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Escort Mission The caravan, travelling between the Imperial cities of Luun and Illiur, was one of the smaller ones, consisting of three wooden wagons, each pulled by a team of horses and covered by flat, canvas roofs. They had long left the Imperial highway of Luun, and were now travelling on rough, bumpy trail, taking a shortcut towards the edge of a dense woodland, popular hunting grounds by the nobles and outlaws of the Empire. Night had fallen some hours ago, and rolling rainshowers had blanketed the caravan a while before. Tears had shown through in the lining of the wagon, and water was still dripping onto bowls, placed quickly to keep water from getting into the lamp oil that had to be delivered to the city. There was a good moon out, and an ample amount of light, but Dra'yce couldn't see it, the blind squadron leader trying, with a small amount of difficulty, to drink a cup of tea without spilling it. There was a small crate full of teabags in the back, and the caravan drivers had let the Cailleach members take what they wanted, since they were the wagons only guards, and largely volunteers at that. It was black stuff, and good at keeping them awake, but even with martial arts honed reflexes, it is somewhat difficult to keep tea in a wagon spilling without your sight. Dra'yce's sister, the deaf Kor'nth, was assisting him, both of them sitting calmly amidst the middle caravan. Locatis was walking out with the forward wagon, both on watch and also having a friendly chat with the driver. It had been a long journey, and there was no purpose in not making friends. The soldier was about to get back inside, though. He had walked through the rain and he was cold, wet, and becoming miserable. "One more night, right brother?" said Kor'nth, sighing and looking outside at the night sky. Dra'yce patted her hand, the two of them very able to speak with emotions and gestures given their disabilities. It had been an uneventful journey, as are the best of them, and it was coming to a close. Dra'yce finished his tea and then looked to one end of the wagon, almost hearing Locatis step onto the wooden boards before it even happened. Locatis sat down inside the wagon and looked up at the sky, exhaling into the cold night air. The wagons turned a corner, the final corner to turn before reaching the city. It would only be another hour or two now, distances were always a rough estimate when dealing with shortcuts and simple roads. It would be morning an hour or two after they reached the city, but the three of them would stay up the entire night. They were well rested in the wagon, and had bellies full of caffeine. Kormth looked at the lamp oil, jumping about and clinking around in a score of containers in the front of the wagon. And then, all of a sudden, Dra'yce stood straight up, as though a cannon had just gone off right before them. Only, nothing at all had happened. At least, nothing they could see. - "There they are, turnin' the corner right as you said boss." said one of the bandits, a ruffian in torn clothing holding a chipped sword. The group, seven of them, were hiding behind a large fallen tree at the very edge of the forest. They were cold and wet from the rain too, and their spirits about the entire thing did not look up. Another barked out in a thick slang. "There're caravans comin' up 'ere all the time you lout. What's it t'mean this is the right one, eh?" A figure clothed head to toe in a black robe was on him in an instant, grabbing his neck with an almost clawlike hand. "Fool-fool, this is the right one, yeess yeess." The figure pushed the man back, drawing a saber with its other hand. The voice was very high, almost screeching, but held a tone carried by that of a leader. "Start now-now. Kiill them all! Gyahehehehehe!" The figure and ruffians of all shapes and sizes started running towards the wagons, various weapons drawn. Dra'yce had heard it instantly, grabbing his weapons and rushing out of the wagon. Moving quickly to the driver of the first he told him to stop, turning around to Locatis and Kor'nth, already prepared for battle. "Locatis, tell me what you see." said the commander, moving behind his two subordinates. "Seven of them, moving quickly in a pack. They'll be here in less than a minute. Any ideas?" responded Locatis, used to this sort of thing. He readied his shortsword and waited his orders. "What do they look like?" responded Dra'yce, several ideas moving past his sightless eyes. "Pretty rugged. I'd say they haven't eaten in at least a day. Their weapons are a mess, too." responded the soldier. "Allright. Charge in, both of you. Break their morale. I'll protect the wagons." said Dra'yce, patting his sister three times on the back. She got the message loud and clear. Both soldiers ran towards the bandits, kicking up wettened dirt with their boots and yelling warcries of the Pax Imperica. Locatis arrived first, parrying a sword stroke with his buckler and quickly driving his shortsword into the gut of his enemy. Pushing the lifeless man back, he charged at the rest of the bandits, intimidating enough to stop the charge right in its tracks. The group stared at each other, Locatis trying to look as fearsome as possible, and the hungry bandits not wanting to share their comrade’s fate. Kor'nth didn't do as well, coming right onto the figure in the middle a few seconds after Locatis. Her swing was well aimed and swift, but the figure was faster, ducking and slashing at her across the chest. Her armor deflected most of the blow, but the pain was enough to break her concentration, and the figure took the opportunity to run right past her. With an eerie amount of speed, it charged straight for the wagons, intent on killing the commander of the opposition. Dra'yce was hardly even looking in that direction, but still heard the attack coming from far enough away. A quick saber stroke was blocked by an equally quick katana, the two weapons locked, throwing up sparks to the night sky as the caravan defender adjusted his position to look at his opponent. Just as he did, a monstrous face leapt out of the black cloak, snarling at him with the tenacity of a rabid animal. Covered in brown hair, whiskers extending from an elongated nose, ears straight up and twitching, and eyes glowing a pale orange, the bandit captain was half man, and half rat. Faced with a jaw covered in stained, yellow fangs, Dra'yce's eyes remained their listless blue. His saya swung up in his right hand, cracking across the creatures face and causing it to emit a shrill scream. Switching the scabbard from a backhand to a forehand, Dra'yce slammed it against the rats saber, the two weapons throwing their opponent back. Taking a forward step and using the momentum to spin around for a quick, horizontal slash, the ratling evaded by doing an amazingly impressive backflip, jumping a good seven feet in the air. At the same time a leathery tail whipped out of the back of the cloak, holding and quickly throwing a dagger at the captain. Dra'yce sidestepped, the missile plunging into the mud and grass. Landing on all fours, the ratling snarled, its tail grabbing another dagger. Looking back at the rest of the bandit team, it was obvious that this was a losing battle. Another bandit had fallen and the rest had fled, Locatis and Kor'nth proving to be more than a match for tired, inexperienced thugs. "Diiiie you will....." sneered the creature, flinging another dagger at Dra'yce. It's morals obviously befitted its appearance, as it immediately turned and fled on all fours, going much too fast for any one of them to catch. The commander, having dodged this dagger as well, looked back to the wagons with unseeing eyes. Everyone was alive, and the caravan was intact and safe. Outcome: Quest completed
Cailleach – 2 days healing Crybaby Gedrin awoke a short distance from the tall wooden walls of the trading outpost of Urrak, with the morning sun barely rising in the sky. Groggily, he cradled his pounding head in his hands…until he remembered the situation that he was supposed to be in. Snapping his head up, he was confronted with the concerned and slightly frightened faces of Ariana and Seldoff. “What the hell happened…?” He muttered darkly. Seldoff and Ariana looked at each other, then back at Gedrin. “Er…” the other barbarian stuttered, “You were…well…” “You turned into a monster, boss.” Ariana stated bluntly. “You smashed your way out of the village. We just grabbed our stuff and followed.” “A…what?” Gedrin noticed that there was a lot of commotion coming from Urrak. Odd. “A monster.” Seldoff shrugged. “Big, ugly, hairy, and vicious. We were scared you might tear us apart like you did those guards.” Ariana nodded agreement. “What…I…shit. We don’t have time for this.” The sounds of searching reached the mercenary’s ears through the swamps. He struggled to his feet on shaky legs, surprised to find his strength absolutely departed. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I’ll deal with this later, and I want the FULL story.” The two other members of the Merciless nodded, grabbing their packs and setting off. Outcome: Gedrin is FREE!
