawn would reach and awaken him sooner; and that was about it.
After one last glance up at the beautiful night sky, Firock slowly drifted to sleep, dreaming of what he might've done about all this in a different life. For him, the answer was always the same.
You are reading this.
Only a few rays of moonlight fell through the dim, broken window of the decrepit wooden hut on the edge of the city, illuminating the pale dust on the ground and the small spiders hushing through it.
The only other light source was a pathetic excuse of a fire that was burning in the middle of the moldy room. Its flickering light cast three shadows on the wall. One of them belonged to the caldron suspended over it, a liquid of an indescribable color bubbling inside. The second one was rather small, which wasn't really surprising, considering it belonged to Arcaros, a goblin wearing a faded, black robe and carrying a silver staff with some red ornaments, who was watching the fire. The third and last shadow was considerably larger and bulkier than the other two. It was the shadow of a dirt golem
◊, formed to help Arcaros with his brews. Sadly, there wasn't anything else around to make a golem out of. The empire had taken everything and all the inhabitants of this tiny city got in return were tears, blood, pain and despair.
Arcaros then averted his eyes from the fire, slowly walked up to the window and opened it. The stream of cold, fresh air that followed, didn't even come close to removing all the strange aromas in the air, caused not only the caldron but also by the variety of herbs lying around on the floor and hanging from the ceiling. As he melancholically gazed upon the city, he tried to imagine how it must have looked like, before all this had happened, but he wasn't able to break the veil of darkness that covered the city. Sighing, he turned to his brew again.
"Get me some Tel'sara berries.", he adressed his golem.
The golem quickly arose from its hunched over state and went behind the hut, to what was probably the measliest attemt at a garden in existance. Soon it returned with the specified. The goblin's skin began to take a shade of a darker green.
"Without the rest of the tree!", he shouted, severely annoyed by the incompetence of his minion.
After the golem returned, this time only bringing the berries, Arcaros ground them up into a fine paste and added it to the potion in the caldron.
A spider suspended itself from the ceiling, directly above the caldron. The fumes arising from the potion seemed to cloud the spider's brain, as it soon fell down into the brew. Instantly, its flesh began to bubble, blood seeped from its many eyes and after a few seconds nothing of the spiders body remained to be seen. The goblin grinned, exposing his unnaturally sharp teeth, which were quite abnominal, even for a goblin. "Perfect...", he muttered as he grabbed a few flasks and filled them with his creation.
His eyes gleamed as he spoke: "May you find the same fate as this spider, Dark Lord...you try to obtain power you know nothing about, and soon this power will make you fall right to your gruesome death. May pain always be on your way, Karnas..."
Wild Horse
Thunk. The sound of wood being split filled the night air as the ax wielding foreigner methodically split the log placed in front of him. Thunk. Another one replaced the two halves that were pushed into the pile, where once again the object was parted down the middle. Thunk. Continuing on with his diligent work, the swarthy man went on to separate dozens more fibrous cylinders. The ax continued to fall and rise in the same form, its wielder not bothering to readjust his stance or grip. Thunk. Eyes watched him from nearby, fellow workers in the employ of the inn. They placed the logs and carted away the pieces for fuel in kitchens and hearths and baths. They continued to monitor the man wordlessly, his bare upper body gleaming with sweat and diligence. When at last there was nothing to cut, the room let out their pent breath all at once.
Setting down the ax, the long haired man stretched his arms. "Right, we were going to eat?" Asking hopefully, the large foreigner put back on the featureless sack that constituted as a shirt for the workers. Glancing at his smiling face and his rather large arms folded about, one of the employees dashed back into the building to search for scraps and such, the poor never wanting to spend more money than necessary. The remaining colleagues kept their distance away from the man, too scared to approach him now that the working hours were done.
Sighing, Ichiro scratched his chin- which was burgeoning with hair nubs despite the fact he had shaved just earlier in the morn. It was hard going these days, with everyone so twitchy and nervous after the events- though none can blame them. They were scared of him, and the world, and everyone else in it. It didn't help matters that he was unusually large for an Easterner and had the look of a man who had survived a great many battles- which he had done. Picking up the sack of scraps that was hurriedly handed to him, the man sighed again and walked out the door.
