Chronicles of the Unrealm - a PuF RPG story

[Taskmaster]

Bird's Eye View

(Note: I have an idea of where I want to take this... at least for now, so I would appreciate everyone respecting that. This has been a really good story for the most part, but you can see what happens when folks disrepect each other's story}



SEVERAL DAYS EARLIER

"Oooohhh!" A painful moan escaped his lips as he slowly regained consciousness. It hurt to open his eyes, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to think and it hurt to move. His surroundings spun madly around as dizziness threated to overtake him. The nausea evoked his involuntary reflexes and he vomited.

He lay motionless, breathing as slowly and deeply as his aching muscles would allow. The pounding in his head faded from a thundering stampede of wild elephants to a small herd of mooing cows. It still throbbed, but was more tolerable. His entire body was sore, from dull aching muscles to a sharp pain in his leg.

He steeled himself and opened his eyes. He saw the ground...below him...about 12 feet below him. He turned his head to look around, each stiff muscle informing the brain as to their unhappiness at being force to moved.

"Where in the world am I?" he managed to choke out. His throat was parched and scratchy. He carefully surveyed his position, which he surmised was to be stuck in a cluster of tree branches a few yards from the ground. The sharp pain in his leg was due to the fact that his leg was wrenched between two tree limbs.

He shut his eyes for a moment and rested. His mind frantically searched his memory for recent events that might explain how he came to be in this tree. Nothing came remotely close to answering his questions.

"Must have been some party..." he laughed to himself. It hurt to laugh. He carefully twisted himself around on his precarious perch until he was able to sit up stiffly.

It was a painful struggle to pry the branches apart enough to work his foot free, but he finally managed to wiggle loose. His ankle was raw and bloody from the rough wood having been clamped down on it for so long. He hurt badly, but he could move his foot barely so he assumed it wasn't broken.

Steadying himself on the thick branches, he began to survey the immediate surroundings. He already gathered he was in a tree. This tree appeared to be on the outter edge of a larger forest surrounding a clearing. The ground below sloped suggesting it was on a hill or mountain side.

"Oh merciful God in heaven!" he cried as his mouth fell open and his eyes widen in shock. He swallowed hard at the sight before him. It hurt to swallow.

A large clearing sprawled to his left. What should have been a lush green field of colorful wildflowers, was instead a dark red pond littered with freshly massacred coprses. The dead were too numerous to count, and the pieces and parts would not have made it nearly impossible anyway. Such death and destruction was beyond his imagination, yet reality stretched before him. Again his involunatry relflexes took over...

He stood silently staring st the nightmarish vista before him, offering silent prayers for the dead, and for himself. Did he somehow play a part in this killing field? Was he somehow responsible for the carnage scattered across the mountain side?

He let out a gasp as he spied movement. From the center of the battlefield some one moved. A man stood up groggily, stumbled a few steps then fell back down.

"I have to help him..." he thought as he hurriedly grabbed at nearby branches. He shifted his weight to his not-as-sore foot.

"Whoa...no!" he exclaimed as he lost his balance. He plunged to the forest floor below breaking smaller branches in his descent and painfully crashing off the larger ones.

It hurt to fall. Darkness overtook his vision as pain filled his mind. Sleep came willingingly or not. The stranger lay sprawled on the underbrush alone in the forest, unbeknownst to the apparent sole survior of an epic battle.

 

[Xadhoom]

(please ignore this post. i have remade her story a bit futher down in this thread)

Day 1:
Though this is not the first day of my life or this year I will from now on call it day one or the first day of my sorrow. I will write down a short description of what have made me call it the first day of my sorrow. The planet I live on was overrun by evil and I thought I had come up with a way of dealing with this evil with one powerful spell that would draw power of it own to create a barrier that would block any evil creature to enter the realm of our planet. The casting of the spell seemed to go fine from the beginning, the spell started to draw power itself as I had suspected it to do. But I had missed one thing in my research, it already existed a shield designed to ward of the evil beings though it had weakened. The spell I casted only weakened this barrier even more…

I realised this to late, the spell had grown to powerful already and while I was trying to undo the spell it unlashed all its power but not in the way it was supposed to, this is probably because I was trying to undo it. Its power was unleashed at ME, and changed my appearance. The spell domed the planet I lived in because now all the demoniac creatures that lived could now enter the world freely without anything to hinder them. My people were consumed in less than a few hours, leaving me the only one alive of my people.

The creatures didn’t attack me; why I don’t know but I guess that it has something to do with the spell I cast and affected me instead of the planet. I need to investigate this more.

Day 14
I have been busy, that’s why I haven’t written anything for almost two weeks. I have discovered something interesting; the spell didn’t only change my appearance but also my powers. I was earlier a sorceress who cast protective spells but that seemed to have changed along with my appearance. I discovered this when I was attacked by one of the most powerful creatures that have entered my planet.

I had earlier sensed that the power of the spell I cast had been somehow been imprisoned within my body, I only hadn’t realised how much of it. Because when the monster attacked me several spells come to my mind most of them was defensive spells and I tried to cast the most powerful defensive spell I know, but it failed. When the spell failed I was desperate because the monster was almost over me, I throw up my hand in protection and suddenly a spell that I never have heard nor seen came to my mind and in my desperation I grasped at the chance throwing all my power in that spell. (Though it might it have been good to leave this misery and lonely life I now live)

The resulting outlet of power in that spell shattered the monster to nothing more than a burning pile of flesh and ash. Later that day when I had recovered from the shock I investigated the mater more and found out that none of my protective spells that I cast was successful, the only spells that worked was offensive spells and most powerful was the formerly unknown spell that I had used on the monster that had attacked. The spell seemed to always end up where my arms was pointing, the nature of the spell seemed to be in the fire sphere. I will write more when I know more of my new body and my powers.

(for those hwo dont get it this have happened in a other realm, she will leave this later and travel to unrealm)

 

[Wolf Blackstar]

The demons closed in on Wolfram, flanking him and cutting him off. Wolfram calmed himself as he drew his weapons, and considered his options. At the odds of six to one, he stood little chance. And these were no mortal opponents; these were Kharnak, demons that served as the shock troops of underwordly armies, fierce warriors in their own right, skilled in combat with weapons as well as disciplined in offensive demonic magic.