Merciless – Healing 4 days Bounty! The swamps near Urrak teemed with life. In the dark nooks and crannies of the bog, creatures fought and died and struggled to survive. Instinct ruled here. Only, there were a group of animals who did not kowtow to instinct. They worked for a higher purpose…greed. “Here they come again. Fools.” Gedrin growled as the second caravan of the week passed around the bend in the road. His squad and the Lawbreakers waited in hiding for another attack. “Obviously they haven’t learned their lesson…” “SOMEONE hasn’t learned.” A whimsical voice touched Gedrin’s ear, lightly. The Barbarian cocked his head to the right, an angry glint in his eye. And it was…who he expected. “Damn you, Dilsilvodavi.” They were far too close to the caravan to risk giving away their position, otherwise Gedrin would’ve throttled the strange man then and there. “What the hell do you want?” “Just to see how you were doing.” Though cramped and surrounded by underbrush, the lithe little man looked completely comfortable. “I told you to vacate the area, didn’t I? But no, you just couldn’t listen. And I think you’re about to reap it…now.” Gedrin cursed, scrambling further back into the swamp, concealment be damned. And the move was just in time. A massive spear came crashing through the bush where he had crouched earlier, a huge shaft of wood topped by a wickedly sharp steel head, bracketed by two prongs. As it quivered in the space Gedrin had just vacated, the mercenary looked around for Dilsilvodavi. The strange little man was, of course, no where to be found. Gedrin turned back to the direction of the caravan, which had become deathly quiet. The wagons had stopped. There was only one way to salvage the situation. “CHARGE!” Gedrin yelled, fitting action to words as he blew past the spear and leap out of the bushes. His squad followed suit, but there was no answering shout from the Lawbreakers. Had the cowards fled? Gedrin would deal with them later. As he stepped into the bright sunlight, the mercenary was faced with an odd scene. The wagons were completely empty. Everything that had been in them, around them – the guards, boxes, drivers – were gone, as if they had never existed. Only the empty wagons remained. As Gedrin gaped, dumbfounded, a slouching figure stepped out of the lead wagon. Gedrin grinned. An illusion, that was all. “You’ve returned for more, shaman? I didn’t think you were that stupid. Crazy, maybe, but not stupid.” The mercenary laughed derisively. “Black kettle!” The Shaman yelled, echoing Gedrin’s laugh. The talismans covering his body seemed to jingle in response. “You’re the monkey’s uncle!” “You die, old man!” The mercenary screamed back, charging once again. All of a sudden, he felt his limbs tangled by an unseen force, and he was on his back, staring at the sky. The Balric Axe was tossed from his grip and landed a few feet away. Seldoff, Ariana, and Blaggard gasped as the bola that had flew out of nowhere wrapped itself around their leader’s legs, tripping him up. Another’s laughter rang from the swamps, and a huge figure emerged, carrying the spear that had first announced his presence. The man was hunched, though not from age or infirmity. It seemed a part of his stature. Massive shoulders rose over a feral head and a wide mouth, from which feral canines erupted in a jovial grin. The newcomer stood at least a head and shoulders over even Blaggard, the tallest of the three, and was covered in pelts and truncated armor. In his dinner-plate sized hands rested the spear, and another bola. The weapon hummed eerily as he spun it, faster than the eye could see. Gedrin grabbed his axe, cut the bolas, and stood, seething. “Cocky bastards” was all that the newcomer said. Then, he moved. It was like watching lightning. The bolas whipped up and over his head in a powerful overhanded throw, catching Ariana around the legs and knocking her to the ground. Blaggard, Seldoff, and Gedrin charged, but to no avail. The massive spear came up and around, gutting Blaggard straight through his leather armor. Seldoff got off luckier, slashing the man’s arm with his axe, but the butt of the spear rose and knocked him down as easily as a breath. In a flash, Gedrin had engaged the huge warrior. Spear and axe locked in a battle of strength. It was pathetic, almost, how easily Gedrin was overwhelmed. The giant’s strength was impossible, godlike in its intensity and unwavering in its purpose. He easily forced Gedrin to the ground, clouting the axe out of his hands with the butt of the spear and dazing him with a palm blow to the head. While the Barbarian attempted to recover his wits, the giant lashed his feet and hands together, effectively tying him like a lamb to slaughter. Methodically, he tied the others as well. The shaman stood by, looking disapproving. “You killed, bounty hunter. We wanted them alive and kicking.” The spellcaster said, a frown on his face. “Don’t care.” The hunter grunted, standing and stretching out the kinks in his back. He gave the Shaman a look. “Deduct it from my pay.” ”No, no need for that.” The other man said quickly, tossing the feral one a bag that clinked. “There. You’ve done well.” The bounty hunter nodded. He glanced at Gedrin for a second, piercing wild eyes meeting the crazed rage of the mercenary. This seemed to amuse the hunter, for he walked over and prodded Gedrin with the toe of his boot. “Next time, don’t make it so easy. Or yourself so wanted.” He grunted. “Finding you was as easy as following the caravan. Your bandit army is dead for it, and I collected on you. Try to be more careful.” And with those words, the odd bounty hunter took his leave, disappearing into the swamps. “Most I’ve ever heard him say,” The shaman commented as he loaded Gedrin and the rest into one of the carts. “Even for a Gorun, he rarely says things. Must be the bees in his head…they probably buzz stronger than most.” He looked contemplative, then nodded. Turning to Gedrin, he almost looked sympathetic for a second. “Thanks to Stoneclaw, we’ll be taking you to Urrak. Probably be executed in a week or so. Sorry.” Oddly enough, Gedrin felt comforted. Outcome: The Merciless captured! Quest failed!