It was fear that drove the inhabitants to be distrustful of anything and everything, to close themselves and blame others. How many times did he see people get dragged off in those awful metal engines, knowing full well they were never seen again. The state of affairs on this continent was much worse than he had originally anticipated. Joviality now stolen by the outside world, Ichiro's face resettled into a caricature that was all angles and sharpness. If looks could have affected the environment, then his gaze alone would have set buildings on fire. Arriving home in the slum settlements near the marketside, the man ducked into his hovel. Everything was in order because people had learned not to pilfer from the giant easterner. Picking up his curiously curved blades, the swordsman got to work on polishing it in a zen-like state. It was a ritual and necessity that the man enjoyed, the practice ingrained in his soul from childhood. From the dark shadows of his home on a hill, Ichiro could oversee a sizable part of the city upon his perch.
Always be ready to do the unusual and unexpected.
Perpetually Disappointed
Bryn sat in an inn.
Well, I'm not bleeding any more.
His wounds were a few days old and were fairly minor from the start, especially compared to those of his compatriots who didn't make it away.
He looked around. The room was sparse and he had perhaps another week's worth of expenses on him. He'd need to find a job soon. His understand of the area is that there was recently some fear of the Empire rearing its head here. It would be the ideal market for a mercenary, particularly one who had los- become an exile beneath the Empire's iron fist.
He looked into the mirror where he could see himself explaining the pitiful tale as it unfolded. He joined a local militia and rose to leadership there when they were pushed to rebellion against Verthnic tyranny but failed and were scattered.
By now his wounds were healed, mostly. He hadn't been beaten.
He wasn't to his full strength but that would come in a couple days at most.
This was just another part of the same game. The part where he plays defensively and recovers what he can. The Emperor would slip up somewhere and Bryn would be there. Alicris would need soldiers and more over officers. This would be enough to feed him.
For victory? He'd need to be a little more daring.
But you can't win without a means, the goal of the game is merely to survive until such a means arrives and to keep a good eye for it.
That said, he came down the stairs and surveyed the inn below.
Mé féin ag daṁsa faoin ngealaċ seanrince gan ċeol leis ach ceol cuisle. DS FC: 4141-3472-4041, feel free to add me.
He drank another cup. He almost had no need for doing this, but drinking was the only thing he found enjoyable as of late. Even then, what little there remained was of terrible quality. All the decent drinks he had were on his horse, which was thankfully hidden outside Alicris before it was occupied. He didn't worry too much about it, he could be separated from it for weeks, and he could still find it safe and sound, and he could swear that often it came back with a few more bags. At least it wasn't in this dump. Crows know how fast it would've been gone, especially in the time he'd been stuck here.
He felt a bit testy by now to say the least. All the jobs he took recently were easy but boring, and he was stuck here for a month. He was sitting in a inn, staring at his drink. He had his pole-ax by his back, and his sword at his waist. He wondered if he'll just get tired of this and fight his way out. Might be crazy to try, but it's not like he had anything left to do.
Perpetually Disappointed
Bryn saw opportunity by the bar, taking a sip and drowning its sorrows.
He sat beside and ordered a drink himself, looked over at Atheli, "You a local here?"
Mé féin ag daṁsa faoin ngealaċ seanrince gan ċeol leis ach ceol cuisle. DS FC: 4141-3472-4041, feel free to add me.
"Nope, was lucky enough to be here when the Empire came." Atheli continued to drink from his cup. He didn't mind the extra company. Everyone else were too scared to really socialize, much less with him.
Perpetually Disappointed
"How long ago was that?" Bryn said, with a brief curse under his breath, "I've been keeping to myself mostly the last few days. I injured myself on the road and so I came by this town."
He gestured towards a couple bandages, "A highway men hit my caravan. I'm a fighting man by trade but there were to many for us to do much. I arrived a few days ago looking for shelter."
He looked around and tried to scan the reaction on his drinking companion's face, "There was a lot of talk but I was under the impression they were still coming when I arrived."
He paused for a second, "I'm Bryn by the way. A pleasure."