Wolfram drew his swords and steeled himself. The Kharnak closed in further, wielding weapons that gave off darkness instead of light. Their scaly hides and long, filthy claws were complemented by the presence of a foul stench, rather like rotting flesh. Despite his situation, Wolfram couldn't help but look one of them in the eye and smile. "Damn, but you guys are ugly."

Whether out of understanding his words, or anger that the human that stood before them showed no fear, the demons chose this moment to strike. Wolfram's bastard swords clashed against the infernal demonic weaponry with such force that sparks flew upon contact.

Defense, defense, defense...... it was all that Wolfram could do to prevent one of their black blades from getting past his guard and piercing him. His light armor would be of almost no protection against such weapons. Wolfram cursed as he was being forced back, then saw that two of the creatures were circling around to trap him. This battle would be over in seconds unless he could come up with some kind of counterattack....

That was when he felt the rage building up. It wasn't the fury of bloodlust that warriors felt in battle. It was similar, but it was something else as well, something more. He reached out to it, felt himself giving in to this force, which actually made him feel.......calm.

Wolfram suddenly stopped thinking of his defenses, and pushed forward. The only way to win this battle was by cutting down the odds. He surged forward with incredible speed, catching the Kharnak off-guard and sinking his swords into their flesh. Two of them dropped dead to the floor. Four on one now. Much better. Wolfram paused for a second, then went into a spinning circular form of attack that even the Kharnak could never have been prepared for.

Wolfram could not notice that Cryss was watching his every move, and making notes on a scroll. Even she did not understand the glow in his eyes and the passionate expression of rage that was upon his face, but what she saw before her eyes defied logic: a human fighting against powerful demons. And winning. This man moved with perfectly timed strokes in his swordsmanship. And yet.... he executed them at ungodly speed. Even the finest of Drow warriors might have found themselves overmatched against this one, she thought. She watched as he feinted a thrust with one arm and came back with his off hand in a chop that took one of the demon's heads off. Another Kharnak attacked from behind Wolfram, flinging his sword directly at his back. Almost at the last second Wolfram spun around and knocked the incoming sword harmlessly aside. The surprised demon seemed to register an expression of shock before Wolfram was upon it, his swords sundering the Kharnak into bloody chunks.
Cryss resumed writing frantically in the scroll.

Wolfram was upon the last two demons in complete concentration now. He was thoroughly enjoying this, and somehow felt that this was his element - he was at one with himself now. He was aware of some unseen factor at work, and though he did not understand it, it felt very familiar. He could suddenly sense the presence of his enemies in the room. And Cryss's presence not further beyond. For a split second, his perception reached outward in all directions, and for that moment he was aware of thousands of souls throughout the city. He felt them all.

Wolfram, no longer seeing the world through his own eyes, was amazed at the sensation. He felt himself fighting off the two demons almost subconsciously. Perhaps the most amazing sensation of it all, the sounds in his ears - in his mind - like beautiful music, it seemed, music that could not possibly be explained in mortal terms. Then he sensed it.

Something powerful, far overshadowing the human presence around him. An essence of power, of the very same power that he was now experiencing. A person. Wolfram concentrated on it. Yes, somewhere in this city. And Wolfram knew that he had felt this power before. Whoever it was, he recognized the signature of their power. And this person was here now. Wolfram had the answer he was looking for.


Cryss watched stunned as Wolfram cut the last two demons down without so much as looking at them. The human then proceeded to lower his arms, and stand perfectly still. His eyes increased tenfold in the intensity of their bright glow. It was as if he was in some kind of trance. The expression on his face no longer of rage, he seemed to be at perfect peace. In fact, he was smiling. Cryss finished the writing on the scroll, then rolled it tightly into a metal case, sealing it magically and attaching it to her belt. With one last look at Wolfram, she pulled the folds of her black cloak around her, and stepped out into the night. She pulled the cloak's hood over her head, covering her dark elven features, and then began to recite the words of a spell. When the magical dweomer was complete, the small building that she had occupied disappeared, leaving Wolfram standing in the dusty alley alone, his eyes still glowing in his trance-like state. She looked upon the mysterious human one final time, then ran out through the alleys, melting away in the darkness.

Wolfram came back to reality several moments later, and was surprised to see himself outside again. He considered the course of events and remembered something about the drow woman writing something in a scroll. Had he been tricked into displaying his power? Wolfram looked about. The corpses of the demons were gone, but the blood and chunks of flesh that stained his blades were very real. Wolfram tried to place some purpose behind the strange woman and her intentions, but he knew he lacked most of the questions, let alone the answers to do so. No matter, though, for he had his goal now. He must find the source of the powerful presence he had sensed earlier.

The moon shone down in pale splendor upon the streets of S'mon Traska. Thieves and murderers swarmed about in the alleys, performing their assigned tasks. Ruffians fought in the streets, and somewhere in the darkness, a drow female slipped past unseeing eyes. And walking brazenly in the streets without fear, Wolfram passed through the ranks of murderer and assassin alike, without a single challenge blocking his path. He walked in the direction he had last sensed the presence of someone he had known in the past, someone he had to find now.

 

[Taskmaster]

The Stick

His eyes lids flickered slowly, then rapidly, then finally opened. He was looking up at the canopy of tree branches above him through swollen eyes. He slowly regained his bearings, recalling his fall from the airborne perch to the hard ground. He slowly moved his various bodily parts taking inventory of which one's hurt, and which one's hurt worse.

His hand brushed against a hard branch lying beside him, apparently one he had taken down with him as he fell. It felt solid, but not to thick. He turned his head to examine the full length. It wasn't as straight and even as he would have preferred, but it was long enough and sturdy enough to be of service.

Rolling to his left he managed to painfully get to his hands and knees. His arms protested at having to hold his upper body up and his knees groaned like rusty gears. Grasping the stick tightly, he work himself to a full kneeling position. Now it was his back's turn to complain about all the mistreatment it had suffered in this most recent episode. Still, the pain was pretty much constant, so a little more didn't register as strongly as it may have otherwise. A few grunts later he was "standing" as straight as he could manage, leaning heavily on the rugged tree limb.

He stood patiently, with his weight shifted to and balanced by the wood, gaining he wits. He was able to break off most of the smaller twigs and sticks from the main shaft of the limb. A couple of larger branches still protruded from the cane, but they would not hinder his progress. He could deal with them later.