The Merciless – Captured! Cave Troubles "You think it's safe?" whispered Zeno, trying to look everywhere at once in the dark cave. "Yeah, come on. They don't seem to be here." responded Issyl, motioning for his squad to continue down the staircase. It seemed as though the Republic dogs had left the night before, leaving the "new addition" to the cave unexplored. Issyl and his men couldn't just leave an opportunity like that without checking it out, so they had gone back into the structure the next day. Seiha held their single torch, the light of which flickered off of the red, nearly bronze colored walls. "This isn't natural... Somebody made this." said Issyl, feeling around one of the turns. It had been smoothed by human hands, both for ease of use and by repeated use in ancient past. Huddled close together with their weapons drawn, they examined the walls to the thin tunnel as they explored. There was a hint of old architecture, as though an ancient temple had fallen underground and then been worn away. "Look. A room!" pointed Seiha, quickening his pace. Dark shadows receded from the bold efforts of the torch, showing what did appear to be a relatively massive room when compared to the cramped confines of the tunnel. Reaching the end of their downhill slant, the three bandits went inside the doorway, only to be completely taken aback as a gigantic stone slammed into Zeno, throwing him back up the stairs and knocking the golden bowl out of his pack. It clanged on the floor, echoing. "What was that?!" exclaimed Seiha, right as another rock backhanded him, flinging the torch right out of his hand. In the darkness, it appeared as if a group of boulders stood before them, floating in the air in the rough shape of a person and giving off a slight, greenish glow. Issyl gulped under his bandana. "Run! Forget the loot!” The three sprinted back up the stairs in the dark without looking back, as quickly as they could manage with their injuries. Zeno was hurt bad, it wasn't more than halfway up the slope before he passed out, and had to be carried the rest of the way. Whatever was in the room had been insanely strong. Outcome: Quest Failed
Chaosgotter – Healing 2 days Rebel Assault Outside the area of the Anarchists Camp, the Splendor Scientia squadron, under the command of Zalle Ildith, stands at their staging area. They had been planning the attack for quite some time, having received detailed recon from Rumor. They had rested and prepared for the majority of the day, Zalle laying out the plans so as to have the best chance of success. It had rained during the day, letting a fog rise as night fell. The Conjuror looked over to his squadron; they all nodded in silent agreement. “Now we strike into the anarchists, for the republic!” said Zalle, showing enthusiasm, although he spoke softly. The team put their hands in, then said something, and then broke, moving to their various positions in the strategy. Karunti moved just outside the main gate, readying his halberd, waiting for the key to enter the gate. Zalle and Ulluth move to where Rumor had spotted the weakness in the wall, with the stones. Zalle looked over at Ulluth, as Ulluth prepared his compound bow, notching an arrow in preparation. Zalle begins chanting, as a reddish glow surrounds his hands. As he continues chanting, the glow surrounds the rocks and wood of the weak wall. Meanwhile, on the exact opposite side of the compound, Rumor silently stalks the wall, climbing, scurrying almost, and trying not to make much noise. As he crawled over the wall, he drew his dagger, silently creeping behind the first guard he saw. His left arm reached around the man’s head, and the dagger silently slit his throat, drawing blood, without making so much as a whimper. He slowly hid back in the shadows, stalking the next guard, moving closer and closer to the gate controls. Zalle continued the use of Heat Wave, the wood splintering apart, as Ulluth fired arrows up and over, trying to keep the inside guards from attacking the magik user. Zalle muttered something, as the rocks blew apart, sending shards of the wall spreading. Ulluth fired more of the arrows into the complex. Karunti stood ready to charge in, his halberd spinning over his head, his feet ready to launch his body forth at a given moment. Rumor had already killed three guards, silently and quickly with his dagger, and he reached the gate controls. He pulled the lever, letting the gate slowly open up. As soon as he did so, an arrow from another guard struck him in his thigh. He grunted, and used the dagger to heal the wound, and ease the pain. Karunti yelled, charging in, halberd drawn, running full speed into the center of the complex. He fought his way through anarchists, who were yelling down curses on the Republic. Back at the weak wall, Zalle and Ulluth had entered, firing arrows and magik at the anarchists. “For the Republic!” yelled the squadron, fighting off the rebels. They seemed to be making headway, till a sharp war cry was heard, shrill and exotic, almost loving. They looked up, and saw a leggy blonde woman, a spear in one hand, buckler in the other, running on the wind to the squadron. She span around the spear, colliding with the side of Rumor’s head. He was sent sharply to the ground. Around her, the rebels began to rally, charging at the invading republicans. Zalle and Karunti were both struck by arrows. Zalle looked around at his comrades, who had lost the upper hand. “Those who fight, and run away, live to fight, another day,” he said, having Karunti pick up the unconscious Rumor. They slowly made their way out of the complex, fending off the slings and arrows of the rebels. Atleast now they knew what awaited the Republic. Outcome: Quest incomplete
Splendor Scientia – Healing 3 days Cave Diving ”So…why this cave over all the others, again?” Yon asked, impatient with his fellow Volinian’s nonchalant attitude towards wasting time. Allassandra looked annoyed with this disrespect toward her commander, her beautiful blue eyes glaring at Yon. “This one is gonna be different, I can tell.” Ferran’s unshakeable optimism grated on the other man’s nerves – though it was hard to see his narrowed eyes behind the strange dark glasses he wore. “Trust me, Yon.” ”We have, a million times already,” Yon muttered, but he and his squad cautiously followed the lordling down the rope and into the gloomy cave. Once at the bottom, Ferran himself took the lead, torch in hand, deeper into the dripping catacombs. Like the last several times. However, the two squads were not alone. At the entrance, three shadows emerged into the moonlight. “Just our luck,” Issyl muttered, “Volinus do-gooders.” “Don’t worry, sir,” Zeno whispered, “We can just take whatever they find. It’ll be easy.” The three slipped down the ropes, silent and waiting, following the bobbing torch up ahead. The warriors ahead had stopped at a torch rack, gilded with gold plate. ”I TOLD you there was something here, Yon! What did I say?!” Ferran nearly danced with glee, while Yon glowered. “This doesn’t feel…good.” Yon muttered, but none of the others took notice. Gilding suddenly appeared all around them, glittering in the dancing light of the torch. The walls were lined in gold. “Incredible,” Goro whispered, “It’s beautiful!” Yon was not so moved. The mageling could sense something foul in the air – a stench that no mortal nose could smell. It smelled of ancient disease, of terrible pain, and of… “Blood.” Marcel announced, his eyes glancing around the empty, golden room. “I smell blood.” Slowly, the pewter doors at the end of the hall opened. Emerging slowly from the shadows, three monstrosities shambled forward. Juices bubbled in odd tubes from their necks and appendages, and their rotting flesh stunk up the room when they entered. “Good lord. What in the world are they?” Marganin shuddered. ”Not good, that’s what. Attack, everyone!” Ferran shouted, quick to take control. The three flesh golems reacted somewhat slowly, but powerfully, to the charge. Marcel was knocked to the ground immediately, while the rest dodged out of the way. Ferran took one out with a swipe of his longsword, while Yon yelled a few arcane words and caused one to slip on the patch of ice suddenly under its feet. The third fell upon Marcel, slamming its rotting fists into the man’s face again and again. With a powerful cleaving swing, Allassandra took its head clean off. “Huh,” Ferran said, breathing heavily, “That was slightly…easy.” The two squads moved on into the main room, where Yon identified the odd feeling as emanating from the center pedestal. On top stood a golden bowl – a bowl that was certainly defiled with powerful blood magik. While Yon warned the others of it, Marcel and Goro searched the room for loot, managing to pick up some gold shards and a few weapons obviously used in unspeakable rituals. “Well, if that’s it, let’s get going…” Yon growled, eager to be out of this dark place. As the two squads departed, three figured melted out of the shadows on the far side of the abandoned hall. One lit a torch, and they began their own search for fragments, managing to chip several off of the walls and taking the bowl for themselves. “Heh. Won’t hurt to at least sell this thing,” Seiha said, grinning as she examined the bowl in the torchlight. “Now what, Issyl?” As Zeno asked the question, the ground began rumbling beneath their feet. As one, the mercenary squad evacuated as quickly as they could. As it was, they barely managed to avoid a cave in. Ferran and Yon returned to the cave, only to find an entirely different section of the strange structure to be revealed. Glancing at each other, they shrugged, resolving to explore more in the morning’s light. Outcome: Lewt.