Mé féin ag daṁsa faoin ngealaċ seanrince gan ċeol leis ach ceol cuisle. DS FC: 4141-3472-4041, feel free to add me.
BWAH-HA-HA!
"Not even one step back, hmmmm?", rung an robust, yet cheery voice from outside the bakery door. "Then I won't suppose you'll be troubled for some help?"
The front door would creek open slowly to reveal a leathery looking dwarf, oddly tanned by anyones standards. He was lightly armored, coated in a form fitting breast plated and plain leather jacket, paired with treated hide pants and boots. A well trimmed black beard and mustache took up more than half of his face and sternum. He was burdened with a backpack rivaling himself in height, only two elephant guns hugging him any tighter than it. The one hanging behind his left shoulder looked as if you could fit grapeshot down the barrel, rather than any ball or cartridge.
"Don't worry." the dwarf continued. "I'm entirely sure I'm the only one who heard you two." He quickly shut the door behind him. "Though you might want to check outside for a moment for loiterers whose ears aren't quite as keen as mine. Not imperial types, just loiterers." A mildly perturbed look suddenly smattered itself on the gentleman dwarf's face to punctuate his sentence.
"You must excuse my prolonged rudeness" he broke out, bending his squat torso in a quick bow. "Sir Leonard Dire-Shot, professional hunter, warden, and plucky insurrectionist at your service." The little-man leant himself against the nearest wall. "And as I'd mentioned before, you have the look of a man in need of dead soldiers. In that, we are kindred spirits."
To the law and for the good of man. All I need to live by.
A Dwarf! Gerrard's eyes brightened as he stood up, rushing to shake the man's hand. A real dwarf! He'd only heard stories, never seen a real one in his life! He had the guns and the beard and everything! But he couldn't say that aloud! Needed to be cool! Confident! Keep your head! Be competent!
"Well, yes. All of that is true. My name is Gerrard Eiding of Stalwart, sir Dwarf." Gerrard said, making sure to be masculine and serious for the visitor. He leaned over the dwarf and checked the windows before turning back to the fire, aliding his gauntlet on and reaching for the bread pan. "The convoys previously took the couple that owned this shop, somehow missing the boy currently sleeping like a stone upstairs. He, ah," Gerrard set the bread onto a stone to cool, "he's instated himself as my Page or something. I decided to set up shop upstairs, and we've been sharing and making bread for quite a while now. Do you need anythig? Bed, food..." He eyed the guns, "ammunition? Tomorrow will be quite the confusing panic, I can tell you that; we'll need to be ready. I made some maps and plans upstairs, and by my reckoning we could hold off the entire army from that street out there. Too narrow, cobbly, and broken to hold anything but people. There was actually a horse rotting in the gutter from a sprained ankle until the village even had to pick that clean." Gerrard suddenly realized what he was doing. "So sorry, I'm talking your ear off here! Since we just sold bread here we don't really have any chairs, but please, the floor is very comfortable..."
huzzaaaaaaaah
While Bryn and Atheli continued to talk, they would notice sporadic laughs coming from one side of the inn. Indeed, if they turned their attention to that side, they would see a round table, with a few men (no more than four) sitting around it, all of them clutching their empty glasses and listening to another man talk. This man, unlike the others, was quite different. He didn't look like someone who'd been in a lot of fights (and indeed, if you asked him if he had been in a lot of fights, he would probably say no). In fact, judging by his clothes
◊, he looked more like someone who had just woken up after years of sleep, and had never heard of things like "armor", "danger" or even "the Dark Lord".
"Of course, the face on that dwarf's face was amazing!" The man continued, grabbing his glass filled with a yellow drink and swinging it around. "Nothing compares, however, to his mumbles and grumbles when we said he would have to cook!" At this point, the men burst into laughter, although their laughs stopped once the man continued his story. "By that point, I thought that the dwarf had seen too much, so I told him he could stay at my house and I would treat him to three meals a day. After much negotiation, we changed the number of meals from three to five. I don't mind, really. I enjoy some company in my house."