He tried to put some weight on his left foot, which had been twisted in the upper branches of the nearby tree, but it was too sprained to handle it. "For now you'll have to settle for being a crutch more than a walking stick." he stated to the stick as he returned his weight to it.

He remembered the carnage that was scattered across the once lush green meadow just a few yards from the forest edge. He was determined to take a closer look. He hoped the apparent survivor he had seen earlier was still alive, and better yet, still nearby. I could certainly use some help myself. he mentally assessed.


After moments of limping, foot dragging, resting and groaning, that seemed to take forever, he finally emerged from the confines of the forest underbrush. Even though he was prepared this time for the sight he would behold, he was still stunned at the magnitude of the destruction and death. He swallowed hard, sucked in a deep breath, steeled his nerves and continued to struggle forward.

"We're not in Kansas anymore!" he muttered, apparently to his walking stick, as he began to get a closer look at the bodies and debris. The clothing, the artifacts, the designs, the faces... they were at once familiar, yet entirely alien. His eyes danced from one body to another quickly drinking in the information. He struggled to make sense of it.

The man he had seen earlier -- he had no idea how much earlier since he had passed out -- was nowhere to be seen. Or maybe he was laying dead among the numerous corpses. No, no.... none of these have a huge battle ax strapped to their backs. The stranger had survived.

"If I'm right..." he thought, "...I need to find that man as soon as I can." He surveyed at the vast wilderness surrounding him on all sides. "I hope I'm not right!"

Finally it struck him that there were no weapons.. well, very few weapons. Those that were left were broken and no longer useable, at least for making war. Maybe the stranger had indeed died here and the large ax had been carried off by the looters. He just didn't know.

He used the walking stick to help lower himself to the ground next to one of the bloody corpses. The flies scattered with a loud buzz, then settled back down. He sat gingerly on his throbbing buttocks in the cool green grass.

"I guess you won't be needing this any longer?!" he apologized to the dead man as he pulled a broken spear tip from his throat. He wiped the bloody implement off on the grass.

He scraped and hacked at the remaining off-shoots on his walking stick. He chopped off as many knots and prortusions as possible, ending up with a decent, albeit raw, walking stick.

He ripped some cloth strips from the ragged and tattered clothing of other nearby bodies, and with some broken spear shafts and shield slats, tied his ankle tightly with a make-shift splint.

"That should make the going easier." he commented as he tied the last strip. "Much better." he noted after having stood up and tested his handiwork.

He slowly hobbled around the battlefield taking small items here and there that he felt might be useful at some point. Each time he did so, he apologized to the unfortunate soul from whom he took it. There was very little that had not already been removed.

Finally he found the clue he was looking for. A trail of flattened grass and a few bloody footprints lead down the mountain ending at a small trail through the forest. The weight of dragging off all the weapons and spoils had left a tell-tale trail of broken grass, weeds and wild flowers.

He took one last look over his shoulder at the sprawling waste of life before limping slowly into the shadowy forest...

 

[Xadhoom]

As Xadhoom regained consciousness she felt a throbbing pain in her left arm. When she brought the arm in her view she saw that her arm had been priced by a wooden stick. As she looked at the arm she noticed that she was lying beneath a tree and that evidence of some ones fall could be seen through the branches. “Is it I that have fallen through that tree” she thought. “ It must be, strange that I don’t fell more hurt than I do” she muttered, talking to herself.

She pulled the stick out and bandaged herself with a shred torn from her clothes. As she lay back against the tree to rest her memories started to come back somewhat…

She had just completed the spell that would perhaps lead her of this place, this… wasteland… “THIS PLACE WHICH ONCE WAS A BEAUTIFUL PARADISE!” Her last thought echoed like a burning fire, filling her mind with self-contempt and hatred. She walked forward to inspect the spell once more to see that it was perfectly completed. Suddenly a powerful wind blow up and pushed her through the unfinished gateway, which she had just created.

She had appeared above a large tree leaving her in a fast and uncontrolled fall through the trees branches.

 

[PsychoMoggieBagpuss]

Asteph'theroc was running.

Forests flashed by in seconds. Cities were there and gone in an eyeblink. Grassland changed to farmland then back again in an instant.

Asteph'theroc was running, his mind reeling at the possibilities of that brief contact of their minds. Even now he could still sense him, like a warm spot in his head, sense the direction he was in, it was almost as if he had soul-linked with him

Asteph'theroc had left Mirya back in the port city of Al'Dareyth (NOTE: Al'Dareyth is the capital city of the country Daryethia - Mirya's (WAnks character) home and also where the HQ of the assassin/thiefs guild is. Unbeknownst to Asteph'theroc Mirya used "scouting out the city to observe Khaine" as an excuse to go and report to her guildmasters on the success of her recent mission (assassination of a tyrant of a neighbouring country), he was starting to worry about her, she hadn't made contact for over a day.
In fact he was just about to enter the city when the weave was utilised about 400 miles away in the city of S'mon Traska.

Asteph'theroc had sent his mind over the weave in an attempt to observe what was happening, or at least to see if he could "recognise" the mind that was utilizing it.
He was so shocked upon contacting that mind that he had almost lost his grasp on the weave, a event that could have severely damaged him, if not killed him, as well as the mind he had contacted.

How could Wolfram be alive?!?!

Asteph'theroc remembered those last few hours they had spent together as vividly as if they had happened yesterday, such was the power of the events that had occured, events etched on the darkness of his mind in lines of fire.

_____________________

The battle in the dark place

The traitor Tel’mirion's blood on his armour, his dead, decapitated body at his feet

Llaeresil, his beloved standing facing him, her lifeless eyes fixed on his face, his sword through her heart.

Unseen by him in the smoke obscured dark place, blood dripping into his eyes from the headwound Tel'mirion had given him.

Unssen until his sword had pierced her chest.

When he felt the agony of the soul bond between them shattering he had stopped his raging, realising with horror that it meant her death.

Releasing the rage he wiped the blood from his eyes clearing his vision, to see his soulmate impaled on his sword.

He knelt beside her, too stunned to put a coherant thought together. He had broken one of his peoples most sacred rules by killing the traitor Tel'mirion. None of the people were to kill one another. Now he had killed his soulmate.
Assailed by doubts and selfloathing he curled up beside her.