Patriots of the Republic – No damage
Cold Blooded – Healing 1 day
Chaosgotter – No damage Spies in Karthul The sign outside of the Seven Swords Tavern creaked ominously in the night wind. The hinges were rusty, the door was ramshackle, hell, the entire neighborhood was deteriorating rapidly. This was the slums of Karthul, and the streets were crowded even this late with prostitutes, gamblers, and thieves. And a group of hunters, more deadly than the common scum surrounding them, also strode through the packed alleys. Arcaile led his four warriors through the crowd, Imperica insignia displayed proudly on his chest. The masses moved out of the way quickly, illegal operations suspended in the face of military power. The Serpent glanced quickly to his left, taking in the tactical situation, then focused his attention to his right - on the bar. The Seven Swords, as the sign labeled the tavern, was oddly silent…yet lit up like a beacon. Yet this is where his scouts had said the spies would be. Suspicions aroused by this strange situation, Arcaile and his men moved cautiously but quickly through the door. ”In the name of the Lord Imperator, I am here on…” The Pax warrior allowed his announcement to trail off into the smoky air, his eyes coming to rest on the huge crimson-armored figure that stood at the bar, the three hunched figures before him, and the plethora of hostile eyes that suddenly pinned him to where he stood, all borne by armed and armored Imperica Guards. “Well,” The huge Praetorian grinned, a predator’s smile full of teeth. “If it isn’t Calore himself, come to claim his prize! I’m afraid you’re a bit too slow, soldier. We captured these spies around an hour ago. We’re well into the process of interrogation.” “Jaggert.” Arcaile almost spat the name. “What are you doing here? This is my investigation, and those are my Theocracy spies. I’ve been searching for them for days.” Tel-Praetorian Jaggert yawned, his eyes glistening craftily in light from the fireplace and several torches. He shifted his weight around, the peaked red helm held in the nook of his arm reflecting the flames. A thousand tiny fires were lit in his bright red armor. He gestured with a huge hand to Caina and her two warriors. The girl was in bad condition: bruises could be seen around her face and where her chain armor had been torn from her shoulders – a feat of enormous strength. Roorback and Ire’lem were in better shape, but anger radiated off of the big man and the woman looked wan and worried. The owner lay dead behind the bar, his blood practically dry, his lifeless eyes staring toward the ceiling. “The innkeeper was executed for harboring spies. He’s been known to have revolutionary sympathies, but no one realized how deep they ran. There was a hidden basement below the inn…did you know that, Calore? What did you plan to do after finding them, if you even had? Interrogate them yourself and execute them? Don’t you think the Imperator would have had something to say about that?” The huge Praetorian looked down at Arcaile, his expression icy. “I could kill you where you stand and they’d say I executed you by order of the Imperator, for crimes against the Empire. You planned to force my hand with those rumors…and so you did. But obviously you didn’t think it all the way through. I found who those rumors originated with, Calore…and I don’t like what I found.” The red-armored giant grabbed Arcaile by the neck and slammed him against the side of the inn, shaking the building’s foundations. The Serpent dropped down, gasping, but soon raised himself back up, holding his head and shoulders high. Jaggert grinned at this display of pride. “You’ve got spine, I can say that much. But there’s not enough respect for authority in those bones. I’ll deal with you after this, soldier...now go guard the door. I need to finish having my little chat with these three.” Arcaile grimaced at the pain in his neck, then turned and marched smartly out the door. The Serpents followed their master, wincing at his humiliation. They disappeared into the night, taking Caina’s hopes for a distracting fight with them. The massive guardian’s attention turned back to her, his sadistic gaze taking in her battered body. “Now, little girl. Are you still going to be stubborn about my questions?” He slapped her across the face, slamming her body into bar. “How are you sending your information to the Pope?” He roared at her. No reply. Caina refused to break, and for that Jaggert admired her. But he let none of it show, and it certainly wouldn’t grant her any mercy. Growling, he advanced again. “Sir!” Jaggert stopped in mid-stride, his head rising to the door as a soldier stepped in. ”There’s an altercation outside. A woman and her friends have been assaulted by a group of brigands. They’re holding their own, but I’m afraid they’ll be overwhelmed if we do nothing.” Jaggert sighed. The Praetorian knew that any wrong moves would turn this precarious situation in Karthul into a true problem – the citizenry already thought he was in league with criminals. To allow three women to be raped and mugged right under his nose could be disastrous for his career and for the city. Wearily, he placed his helm on his large head and grabbed his short spear from the bar. ~ Outside, Alys and her two warriors were indeed being overwhelmed by the men. While she had managed to take the one holding her neck down, bleeding from a wound to his head, she had been set upon by four others, and her companions had be caught totally unawares, assaulted by two men each. They were armed with short swords all, and they fought with hungry desire. They were desperate men, cornered, and it was obvious they would not stop until they had either prevailed or were dead. This could be bad. Alys was treated to an odd sight – an Imperica Praetorian, supported by three Guards, charged in to help the three disguised Theocracy warriors. With the help of the huge elite warrior, the bandits quickly died. Three went down under the red giant’s short, powerful swings, and the others were slain by the spear-wielding Guards. By the light streaming from the door and windows of the inn, Alys recognized the scarred face of Tel-Praetorian Jaggert. It was undoubtedly the strangest battle the holy warriors had ever engaged in. “I assume you three are alright? No wounds?” Jaggert asked after the carnage was complete, removing his peaked red helm and running a hand over his closely cropped hair. “No sir.” Alys replied, attempting to look properly in awe of the master of Karthul. It wasn’t that hard, really – the man was huge. More of a juggernaut than a human. “Good. I expect next time you will be more careful. This neighborhood is no place for three young women, no matter how capable they may be.” The Praetorian looked at the three quizzically. “Where did you learn how to fight like that? What’re your names?” “Elizabeth, my lord,” Brynda said quickly. “These are my friends and squadmates Becca and Narii. We’re part of the Imperica army on leave from the eastern front, and while we’re off duty we figured we’d have a bit of fun in Karthul.” Alys was grateful for her friend’s quick mind. Jaggert’s expression hardened. “This is no place to ‘have fun’, even for soldiers, at least without a platoon backing them up. I recommend you get back to the military sector, immediately. I’ll have a word with your commanding officer as soon as I get back.” ”Yessir.” Alys replied meekly, before the Theocracy women took their leave. She had no intention of heading toward the military district, however, and grinned as she imagined how Jaggert’s face would look when he asked about the three warriors on