The man, Donatus, was not a man, although only two people in the world knew that. He had arrived in the city before everything began, saying he was a merchant here to sell some goods. But while no one had seen him sell or buy anything, they had seen him spend countless evenings at the inn, buying drinks for everyone with expensive-looking jewels he seemingly pulled out of nowhere. People didn't really care (and Donatus made a point to buy extra drinks for the guards so they didn't care to)- as long as that man continued to pay them drinks, no one would raise any eyebrows.
Donatus' reason for being there was quite different. You see, he wasn't a man, like I told you before. He was, most certainly, a dragon. Born and raised by an old couple in a cave near Irfundis, Donatus believed that it was time for someone to stand their ground against the Dark Lord's armies. And so, he had carefully planned his visit to the city and managed to get in before everything began. His plan was to find people that would join him on the fight against the latest convoy. However, you couldn't exactly go on the town's market, advertising that you were looking for people to fight the Dark Lord, so Donatus made a point to keep up his image of a friendly man just visiting the town.
Surely, he would stumble upon someone who shared his views, right? And perhaps that person could answer a question that had been in the back of Donatus' mind for a long time: were there others like him? Were there brothers and sisters he hadn't met yet? The prospect of having a family, a dragon family, was something that he never stopped thinking about. He still loved his human family, and he made sure to give the old couple enough money so they could survive in another town, but... still... others like him. Others that could tell him the secrets of being a Dragon. Others that could help him in his "quest" against the Dark Lord... Donatus smirked to himself as the men told him a tale about something he didn't care about. He knew things would change. He just didn't know when.
edited 5th Jan '13 11:57:10 PM by Stratofarius
BWAH-HA-HA!
"Just do me a favor first, son." Sir Dire-Shot responded. "Hesitate a bit more before spilling all your guts to a man who technically broke into your house, even if that man is a dwarf. It'll save you a lot of grief." letting out a deep laugh from his belly, he found himself a seat on the floor near the corner. It was no doubt, this man would make for better company than most; it'd just be a matter of keeping him alive long enough to learn him better.
"The floor is fine," he continued, "Lying belly deep in the bloodweeds of Bansri pride-lands for days on end makes just about anything seem pleasant in comparison." He rubbed a hand over his chest-plate as a phantom irritation of more unpleasant hunts began rearing its ugly head. "It's this plan of yours I'm worried about. I was only here for the skulls of a few high ranking officials in the area, postponing their little shipping trade until I could call some friends. Something a little more on the covert end of things, you see. You sounded like you're ready to take on the entire damned guard! Please, for gods' sake, tell me you have some back-up." He pointed his thumb towards the town's front gate.
"I only have a sprint-dragon with me, and he's just a babe as far his kind are considered."
To the law and for the good of man. All I need to live by.
CAPTAIN MEMEFACE
Arxis quickly realised that his midnight black hat was drawing looks. He knew he couldn't just take off his robe in the middle of the street, but he took off the hat and slipped it into his backpack. He made his way through the maze of streets, not in any particular direction, but just out of idle curiosity - he knew this place well, as he had visited many times when it was a haven and a beacon of hope to those hiding from the Dark Lord. Now, that hope was lying in tatters thanks to the tyrant's forces. The idea that races other than demons had thrown their lot in with Karnas may worry or scare some, but to Arxis, it was understandable. Each person had their own reasons, but it was usually one of three; fear of the Dark Lord, a lust for blood, or genuine support of this curse, this poisonous man.
If the Empire is to be stopped, this town needs to be freed. Alicris shall be a haven once more.
WELCOME TO MEME HELL!!!
It wouldn't be much longer now. It couldn't be.
It would be a week and a month by next midnight; his entrance to Alicris had been suspiciously uneventful for a city gripped by Karnas' iron glove. He'd kept his weapons hidden, sent away his armor, and shuffled under the gates just like any craftsdwarf would have. His earlier profession had given him a reason to be there, which kept questions away once he mentioned he was looking for work. An apprenticeship had been started almost immediately to deflect suspicion, and that had kept coins in his pocket and information trickling into his ear.