Twice damned.

Wolfram was shouting for him, his battle with HIM was going as planned, Wolfram was winning and needed Asteph'theroc to help finish HIM off, to start the ritual.

Asteph'theroc was mourning.

Wolframs yells were becoming desperate, HE was starting to recover.

Asteph'theroc was mourning.

Wolframs yells turned to screams, Asteph'theroc felt the tingling and increasing pain in his mind as a tear in the weave started to form, growing larger and larger until it seemed as if his head might explode. Wolframs screams getting louder as he realised that the battle was lost, their moment to vanquish him had passed and now there was no hope.

Asteph'theroc was mourning.

Wolframs screams turning into one last battlecry as he threw himself at HIM, at the rift that was forming.

The light.

The noise.

Then the silence.

Asteph'theroc was mourning.
_____________________

Soon he would be at S'mon Trask, soon he would see for himself if it was Wolfram, or an imposter that must be dealt with, maybe even a trap to lure him in.
There was only one way to tell if this was the real Wolfram.

Astep'theroc loosened his sword in his sheath as he ran....


TO BE CONTINUED

 

[PsychoMoggieBagpuss]

Who's your daddy

Meanwhile, somewhere in S’mon Trask…

Cryss knelt before the unholy alter, the remnants of what appeared to be a small child scattered atop the acid etched black marble surface.
Her brow was creased in a frown of concentration as she attempted to trace the whereabouts of that strange human warrior, trying to trace him by the unearthly power that he appeared to contain. Power that was so much like, but yet so different to the powers wielded by her secret masters.
She was scared, she admitted it secretly to herself.
The conquest of this city was supposed to be taking place in just over a day. The plan had been executed perfectly, the initial motions having been set in place almost fifty years ago. She herself had been a spy in this depressing, ugly, sunlit city for almost a hundred years.
The host was approaching overland, cloaked by magic provided by the human witch Tzarina, a useful ally, but maybe one who would soon outlive her usefulness...

Cryss chuckled quietly to herslef as she entertained thoughts of the tortue she herself would inflict on that human witch.

They would be in position ready to attack the cities walls by noon tomorrow, at which point Tzarina would drop the cloak.
S’mon Trask, for such a …backward.. city had a suprisingly efficient garrison, as well as a well-armed and well-funded army. Whilst the army itself might be able to hold the cities walls against the approaching host for a while … exactly how long was open to speculation ….. speed was of the essence, which was why the main host of the dark elves was currently moving into position beneath the city
Only a couple of hundred drow warriors were with the army approaching overland, and they were only males, in addition from being from only fairly low ranked houses. The rest of that host consisted of slaves and mercenaries as well as a large number of warbands from the various goblinoid races, some drafted with promises of gold and plunder, some bullied and threatened, the others just ensorcelled.
That whole army was a diversion, the true attack would come from underneath.
The city garrison would take to the walls and shut the gate almost immediately once the alarm went, holding the walls till the army had positioned itself for a few outward sorties, hoping to slip a messenger through in the confusion to some of the neighbouring countries /cities requesting aid.
By sunset the host will have pulled itself back from the walls, appearing content to leave the fighting to the next morning, looking to be settling down for a long drawn out siege.
3 hours after sunset, two hours till highmoon (midnight) local time the main drow army would infiltrate the city from where it even now waited, rising up from the sewers, slaying sleeping defenders, poisoning the water supply and assassinating the cities elders. The host remaining outside would at that point renew their assault.
The defenders would be trapped between two forces, mass panic would ensue, partly exaggerated due to the night fighting.
In the confusion the Drow would open the city gates.
The mass slaughter should be finished before sunrise, leaving the only humans left alive in the city those that were bound for their sacrifice in the summoning ritual, which would take place the following night..
That had been the plan, until Wolfram had appeared.
This changed things. If Wolfram had even a fraction of the power of one of her masters, he might just have enough to throw a spoke in the works somehow.
That was why she was attempting to trace him now.
Once she had his location she could despatch assassins, or even better yet she thought with an evil smile, she’d send dark knights ….two score should be enough, the trick would be to ensure that it was done quietly so as not to prewarn the city of its impending doom…..

There.

She sensed him now, moving east towards the city gates, at a walking place … almost as if he was wait..

WHAT!

In her minds eye she sensed the strange aura, so much like her masters, but as different as fire was to ice, pulsing faintly round Wolfram, almost seeming to reach out east as if searching for something, but that was not what startled her and caused her to start a new incantation.
One she herself had never used before, had never dared to use before.

Approaching from the east, still outside the city and some distance away, but moving at an incredible speed was another aura of power like Wolframs.
But whereas Wolframs aura pulsed faintly, this one shone almost blindingly in her minds eye, growing brighter and brighter as it drew closer, almost too bright.
Suddenly she realised her mistake, this other presence was somehow aware of her, even now rays almost seemed to spring up from it searching for her psyche in an attempt to block her scrying, maybe even kill her.
She dropped the scrying spell and finished the dark incantation.
For a moment nothing happened, then slowly the shadows moved away from the wall and came together in the shape of a humanoid, almost elvenlike were it not for the 7ft size.
Completely black it was, from its dark hair and elven, yet somehow alien features, it’s skin, its eyes and even its body. The edges of it were hard to determine, the creature almost appeared to be shimmering, blurring into the surroundings.

Cryss dropped to her knees, terrified that she was finally face to face with one of those she called masters. Only those who were very sure of themselves, or had numerous sacrifices prepared to offer for this intrusion ever summoned one.
Then she realised her second mistake.
She had no sacrifices left to make.
A moan escaped her lips.

The figure regarded the cowering figure before him. Reaching out with its minds it burrowed into her conscience, reading her surface thoughts.
Wolfram, it thought to itself, that name was familiar, but so much had been forgotten in the years that had passed. Upon ripping the location from the prostrate womans mind it smiled.
Time to deal with that later, it thought to itself, there are still a few minutes remaining till Wolfram reaches a secluded area with little or no bystanders.
Time to indulge.
With what appeared to be a grin the figure pierced the dark elven females shoulder with its hand and lifted her shrieking off the floor. With its other hands it proceeded to shred her clothes till she wore nothing apart from the blood trickling across her arms from where her shoulder was bleeding. Had been bleeding. Even now the flesh around his hand was beginning to die.
With a grunt it pulled the helpless figure close to him before falling atop her on the floor, her screams getting louder and louder until after one piercing, choking cry she ceased.
Pulling itself to its feet the creature left what had once been a woman lying on the floor, gaping holes all over body which it had created ….. and then used.
And now for Wolfram it thought to itself
With a grin that was the gateway to hell itself, the shadowfiend folded the weave just there and stepped into the shadows.