leave from the eastern front. Unfortunately, the lie would let Jaggert know that there were at least three more untrustworthy people in the city, and given his current paranoia it wouldn’t be hard to make the leap from untrustworthy to spies. Still, Alys thought, there was the matter with the inn. From the looks of things, Jaggert had captured the other Theocracy squad at large in the city. If that was so, they would need help. Followed closely by her two warriors, the three circled around, slipping into a nearby alley. Something rushed out at them from the darkness of the street. A large figure crashed into Alys, knocking them both to the ground, while a second figure barely avoided Brynda and Layla’s drawn swords before yelling “Friends! Put away your weapons! We’re friends!” ~ Arcaile jogged steadily down the alleyway, grinning despite Jaggert’s angry roars, far behind him. Perhaps because of them. The Serpents eagerly kept a quick pace after the escaped spies – this was their chance. The Praetorian had carelessly allowed the captives to escape, and now here was an opportunity to show up the cocky bastard. Perhaps even prove the rumors true. It could all happen on such a night. The moon rose high into the sky above them, peering down on the events with a pale eye. It shone down on five running figures, four slight and one large and bulky. Arcaile grinned as he neared his prey, drawing his broadsword in a hiss of steel that turned the smallest figure’s head around. She motioned to the others, and all turned as one. The largest placed a burden on the ground – Caina had fallen unconscious, drained from resisting Jaggert’s questions. “So, the spies have gained allies…I see espionage is rife here in Karthul. I think I’ll have a talk with the good Tel-Praetorian after this is done.” Arcaile swaggered forward, backed up by his four warriors. Their weapons were all drawn. Laredo and Cias circled around to the left while Azilo and Sans went to the right. Arcaile faced off against the largest warrior while his underlings confronted the women. The leader of the Serpents eyed the females coldly. “Don’t think we’ll show any of you mercy, Theocracy spies. You’ve given me far too much trouble.” Rooback tired of the useless banter. With a roar, he raised his massive claymore and rushed forward, slicing powerfully at Arcaile’s head. The rest of the combined Theocracy forces charged as well, clashing with the Serpents. Arcaile easily blocked the larger man’s attack, shruggin off the huge claymore with his kite shield and throwing a slash of his broadsword into the man’s side. Though it clanged off of Roorback’s thick armor, the big man gasped as the air left him from the strength behind the hit. Arcaile grinned at his opponent’s bulging eyes, pressing his attack with a thrust that pierced Roorback’s shoulder. Yelling, the Theocracy warrior swung wildly, attempting to gain room to breathe, but Arcaile gave no ground. Taking a hit on his chestplate, the Knight ducked under another mad slash and clenched his teeth as his broadsword bit deeply into Roorback’s side. The bigger man gasped, clutching his bloody side with his hand, and backed off while gripping his claymore loosely in his other. “This is over,” Arcaile proclaimed, cold death in his eyes. And so it seemed to be. The other Theocracy warriors had been captured, and sat defeated at the feet of their opponents. Only Ire’Lem had given as good as she got – Sans lay severely wounded in a pool of his blood. The rest had been subdued with little or no problem. The spies in Karthul had finally been captured. Except for one…and here Arcaile sighed, because the night had suddenly become ten times more complicated. “Let them go.” The voice was barely a whisper at his ear, but the Knight had no problem feeling the cold steel at his neck. The short sword’s edge cut slightly into his throat, drawing a bit of blood. Defiantly, the Serpent refused to give ground. “Why should I? Jaggert and his men will be here shortly, and then you’ll be in the same position as you were – captured and under interrogation.” ”Either way, you’ll be dead, and it won’t matter much to you,” Caina whispered again, pressing her sword into Arcaile’s neck all the harder. The Imperica warrior was forced to see her point of view. “Let them go!” He barked, throwing an impatient gesture towards his men. Grudgingly, the Serpents untied the captured Theocracy spies and backed off. The defeated warriors picked up their weapons and cautiously stepped away, waiting for some signal from Caina. “This isn’t over.” Arcaile growled. “Of course not.” Caina replied, before smashing the hilt of her sword into his head and darting away from the eager blades of the Serpents. The rest of the Theocracy spies scattered into the night, leaving the Black Serpents to tend to their commander. “The Tel-Praetorian isn’t going to be happy about this…” Laredo muttered nervously. “He can shove it.” Cias growled. “It’s mostly his fault anyway.” Outcome: The Lord’s Eye and Divine Blizzard escape
The Black Serpents – Healing 3 days
The Lord’s Eye - Healing 3 days
Divine Blizzard – Healing 2 days Special Delivery A short line of freight wagons, guards, and handlers crept into sight around a slight bend in the swampy terrain near Urrak. The guards, a scattering of Soldiers and Knights, stood ready for the attack that their master had warned them about. The lead Knight peered around warily from behind his steel visor, and motioned the rest of the caravan forward. Whips cracked and drivers yelled as the group picked up speed on the wide path. “You know your places.” Gedrin whispered to the others as the caravan passed in front of their noses. The mercenaries were hidden in the deep vegetation of the surrounding swamp, with the rest of the Lawbreakers set deeper, ready to aid if the need arose. The Barbarian commander didn’t think it would. “GO!” Gedrin roared, leaping out of the bushes and charging the lead Knight. The caravan ground to a halt as the attackers leapt out of their concealment, Seldoff and Blaggard heading for the middle wagon while Ariana covered the rear. The drivers took refuge in their wagons while the guards charged to meet them. The mercenaries were outnumbered by about five to one, but Gedrin liked those odds. So did Ariana and Seldoff, who were becoming almost as bloodthirsty as their master. With another roar, the Barbarian crashed into the first three Soldiers meeting him. He cut one down with a left-to-right chop of the humming Balric Axe. His other opponent attempted a swing at the mercenary’s midsection, but the brigadine’s leather protection blunted enough of the short sword to allow Gedrin to pound his head in with the axe’s hilt. Twirling the axe in his hands and laughing crazily, the commander closed eagerly with the last soldier. Seldoff and Blaggard encountered a little more resistance. Two knights had engaged each warrior separately, and while Seldoff tried to keep the bandit at his back, Blaggard’s discipline broke and the new recruit allowed his opponents to draw him away from his partner. Seldoff fought desperately to reach the other once again, slamming the two Knights who were concentrating on him to the ground with a swift charge and ripping into the back of one of the Knights dogging Blaggard with his broad axe. The enemy fell to the ground, mortally wounded even through his plate armor. When his partner turned, Blaggard raised his bastard sword and clove his helmet in two with a powerful, desperate overhead strike. Seldoff grabbed the bandit’s arm angrily. “Stay close to me next time, idiot!” The barbarian growled. “Keep some cohesion, here. We gotta work