However, information meant little when action would have thrown him straight into the empire's jaws. He knew of the unrest and low opinions Alicris fostered against Karnas, but with soldiers on all sides and convoys taking away any viewed as insurgents, any move could place the entire city in jeopardy. That is why he prayed. Berrothoin was silent as he'd ever been since Karnas' long arm had stretched across Aldaris, but still he could feel the Earthsmith's eyes upon him; appraising, as he always was. Even if he did not intervene directly - and, indeed, Corbin had grown used to his god's distance - he knew Berrothoin could see him lying awake for hours each night, dedicated to finding a way to narrow his search for allies. He knew he could hear him whisper his hymns with every swing of his hammer. He knew he could feel the weight of his resolve in every errant spark or bend in the iron Alicris' blacksmith had told him needed correction.
Though he could not hear Berrothoin's answer, his questions had reached him. He knew they had. He trusted they had.
He prayed for wisdom. He prayed for strength. He prayed for allies to join their resolve with his. He had prayed for nearly five weeks, remaining ever-vigilant for a sign that his pleas had been sent an answer. And now, two hours past midnight, Corbin Bulbarak prayed again from inside his humble room inside a meager inn. He knew not when his answer would come; only that it would. The Earthsmith was patient and slow to act, but swift and efficient the moment time became limited; just as a smith or engineer should be. He prayed again for wisdom and strength and allies, just as he had so many other times.
O great Stoneshaper, bless this modest smith-soldier with your guidance/
That I may shape steel and stone, that I may mend blood and bone/
O wise World-Maker, grant this humble smith-soldier your temperance/
That I may be the whetstone, that their old wounds may be sewn/
A single verse, simple and succinct. It would reach him; he knew it would. The reaffirmation of his faith comforted Corbin as he closed his eyes. He decided he'd sleep until dawn. Patience. A keen eye. A steady hand. Close to his heart, he kept his god's tenets. If Berrothoin determined this to be the time for action, Corbin would answer his call without hesitation; if it was still too early, then he would wait.
It could not be simpler than that.
edited 6th Jan '13 6:59:17 PM by DoctorThunder
"First of all," Gerrard began, slicing the bread, "you are correct, I do plan on massacring all those who would stand before me. Town Guard they are not, however; that implies their presense is at all beneficial to Alicris. And no, I do not plan to do this alone. I have been around town quite a bit, examining the inns and shops, and I know for a fact that there are many heroes here, waiting for their moment as well. There is a strange man with dark skin and billowing robes beguiling many in the inn. The local blacksmith is a fearsome orc with fire in his eyes. I have plenty of help; they just need to be called to action."
Gerrard just realized he had made another long, metaphorical speech. He knew how blunt dwarves were supposed to be.
"Erm, yes. There are many other independent insurgents in Alicris, poised to strike like I am."
— Town of Alicris, 756 Km away from Verthnix, Year 37th After Karnas' Rise (AKR)—
In the time since the rise of Dark Lord Karnas and his Unstoppable Conquest, the evil tyrant has managed to expand his territory to degrees the which were deemed impossible before. The great bastions of enemy resistance were systematically besieged and then crushed under his iron fist, the great cities were plundered, stripped bare of their glory and then left as a dead husk or were transformed to suit a new purpose.
However, this method of striking at the heart of all insurgence left many such towns as Alicris within the territory of the Empire. Towns with no strategic value, without great populations or wealth... towns which were too insignificant for the mighty beast to crush them underfoot.
That is... until now. Insignificance might be a shield against the might of the Dark Lord, indeed, it might be a more effective one than many given how long Alicris spent unmolested. However, there is no escaping the spreading darkness... And the town of Alicris has recently cast aside its shield. As more and more towns fall, as the Empire settles its roots and fortifies its territory, so do the safe havens grow smaller. Alicris, once out of the way and insignificant recently started to grow and become a refuge for those who call themselves free. Close to the border as well, it became a stepping stone for those brave people making their way into the heart of darkness to spread hope.
Thus, slowly but surely, the town has been brought to the eyes of the Legion. The Emperor's war machine subjugated the town in two days, leaving behind the brunt and rabble of their actual force to secure the town before moving towards their next objective.
A three days after the conquest the first of the convoys came. Massive constructions of steel, moving on their own on great wheels. The demons of the Emperor then herded as many of the citizens into these transports and then they drove down the road... with those remaining not knowing where their friends and family inside of them will go.