 

[Xadhoom]

Xadhoom sat in the clearing looking into the fire wondering what to do next. She had decided to never again use her magic because the last times she had done that it had ended in catastrophe.

As the final part of the powerful spell was about to begin she noticed a strange flaw in the spell. She began sweating from the strain of holding back the spell. Despite the strain she made a short survey of the spell and became convinced that the flaw was nothing to worry about. She begun to shape the final part of the spell and suddenly a flame shot out from the flaw that surrounded her with a wall of flame. Despaired and shocked she let go of the spell. But as she let go of the spell the wall of fire closed in on her but it didn’t burn her but rather the fire merged in to her. Shocked by what happened she didn’t pay any attention to the spell she had been casting. Suddenly she felt like she was lifted up and thrown away…

Tears fall from her eyes as she thought back to the sight that had greeted when she had regain consciousness. The whole city had been obliterated leaving nothing but a few parts of the wall still standing. No one in the city had survived the blast from the collapsing spell. All friends and clan members had died her life had been shattered. She stretched out a hand grabbed the Katana, the only thing she had found in the city that was whole. By her clan swordmaster she was only considered as a novice with the sword. She sighed and stood up and started to practice with it as she had been taught to. Forming a mental opponent before her she started to fight it with the patterns and knowledge she had taught.

When she put the sword back in its sheath and turned around a man stood before her.

 

[PsychoMoggieBagpuss]

Wolframs leather shod feet padded softly on the ancient moonlit cobbles as he walked steadily through the streets of S’mon Trask. The moon had past its peak and was now starting to descend. Wolfram estimated that it would be at least another three hours before light from a rising sun painted the eastern wall and the meandering streets and houses with a pale light. Maybe even longer than that he thought as he glanced briefly around, observing the dampness in the air, suspecting a misty day.
Wolfram, though he did not realise it, was walking through one of the more disreputable parts of the city, and his progress has been noted by many a set of eyes gazing hungrily from the mouths of alleyways and from the rooftops, trying to determine whether this barbarian was an easy mark or not.
The experienced rogues soon turned their attention elsewhere. They had noticed the well-worn grips on his swords, the calluses on his hands and knuckles, the faint impressions of a network of scars long healed - some more recently – that covered the majority of his body, even the way he walked, moving on the balls of his feet with an almost unnatural spring in his step seemed to convey an impression of a tightly wound spring, of massive destructive energy that would be a foolish thing indeed to be on the receiving end of. Even those rogues new to the “trade”, who originally thought him an easy mark soon changed their mind once they got closer, something about the barbarian just made them uneasy and the first thing a rogue learns to trust is his instinct.
So Wolfram walked on unhindered, though not unobserved.
He was walking under an archway – formed from the eaves of two ramshackle and deterioating houses leaning together – when he stopped, dropping to a crouch and half drawing his swords from their sheath.
He wasn’t sure what had alerted him, a sound, a smell, or some sort of sixth sense, he was not sure. All he knew was that something was wrong. There were goosebumps down his arm and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. There was almost an evil anticipation in the air.
His eyes darted left and right as he tried to pinpoint the cause of his alarm, ears trying to detect the minutest of the sounds that could give him a hint of where the danger was coming from and what it was.
Wolfram rolled forward unsheathing his swords in one fluid motion and coming up in a low combat stance, facing the spot where he had just been crouched a split second earlier, his eyes widening in surprise as they took in the creature standing before them.
The creature had appeared out of nowhere, just seeming to materialize and leap out of the shadows created by the eaves. One of its hands was resting on the ground where Wolfram had been crouching, the other dangled loosely by its side as it knelt there. Pitch black was the creature, no changes or gradients in colour existed, but somehow its definitions and features appeared to be sharply defined. Broad shoulders and a regal, though evil bearing accentuated by high sharp cheekbones and deep set eyes.
Wolfram gave a start as the creature stood up, not in reaction to its 7ft tall height, but the fact that when it removed its hand from the ground only the dirt underneath and a thin layer of dust remained - some still clinging to the things hand – whence there had been cobbles before.
I must not let it touch me Wolfram thought to himself , for its touch , whilst it might not kill me in an instance, would weaken. Too many hits or touches and his life would be in great peril.
Almost as soon as he finished that thought the creature moved and within a split second he was fighting for his life, trying to keep the things arms away from him as he realised that it might just need one touch for him to be defeated - as the weakness and pain the touch would induce would put a long enough break in his defences for the creature to finish him off.

______________________

Asteph’theroc was at the city gates. Pausing here he let his mind float out over the city, trying to pinpoint the location of Wolfram in the city ……….nothing yet ……. maybe if he ……
Asteph’theroc cursed vehmentally, Wolfram was here alright, in close proximity to what appeared to be a shadowfiend?!?!?
If a shadowfiend realised who Wolfram was ….. no, Asteph’theroc corrected himself …… who he might be, they would pursue him across the earth until he was dead and desecrated. The only reason they hadn’t bothered Asteph’theroc before when he was instructing Wolfram originally was because they had been unaware of his existence and purpose.
If that was to change now…..
Astpeh’theroc snarled as he pulled in his mind and triggered the Taleobkesh (Note: Literal Translation is “Light as Death|Heavy as Duty”), the second of the five Ahloar states, his weight corresponding to the rest of the world diminishing exponentially as he leapt the 50ft high city gates in one bound, before swiftly increasing back to normal in correspondance with his wishes to ensure a swift landing.
Asteph’theroc hit the ground running.