together.” “I’m fine.” Blaggard muttered, obviously taking the advice poorly. Seldoff sighed and turned to face the other two Knights and their Soldier comrades. “Let’s get the rest of this trash…” Ariana worked through her group smoothly, keeping her body guarded with the kite shield while skewering soldier after soldier with her longsword. The inexperienced guards had no real chance against the well-trained Knight. She had bashed one over the head with her shield while simultaneously slicing the neck of another, and turned to shout at Seldoff that she was done when someone rose out of the last wagon, directly in front of her. Before Ariana could react, the hunched figure raised it’s hands and a wave of blue energy shot out, curling around Ariana’s body and tossing her into the trees to the left of the path as if she weighed nothing. The strange figure leapt down from his perch, odd skull-shaped talismans shuffling loudly as he faced the two mercenaries in the middle of the caravan. The Shaman regarded the two, who had just finished off the last Knight, with weary eyes. The sounds of battle still echoed from the front of the caravan, where dying screams told of Gedrin’s fury. Seldoff and Blaggard glanced at each other, at the strange man in front of them, and then back at each other before shrugging and charging with a yell. Sighing, the Shaman let loose another blast of wild magik, throwing Seldoff to the ground and knocking Blaggard into one of the wagons. Smoke rose slowly from the armor of both men, and Blaggard actually passed out from the burst of chaos thrown at him. Gamely, Seldoff struggled to his feet, axe held ready. “Just flee, cheflets.” The Shaman said, cryptically. “Just flee to your homes, to your lives, to their bones.” “What?” Seldoff asked, wavering and confused. “What the hell are you talking about? Is this a poem?” ”Your mother is a poem.” The man replied, raising his hands again. To the front of the caravan, the cries had stopped. Seldoff winced, ready for another burst of chaos energy that never came. The Shaman looked confused for the first time, staring at his hands in fascination as purple-ish bubbles emerged from the tips of his fingers and popped loudly. He lifted his hands again, and this time a few sparks of magik leapt out and struck Seldoff in the chest. He staggered from the assault but didn’t fall. “What in the worlds…?” The Shaman muttered, staring at his hands again. Suddenly, his eyes blanked as the blade of the Balric Axe appeared at his throat. “Pray, shaman, to whatever gods you worship.” Gedrin whispered cruelly, then drew the blade across his neck – and almost wound up cutting himself as the Shaman disappeared. “SHIT!” The mercenary yelled, whirling. “You’ve grown, Barbarian.” The Shaman said, now standing behind Gedrin. “As fun as our race is, I fear I must cut it short or risk cutting the candle at both ends.” He shrugged. “When in Rome…” “What?” Gedrin asked, puzzled, but the Shaman was gone before he got the word out. Shaking his head to clear it of the odd man’s words, he turned to his subordinates. “You know the drill.” ~ The wagons in the caravan smoked, and along with them the pile of human rubble. Some of the Lawbreakers looked queasy at the outright murder of the drivers and the subsequent cremation of their bodies, but who were they to complain? They dragged away as much loot as they could carry and thanked Vjolnire that they were on the side of that insane Barbarian. Outcome: Caravan destroyed utterly.
The Merciless – 3 days healing Into The Tomb, Part 2 The presence felt the invaders make their way deeper into the cold depths of its home, farther from the hated sun and burnt sand. The presence had lived for generations; these warm beings were in the morn of their existence, and would soon see the sunset. But such was the only order that the presence had known, since the sultan’s guards had brought its egg to the cold, cold halls of its current home – and it could not allow the desecration of the lower chamber. Far below the desert sun, the presence uncoiled and began to move… “The torch is running low…” Lux whispered as the five intrepid adventurers walked down the ancient, abandoned corridors of the tomb. They had chosen, perhaps wisely, to seek out the gold in the burial chambers rather than the power lurking in the second hall. “Hand it over.” Darien spoke in measured tones, not unwary but not entirely cowed. Harabec still felt odd every time he heard the mage’s new confident voice. Battle had that effect on some, the hawkman mused. It hardened men’s souls. With a flick of Darien’s hands and a muttered arcane phrase, the torch once again flared into flickering brightness. The mage handed it back to the archer with a nod, then gestured to Maha-Kala to continue. The ninja woman, wary from her last encounter with the traps of the tomb, stepped forward slowly. The five felt as if they spent days underground…but in reality, it was only a short time in the overwhelming darkness before they emerged into the antechamber of the king’s burial place. The walls swept outward in a grand design, pillars embracing the ceiling and spreading their support six times before the grand doors. Carved out of pure gold, the massive portals stood protected by two carved guardians, in strange armor with flared shoulders and elaborate headpieces. Darien studied the two for a second, interested in the historical value. “These carvings…” he murmured, as Lux placed the burning torch in one of the empty scones. “Well, what?” Harabec asked, impatient as always. “They’re even more archaic than the cuneiform in the entrance hall.” The wizard looked puzzled. “I don’t even recognize them. Obviously, they’re a pictographic form of language, but aside from that I can only guess that they detail the history of the king behind the door.” He peered closer as they approached. “I can at least make out his name. It’s written in their usual method.” “Is it…?” Saul asked, breathlessly, afraid to voice his hope. “…indeed, it’s as I suspected.” Darien grinned at his commander. “The tomb of All’orr’en’kel. The Sultan of the Dunes himself.” “Who are we talking about, now?” Harabec asked idly, ignoring Saul’s glare. “Just get us in.” Darien shrugged. “Like I said, I can’t read the glyphs. But as far as I can tell, it appears that the door can only be opened from the inside.” “Impossible.” Harabec growled. “Get out of my way.” As the irate Aeriar poured over the door, Saul’s eyes scanned the rest of the antechamber. And so it was the avian Knight who first noticed the oddity. Squatting, his golden armor clinking as his one wing spread to gain balance, Saul sifted the gritty pebbles littering the floor through his gauntleted fingers. Not sand, but…stone? He picked out one of the larger pieces, studying it in the torchlight. A familiar form took shape. And in the far side of the chamber, beyond the flare of the torch, something rustled… “Look alive!” Saul yelled, dropping the stone nose, his longsword screaming as it was ripped from its sheath. “Something’s back there…” Sssomething indeed. White one. Something that can see you. See you very clearly. “Reveal yourself!” Harabec intoned into the darkness. Lux notched an arrow to his bow as Maha-Kala crouched behind one of the pillars. Doesn’t wish to. Dark one. Something tastes your pain. Erase it? Yes. Embrace it. “Darien, can you sense this thing?” Harabec called out to his mage. “Barely.” The wizard replied, grimacing with tightly shut eyes. “It’s…cold. I think…too cold to be alive?” Blue one. He can sense it. He can taste it. But it can taste him. Suddenly, Darien screamed. Clawing violently at his