It has been little over a month since the first convoy arrived and so far nine more of them have come to take away the people of Alicris. Remaining in town is little over half the population of the town and there is only the lightest of doubts that the Empire will not stop until Alicris is a ghost town.
Its people lie broken, hungry and more than anything... scared. They live in relative freedom as the invading forces have secured the place by setting up base in the center of town, stock holding all supplies and handing out the bare minimum of food needed to survive. The populace cannot leave due to the strict perimeter of security put around the town.
It was a most hopeless of situations... and yet, sad and broken Alicris would prove to be the stepping point for something beyond the dreams of its scared populace. A small as it was at the moment... history books will one tell of how hope was born in Alicris in the year 37th after the rise of the Dark Lord Karnas.
It was a cold and dark night, barely lit up by the lights of the stars and the moon. Indeed, as ironic as it might be the brightest light in the night was coming from the town controlled by the darkest forces on the land.
All around the perimeter of Alicris, their shapes could be seen... clad in their strange armor colored black as midnight, walking with blade or rifle in hand, some with torches and others with bright flameless light brought about from Karnas' technology. The foot soldiers of the Empire, men and women of all races that had thrown their lot with the poison that is Karnas.
Some hated them... others pitied them. The cloaked figure was of the later group. No ordinary person could get past the perimeter, as the bodies scattered along the woods of the town could attest. However, in Aldaris there were a certain number of extra ordinary people.
Thus, the cloaked figure moved making not a whisper... weaving in between the patrols, moving through the bushes and the trees in quick bursts of speed. She had a few close calls... but then again, she was not one entirely used to the shadows. In the end, however, she made it past the patrols and to her objective.
The old sewers... the settlement of Alicris was not all that old as far as towns went, but its base was solid. The city was built over an old dwarven outpost on the surface and if dwarves knew how to do something, it is building to last.
The figure stepped into the tunnels and found them mostly devoid of waste and in manageable condition, thank the Gods. She then started to run, quiet as a whisper in the darkness. Without stopping she jumped gaps, ran five steps through a wall before jumping to clear a sinkhole of water and thus navigated her way deeper towards the city.
Her only obstacle presented itself almost at her goal. A burly figure with skin like red leather, with wide amorphously big shoulders which made way to equally big arms which ended each in three claws as long as a blade. Its yellow eyes glowed faintly in the dark... eyes far more capable of looking at the figure than the reverse.
A demon. One of the many kinds now set loose in the world.
However, the figure was ready to meet this foe. She did not need her eyes to feel the creature a few turns back... thus by the time the demon laid his gaze on her, it was far too late. The cloaked woman brought a hand to the handle of a blade hanging at her waist... and as soon as an inch of the metal was freed from the scabbard, a light as intense as pure daylight bathed the tunnel, blinding the creature as it rose his claws to shield its eyes.
That opening was enough for the for figure, which rushed to the demon in the blink of an eyes... burying her blade to the pommel on the creature's belly... its steel biting and burning at the unholy beast. The woman said not a word as she stood, waiting for the paralyzed monster's life energy to fade... and for all his physical might to be rendered useless as it slid off her blade as cleanly as butter of a knife. The mirror like blade lay unstained by the blood of the monster... and in its now gentle light, the cloaked figure saw something that did give her pause.
One, two... five... what must be a dozen bodies corpses in the floor, only a few steps behind the beast... some big, others small... most nothing more than skeletons.
The figure stood still, and in the darkness there was nobody to see her expression as she sheathed her blade and whispered a prayer.
A short one though, since she must move up. Up from the depths of the sewers, into the streets of occupied Alicris.
And thus, not a soul in the city... not those hugging their families in the darkness, not those drinking whatever is left in the local pub and not those conspiring in the dark knew that a new agent had entered Alicris... But then again, they did not learn of the many others that had most likely made their way into the city at the time.
For earlier in the night, a new convoy had made its way into the city... and before the sun started to dip tomorrow it shall be filled anew with the people of Alicris, bound to some unknown location for some unknown purpose.
edited 4th Jan '13 9:29:28 PM by daltar
If I'm sure of something it's that I'm not sure of anything.