______________________

Wolfram was starting to despair.
He had managed to keep the creatures arms away from him so far, kept away by a blinding cloud of battle forged steel, but even with his “newfound”, or as he suspected “re-discovered”, powers of unnatural speed he was still a hell of a lot slower than the abomination he was fighting.
In addition, whilst Wolframs attacks were gradually slowing down due to tiredness there was no such weakness apparent in his enemy. Even worse his weapons appeared to have no effect on it, the few dozen times he had managed to strike it in the early stages of the combat had appeared to leave no mark on the creatures flawless black skin.
Wolfram almost groaned aloud as he noticed that the edges of his blades were now covered with speckles of rust where they had bit into the creatures’ body, hopefully he’d be lucky and they wouldn’t…

*CRACK*

His left sword shattered Wolfram managed to keep the creatures arms at bay for a couple more seconds before a hand broke through his defenses. If Wolfram hadn’t flipped himself backwards the hand would have shattered his knee cap and probably removed his leg at the knee, as it was it just lightly brushed his left calf as he twisted in the air.

A touch was all that was needed.

Wolfram cried out has a searing pain ripped though his left leg, then felt it go numb as he landed, collapsing underneath him as the normal healthy bronzed flesh covering his left calf turned an unpleasant mottled grey colour.
He managed to bat way feebly the next couple of blows before first one then another hit took him in the chest, sending him sailing 30ft down the alley to slam into the wall at the opposite end

 

[PsychoMoggieBagpuss]

Had to post this in two parts - goddamn limit on number of characters per post

Asteph’theroc arrived just in time to see the shadowfiend send whoever it was fighting shooting pass him to crash into a wall 5ft away. The face was obscured by a barrel but Asteph’theroc could see the deadly effect of the shadowfiends touch on the mans chest as his armour fell away into dust and rust and the skin covering his chest start to darken and fall off, the flesh behind it as well.
Which was when Asteph’theroc saw the tattoo of a gray eagle low on the mans side.
Not a man, Asteph’theroc thought frantically to himself, once a man maybe but not anymore.

It is Wolfram, Asteph’theroc thought joyously to himself, these thought turning to panic as he saw that Wolfram was dying from the effects of the shadowfiend..

Asteph’theroc entered Verish Ta Naonu'kesh (Note: Literal Translation “Gift of Verishtar”), the fourth Ahloar state, the one that enabled him to enact his powers on other living beings rather than just confined to himself or inanimate objects.

Hastily he wrapped fragments of Eriallaeth around the dark entropic, malignant curse of the flesh that the shadowfiends touch had wrought on Wolframs body, slowing the speed at which the dying flesh spread until it had almost stopped, as well as accelerating the mans natural regenerative healing process so that the deadflesh gradually dropped off as new living tissue grew underneath it.

He can heal the rest himself Asteph’theroc thought to himself, if the shadowfiend doesn’t kill him first.
With that thought Asteph’theroc flattened himself against the wall, dropping a shield across his thoughts and sliding two long objects out from under his cloak.

The shadowfiend had stopped at the mouth of the alley, head tilted sideways as it peered at the groaning man crumpled at the end of the alley, unable to spot Asteph’theroc crouched round the corner 25ft away.
The shadowfiend was surprised that the human wasn’t dead yet, it was sure it had killed him with its last blow. Maybe not, maybe it should make it last …. longer ……
With a smile that was no smile the shadowfiend advanced down the alley

_____________

Wolfram felt the numbness spreading throughout his body, gettting colder and colder until he realised he was about to die, that his quest to find himself had been in vain, that he had failed in whatever his mission had bee…..
Suddenly he was aware of a new presence, yet somehow strangely familiar as well, he felt it tingle in the front of his mind, then felt a warmth in his leg and chest that suggested that whatever the creature had done to him had been healed or reversed.
His eyes opened to a slit as he looked out to try and evaluate the current situation.
The shadowfiend was advancing quickly, it would be on him in moments….. there must be some sort of weapon he could use against this creature .. something that would hurt it somehow….something that …

Relax – a voice echoed through his mind, You will have your weapons when you need them

Who! – thought Wolfram frantically – What are you! What do you want! …..where do I know your voice from!

All in good time – replied the voice – For now the essential part you must remember is that the lighter something is, the easier it is to move it and the easier it is to move it swiftly. Light as death, heavy as duty

Upon hearing the last phrase something clicked in Wolframs mind – Taleobkesh, the second state …….. I remember it ………I remember training ….. I remember you teaching me it Asteph…………but I still need a weapon to harm this creature …..I still

The weapons you need are where they have always been Wolfram – replied the voice with a sigh – Awaiting your call

Wolfram felt himself grow calm.
The shadowfiend was now only a few feet away and had started swinging at Wolframs head when his eyes snapped open blazing gold. Stepping outside Eriallaeth, his weight reduced to virtually nothing he leapt over the astounded creatures’ arm and body, soaring a fully 30ft in the air before landing some distance behind the shadowfiend.

“Kathe’mari ……duty” whispered Wolfram as he landed crouched, the sword materialising in his left hand as he spoke its name, the golden and white hilt surmounted by a 4ft single edged slightly curved silver blade.
“Kathe’maouri ….. honour” he spat as he stood up, the archaic tongue of an empire long since gone, his birthtongue, as the sister of the sword he already carried materialised in his right hand, its golden blade glinting in the sun, the silver and white hilt nestling snugly in his hand, feeling the raised relief on both hilts depicting the Eagle of the Empire pressing against his palms, as familiar to him as his hands themselves.

With a cry Wolfram leapt at the abomination who had almost killed him.

_____________________________

Asteph’theroc gazed at the empty scabbards in his hands. Scabbards that had contained the two swords, which Wolfram now wielded, that had disappeared from the scabbards when their owner had called for them.
“It is him,” he spoke quietly to himself. Wolfram still lived and from the looks of things retained most of the powers brought about by the dying energies of B’var the Firstborn.
Asteph’theroc looked at the now distinctly one sided battle. Even though Wolfram now carried weapons that would wound the shadowfiends as easily as iron wounded men, even though he was now moving faster than before, it would still be a fairly long battle. Shadowfiends took a long time to kill. But kill it Wolfram would. At least there was only one this time.
Was now the time to approach him, to continue his training?
Asteph’theroc didn’t know. What he had been able to piece together from his brief contact with Wolframs mind earlier was that there were still portions of it blocked and hidden. Some were obviously the doing of Llaeresil, others of the traitor Tel’mirion who had attempted to kill Wolfram just before the tragic battle with HIM. Others appeared to be more recent and covered parts that related to his training with Asteph’theroc and the dialogue and the emotions that they had shared.
Does he remember our fight? thought Asteph’theroc, or how I betrayed him?
Obviously not, otherwise he would have……..Mirya!