balding head, the Conjuror fell to the gritty floor. Lux rushed over, dropping his bow and grabbing the convulsing mage’s hands to prevent any more damage to his bleeding head. Foam began to pour out of his gibbering mouth. “What the hell?!” Harabec screamed as he dashed forward, spear outstretched. “FIGHT!” The hawkman slammed into the stone wall on the other side of the room, his spear clinking uselessly against the bricks. He turned furiously as something slithered just out of the torchlight. Thinking quickly, Saul grabbed the flaming torch and threw it at the sound. Something was caught in the flickering light as it hit the wall and tumbled down. Something with scales. And with eyes that burned brighter than the failing torch light. It sees you. The invaders stared deeply into the serpent’s eyes, caught in a millennia-old story. The thing’s eyes were portals into another world, a world far below the one that they called home. The eyes told of a non-life lived in the shell of its childhood home, the breaking of the egg by the guards of the Sultan, and the subsequent enchantments and travel needed to bring it to this forsaken land. The mind of the asphinx (for such it was, a creature beyond legend and long forgotten by the inhabitants of the world above) drew them in, enrapturing and cowing them at the same time. Even Harabec felt himself chilled by the creature’s cold mind as it probed his – the ancient intelligence violated every man and woman in that tomb. Only one of the four was able to muster up the willpower to do something about it. Lux drew his trembling hand to his quiver, and pulled out an arrow. The snake-like creature disregarded the human – its attention was only on the hawkmen. These creatures were new to it, and it wanted every scrap of their memories… With a whistle, an arrow flew through the dank air of the tomb and struck the stones behind the asphinx, startling a hiss out of it and a strategic retreat into the shadows. Lux drew a trembling breath and his hand lowered from the notched position and his teammates blinked their way out of the daze. On the floor, Darien continued to pound his head on the bricks. The blood was flowing profusely now, and Lux stooped to bandage it and restrain his friend. “What…” Harabec mumbled, his mind flickering like the light on a dying candle. The intrusion had shook his selfish nature to the core. Saul recovered much more quickly. The Aeriar aided Lux in restraining Darien, then glared around the room in a fury. ”Serpent!” He shouted, his voice echoing in the small antechamber. “If you will not reveal yourself, I shall force you to!” His will burning bright, the hawkman struck his armor on the shoulder with his balled fist and kept it there, as Darien had shown him. The sun emblem under his fingers began to glow, and soon the entire armor was brightly shining. It wasn’t quite enough to illuminate the entire chamber, but it was enough to reveal half of it. Silently, Saul charged into the other half of the room, his ears pricked for the slightest sound. It soon came to him as his armor’s light blasted away the dark shroud on the other side. A quiet slithering alerted him to the asphinx’s presence, and without a word he changed direction in an instant, his one wing spread behind him. Darting behind one of the pillars, the Knight struck out with his longsword, cutting into something soft. In the blaze of Laxius’ Armor, a small bit of tailskin was revealed. “Dammit! The rest of you, spread out and make sure it doesn’t get past again! Make sure you don’t look it in the eyes!” Saul commanded. Doesn’t matter. White one. Can sting without eyes. Behind Saul, Lux suddenly screamed. Dropping his bow and gripping his leg, the human fell to the floor. Harabec could see the pain in his archer’s face. The hawkman ducked, inspecting the wound on the other’s leg. Only two marks, and small ones at that, though they were swollen. “He’ll be fine if we can kill this thing and get out of here in time. Saul?” “I can’t catch it!” Saul yelled, in despair. “Even with the torch cutting it off, it’s so small it can slip around pillars! And there’re some sort of passages in the walls, so I can’t trap it in the corners!” As he said this, the hawkman jabbed once again with his long sword. The blade became trapped between two stones, and as Saul struggled to pull it out something darted out from behind a pillar and stung left arm, straight through the armor. Pain flooded through the co-commander’s body. With a scream, he tugged the sword out and hugged it with his injured arm to his body. Harabec took all of this in in a second, and yelled his command. “RETREAT!” Appearing suddenly from behind a pillar, Maha-Kala grabbed Lux and fled, swiftly as smoke. Harabec picked up Darien and darted out. Saul, throwing off the mantel of pain, put his shield on his back and wielded his sword in his left hand, covering their retreat. Keeping his eyes on the ground, Saul ran as fast as he could backwards. The asphinx’s triangular head appeared twice, but each time Saul saw it in enough time to strike, driving it off. Eventually the creature stopped following. Flee beyond my lair. White one, dark one, sides of disharmony. Come back, I will sting. Flee to the sun. Ten minutes without an attack, Saul called a stop. The party halted in the same fork where the skeleton warrior had attacked. The dust from its bones still lay on the floor of the passage. “You…alright?” Harabec asked, putting the now peaceful but still unconscious Darien on the floor. “No.” Saul answered, bluntly. The pain had intensified. As his will began to fade, so did the light from the armor. Saul couldn’t see his wound, but he assumed from the way it had stopped throbbing that the infection was either setting down…or moving on. “We both need medical attention, and soon.” Maha-Kala dropped her load to the floor, then fell herself. Startled, Harabec began to help her up but stopped after she waved him off. “Just…heavy.” She panted. “Need to rest.” “Weakling,” Harabec sneered, eyeing her scornfully. “You’ve gotten out of shape.” “Or perhaps not.” Saul said, having noticed an entirely too heavy thump when Lux hit the floor. “Let me see something.” Hitting his armor on the shoulder once again, he gasped as the blossoming light revealed Lux. The entire lower half of the man’s body had turned to solid granite. His clothes, skin, and everything – absolute stone, as if it had never been anything else. As Saul watched, the stone afflicition spread in a leap to the man’s chest, and slowly his breathing stopped. “God!” Saul breathed, barely daring to glance at his own arm in the dwindling light. It too had turned grey and inflexible, and the poison was spreading slowly to his midarm. As he watched, it made one of those terrifying leaps and enveloped his elbow as well. There was only one choice to be made – Lux lay dead in front of him. There WAS no choice in this. Saul threw his sword at Harabec, handle first. The two looked into the other’s eyes, Saul’s filled with grim resolve and Harabec’s with something like glee. “Do it.” The co-commander intoned. Harabec didn’t wait for any more confirmation. He swung the longsword in a glittering arc, the master blade slicing down onto the flesh just above the elbow. Saul managed not to scream, though the pain in his face was obvious as blood flowed from the injured limb. He quickly wrapped a tourniquet around the stump, gritting his teeth against the pain. Harabec merely stared with something approaching smugness. “Let’s get going.” Saul grunted, limping up into the waiting moonlight. Outcome: Imperica Pariah driven from tomb. Saul loses left arm. Lux dies.