Asteph’therocs’ thoughts flew eastward, back towards the city of Al'Dareyth. Someone, something was creating a disruption in the weave there. The only purpose for the gradual building of potential that he could feel was almost always evil, and always destructive.
With a start Asteph’theroc was up and running back the way he came, his thoughts sent to Wolframs head, asking him to remain in the city for the next couple of days whilst he investigated to the east. Asteph’theroc would be back.
With Miryas’ name in his head, but Llaeresils name in his heart he ran, hoping he would not be too late.


(You guys get to fight the big battle )

 

[The_Dudester]

It was late in the day by the time the slaves had finished constructing the fortifications for Tzchee-inki's entourage. Although they had been labouring for several hours, the progress had been limited by the physical reserves of webbing left amongst the Ash-en present.
Slaves were bred for the size of their webbing-glands (amongst other things)
but the scale of the construction was such that it would have stretched the 40 slaves even if they had been granted several days.

Now the fort was complete, it towered over all the assembled Ash-en by two whole leg-spans (about 2 metres each), and glistened redly in the dying sun as it dried. At the centre,
the forms of the 6 Scry-princes could be seen still working away on their centre-piece. Led by Mak-inkai, the most skilled eldrich-sculptor Tzchee-inki had in her possession, the palace/Weave-fulcrum was rapidly taking shape... its twisted spines already describing the complex topolomantic knots required to focus the Weave at the palace's core.

Moving closer, past the assembled ranks of the skeleton-Urnamu which Von Schwartzentodder had raised to guard the fortress portals, past the inner ring of slaves now standing guard, Tzchee-inki
could feel the twist of the Weave itself as its nature became concentrated by the Scry-princes' work.

Just in time as well she thought, for the host of dark Urnamu, and twisted things is almost at our fangs.

For the assembled Ash-en and Undead to succeed against such a mass of foes, it would require active intervention in the Weave itself to misdirect the attacks of foes, and bring good "luck" to Ash-en fighters.

It was for this purpose that the construction had been planned - a fort to protect the En-keeper while she twisted the threads of fate, and a Weave-fulcrum of truly massive complexity to allow her to
achieve her task with the deftness of touch required. Active intervention in the weave itself had only been attempted five times in the entire history of the Ash-en people, and required great skill both in the En-keeper
and the construction of the palace complex itself, lest the Weave remain too stiff or, even worse, tear with the force applied to it. A proper balance was necessary in all things, and so Tzchee-inki was glad that
Mak-inkai was in charge of this project - his sculptures and understanding of the harmonics of topological nets were the greatest she had seen in her whole life.

I just hope he is good enough... she thought to herself, as she made her way to the palace itself, where the weaving had just come to a close... the Scry-princes deftly scuttling down the escape-threads they had placed
early on in the construction process, their weight causing the final shifts to occur in the Weave-fulcrum itself, now a dense well in the Weave, thrumming with unexpected energy - as if some force nearby were strumming on the threads of what Urnamu called "time".

Tzchee-inki suddenly had a sense of foreboding, and made haste to the palace core to prepare for what might come...

 

[Xadhoom]

The man suddenly attacked her fiercely using his fists. Though she was very good at fighting using only hands and feet’s she was forced to retreat. Shaking his head the man almost seemed disappointed that she wasn’t better then she was. When she had retreated almost a to the end of the clearing he brought a knife from his belt, as she jumped backward to avoid the cutting blade she stumbled. Using the moment from her fall she rolled on the ground and in the same motion as she stood up she drew her sword. Before she had fully recovered he slashed at her throat and in the last moment she backed away and shielded herself with her arm. The blade cut deeply in her arm leaving it almost useless to her. With only her right hand to use the sword she was barely able to keep him at some distant. Sweat now rolled down her forehead and down her arm making the wound hurt even more. As a strange fog started to cover her view she thought she was going to die and as the fight went on the fog became thicker and thicker but the strangest thing was the it didn’t cover the man only the surroundings. Suddenly her arm stared to move on its own using the sword in way she never before had know or thought of using the it and her mind became flooded with memories from the past.

Xalya stood before the head of the clan explaining the newfound energies that she had found and was able to control. “Yes they are somewhat unpredictable but with time and experience I might be able to control it so well that it would be negligible…

Xergal stood on top of the looking down on the soldiers who lined up on the battlefield before him. Today he could lead his clan to victory and gain supremacy over the other clans…

More memories flooded her mind filling it with memories from people that had passed away long ago. When the flow of memories stopped she felt herself become get numb and just before she passed out a voice whispered: “you are not alone, one more did survive…”

 

[Wolf Blackstar]

Just when you thought it was dead, it's back.....

The guards shuffled back and forth on their beats, glancing nervoulsy about. They weren't specifically told about the incident, but sound carries far in the cold night air, and scuttlebutt travels faster.

And it was a very rare event that a drow was found in the city, much less brutally slaughtered and horribly mutilated by something leaving marks that could only indicate some creature of vast, unholy power.

Captain Stormwind looked at the corpse again. Or rather, what was left of it. His lieutenants had already had their squads perform an extensive search of the premises, including the use of dogs, which turned up nothing. Again, powerful magical forces were implicated. With a sigh of resignation, he ordered his men to bag the dead drow and carry her remains away. Neither the captain nor any of his entourage noticed the stealthy shadow slipping quietly past them.

The shadow made it's way swiftly through the streets, out into the city limits and through the very gates themselves, and out into the dark landscape, before assuming coporeal form. It was another dark elf, clad in black from head to foot and outfitted for maximum stealth. But this one ran with an almost clumsy, panic-induced gait that was uncharacteristic of his race. He was in a great hurry, and very much afraid.

Several thousand yards away and out of sight of the gates, the drow scout had secreted away his horse. Away the two of them went, riding at maximum speed under the night sky. For the burden the young drow now carried bore down upon his shoulders like a half-ton of mithril ore. It was with the utmost urgency that he reach Daryeth that very evening. Reaching into a small leather pouch strapped to his saddle, he removed a magical amulet and invoked it. The horse's feet moved with several times their usual rapidity, and it seemed that the steed now hardly touched ground. To the naked eye, the horse and rider seemed a nearly invisible blur as they sped toward their destination.


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


The shadowfiend was angry. Glowing red eyes seemed to intesify in color and brightness as they bored into Wolfram. He had come as summoned, and his prey had been as good as dead, until another appeared and destroyed his mission. For now the man he had been sent to kill had been fully healed, and now possessed magical weapons - swords that cut through his dark hide with no regard for his immunity from mortal
weaponry.

But the shadowfiend tired not, nor feared the power that this man now faced. For he was not a creation, but a summoned being that possessed no free will while on the surface of the mortal plane. By the power of the evil gods he served, he would destroy this mortal, even if it meant his death.

 

[Xadhoom]

Xari stepped out of the forest just as Xadhoom had finished the making the portal. Drawing an arrow from the quiver and fire it almost in the same motion. Just as he fired the arrow she jumped through the portal. Racing after her to get her he jumped through the portal just as it was about to vanish.
The time seemed to freeze when he jumped through the portal. Xari could see the landscape before him turning dark and bright in a rapid flow and suddenly it stopped and he tumbled down from the point where he had been hanging. Landing hard, he lost his breath. Breathing hard he was able to rise to his knees and have a good look at where he was. It didn’t look like anything he had seen before.

*

Xadhoom slowly brought herself up; looking around she couldn’t see the man she had been fighting, not even his corpse. She touched her left arm to feel how bad the wound was but she was unharmed it wasn’t even the slightest bruise on it. Walking over to the campfire she begun to think about the fight but was unable to recall almost anything of it. She could not help it but she was starting to feel somewhat uncomfortable by it for she had always had a very good memory.
Xadhoom decided to use a special type of meditation that she had learned when she studied to be a sorceress. Relaxing she cleared her mind of all thoughts, keeping only a small part of her mind active. She was about to begin a journey in into her own mind and memories.

 

[PsychoMoggieBagpuss]

What the hell

A callused hand gripped the handle of the great axe that was still stuck in the wall.
With a grunt the axes owner pulled it out of the thick oak, letting the two halves of a very, very dead household spider dropped silently to the floor.
"I fecking 'ate spiders" - the axe-wielder muttered as he stomped to the door of his room, steel clad soles making an impressive crunch.
Reaching up to the door handle he paused.....it sounded like something hit the alleywall outside his window hard.
Attempting to tiptoe back (not very successfuly due to the steel boots) the axe wielder pulled a chair up to the window before standing on it and looking out at the alley below.
"a godrotting fiend.." muttered the axe-wielder gruffly, spitting on the floor instinctivly "...and a dead human".
Finishing his statement he then proceeded to almost fall out of the window when the sprawled human pulled himself up and started to move towards the advancing fiend.
With a short curse he did when he saw the swords appear in the humans hands out of thin air and the human charge the shadowfiend. Not for the swords themselves, but the fact that the human now had a faint golden afterimage following him as he proceeded to attack the fiend at blinding speeds.
A human using old one magic were the axewielders last thoughts before his head hit the cobblestones.

______________________________
Wolfram was starting to get tired. A long day and several strenuous battles already were starting to take its tole. Not to mention the previous hits from the fiend still sapped at his strength somewhat, even though Asteph'theroc had managed to curtail the mortification curse that was passed on by touch and mend the worst of his torn flesh.
The longer this battle takes, the further Asteph'theroc and the answers I seek get away from me. I must end this quickly.
The shadowfiends eyes flared as it detected the tell tale sign of fatigue creeping into the strange humans movements, soon it would be able to land a telling blow......soon it would have....

*SWISH*

Wolfram jumped back startled as the fiend keeled over holding its hands close, screaming. He waited a brief second in case of it being a feint, but then decided to press for the kill anyway, skewering the prostrate kicking fiends skull to the cobblestones with his swords.
The fiends heels drummed on the stone for a few brief sceonds before all movement ceased.

"Now yer can git me a drink" shouted a short gruff voice.
Wolfram looked up to see a dwarf coming out from where he had been concealed behind the shadowfiend.
And this was a weird dwarf. Wolfram - even though he had not had many dealings with them, - knew for a fact that spiking your hair and beard, and then dying it pink was not a typical dwarven thing to do. He was also sporting a huge bruise on his forehead.
In addition he was twirling a double headed evil looking battleaxe that seemed to crackle with energy with one hand, whilst tossing something up into the air repeatedly with his other hand and catching it.

"Why do I owe you a drink dwarf?" asked Wolfram, slightly amused by the whole thing
"Because I distracted the stinking fiend long enough for you to stick your stinking sword in its stinking head" retorted the dwarf, throwing the small item he had been playing catch with at Wolframs feet...."tell yer what, you get to keep them as a souvenir"
Wolfram looked at the object on the floor for a brief second, before then laughing out loud and turning round.
"Friend dwarf, I believe I owe you several" Wolfram chuckled as he walked away, leaving the fiends deadbody........and its recently seperated testicles......lying on the cobbles

 

[LordKhaine]

And so we rejoin with the story, but the fight is already afoot....


The Dragon swooped down low across the valley, mimicing the direction of the drow horseman that rode beneth. On the Dragon rode Tzarina, leader of the vile and evil horde that was decending upon the defenceless village. She looked down to see the progress of her drow scouts, she was impressed she had to admit. Admitedly the villagers werent putting up much of a fight, but the speed the drow advanced at was impressive none the less.

She pulled hard on the reigns and turned the dragon sharply about, to see how far behind the main army was. Excellent, at this rate the village would be wiped out before the main body arrived. She dug her heels into the dragon and swooped down close to the drow captain. The Captain was dressed in dark studded leather armour, a large spiked shield in one hand, a lance in the other. His face was masked by a basic metal helm, though his drow nature was evident by his dark skinned neck. He fell silent as Tzarina landed by him to issue his orders.

"You know what you have to do, just don't waste time chasing petty villagers."

The Drow Captain bowed and rode off to set about his grim task, while Tzarnia retired back to the main body of the army.....


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{Out of story, I need an/some evil underling(s). Potential evil captains and lords feel free to introduce yourself. Potential candidates must be evil, find pleasure in inflicting pain on others, must be able to write, and must have some past experience in leading dark forces of evil. Backstabbers welcome}