Imperica Pariah – 4 days healing Into the Tomb Harabec and Saul stood at the entrance of the forbidding tomb, three shadows lurking behind them. A simple rectangular entryway framed a worn set of steps falling away into the inky darkness. The night sky arced overhead, stars twinkling like pinpricks of life at the end of time. The massive obelisk loomed over the entrance to the tomb, blocking out several of the brightest stars like hovering death. The silent guardian stood watch over the tomb this night, as it had for countless nights before. Darien stepped forward into Harabec’s torchlight, and bent to examine the runes lining the entranceway. The spidery script was barely legible in some places, worn away by ages upon ages of whirling sand. The mage cupped his chin in his palm, silent for several minutes as he studied the ancient writing. ”Al mon kerath…” He muttered, deep in thought. “That translates to 'rooms of unlife,’ but we’re only at the entrance. There’s no way they’d place the tomb right-“ Straightening suddenly, the mage peered intently up at the obelisk, then back down at the stairs. “I’ve got it.” He announced. The wizard explained. “These were once the burial catacombs of an ancient king – from what I can tell, it dates back to right after Therul’s Descent. There is mention of a ‘rending of the earth’ which would correspond directly to that cataclysm. Anyway, it appears that the rest of the structure was destroyed somehow, and that this is all that remains of the tomb. I imagine there used to be an actual temple here, and that obelisk is the last remnant of it.” Saul nodded. “Any idea who was interred here? Any warnings of traps, dangers? Golems?” Darien shook his head in the negative. Saul sighed, drawing a contemptuous glance from Harabec. The other hawkman said nothing, however. “Then let’s get started.” Saul intoned, to which his co-commander nodded impatiently. Maha-Kala took the lead, her finely tuned senses at their peak, searching for danger of any sort. Harabec followed, his great ebony wings tucked safely across his back, while Darien crept along behind him. Lux and finally Saul brought up the rear, the Knight carefully keeping a close watch behind the party. They descended deep into the ancient tomb, and the burning torch seemed little protection against the encroaching, silent darkness. ~ The silence was a comfortable blanket for a presence deep within the ancient tomb. It had faint memories of sun, of a blinding light that had driven it underground, but the images were dim and faded with the centuries. It was old, the presence, and cold – colder than the stone surrounding it, far colder than the deepest sands. The presence felt all that moved in the tomb. From the tiny hot lives of the vermin that had learned to fear the death lurking in the presence’s icy coils, to the colder instincts of the insectoid visitors who sought protection from the burning sun – they were all a part of the presence’s domain, the tomb that it had guarded against intrusion for years uncounted. Now, the presence felt something else. Unlike the usual scrabbling life that usually made its home in the catacombs, these glowing beings reeked of the desert wind and the sun. The scent both repelled and drew the presence at the same time, its icy scales shivering with remembered sensations. Others had come before, others smelling of sand and heat, and their fates had been intertwined with that of the presence. Entombed with it forever. As these would soon be. Then their warmth would be absorbed by cold, cold death. Soon, soon. The presence settled down to wait. It would not have to wait long. It never did. ~ “Stop!” Maha-Kala hissed, slamming backwards into Harabec. The rest of the party fell into the corridor behind them, with Saul actually clanking to the ground. His golden armor dug into his skin painfully, and the Aeriar sighed as he hit the stone. What he missed, however, was the darting blades that whizzed past Maha-Kala’s nose. The Ninja had sensed the imminent danger just in time to back off, saving her life in the process. Her azure hair swirled into Harabec’s face as she pushed him back. “Wait…gah…that’s enough of this!” The hawkman spluttered, trying to remove the offending hairs from his mouth and eyes. “Move!” Shoving Maha-Kala roughly behind him, he faced the whirling blades with anger in his eyes. With a roar, Harabec shoved his spear into the blades. The weapon, created ages ago by a true master of the craft, bore the assault and snapped many of the ancient blades in half. Slowly the trap ground to a halt, several of the blades sticking out of the floor and walls. The party carefully traversed these obstacles, Maha-Kala once again taking the lead. Eventually, the winding hallway widened into a split path. The torchlight caught something scrabbling out of sight to the right. Maha-Kala snorted something about rats while Darien studied the runes lining the corridor. The mage straightened from his examination, cracking his back loudly in the process. He sighed, his hands on his lower back, and stretched before turning to Harabec and Saul. “Well, all the signs point to-“ Before the mage could finish, Maha-Kala leapt upon him from behind and bore him to the ground. A massive axe whirred through the air where Darien’s neck had been, slamming into the nearby wall and cracking the ancient stones. It was pulled slowly from where it was jammed, before vanishing back into the darkness. With a foreboding pace, a nightmare apparition strode slowly into the torchlight. Two empty caverns of eyes stared hollowly out at the intruders as a disembodied skull emerged from the darkness, closely followed by its armored body. Spikes jutted out from the dark armor, which seemed to absorb the torchlight rather than reflect it. The skeleton warrior once again raised his battleaxe, this time directing his slash toward Maha-Kala’s undefended back. With blinding speed, Harabec was between the two, both hands on his spearhaft and struggling to keep the axe from splitting his face in twain. The skeleton reacted by withdrawing slightly to face his new opponent. The white jaws grinned morbidly at the hawkman, while the unseeing eye sockets seemed to glint from deep within. Not giving his opponent a chance to recover, Harabec charged forward. In the wider corridor, however, he happened to glance to the side – and there was Saul keeping pace with the faster hawkman, the other Knight’s golden armor reflecting the torchlight into a glittering blaze. Both warriors yelled a battlecry as they charged, the skeleton warrior’s dark gaze taking them both in as they attacked. Arrows flew past their faces, useless against the warrior – Lux ceased his fire, worried about hitting his masters. The two sides met with a clash of steel, the undead warrior slamming Harabec to the side with a spiked shoulder while it crashed its axe into Saul. The legendary armor was the only thing that saved the co-commander – he took the blow on the shoulder, the golden pauldron deflecting the deadly blade with ease. However, the force behind the attack left his sword arm numb, and the hilt of his long blade dropped from his frozen fingers. As the skeleton raised its axe for a final blow, a warcry echoed through the ancient halls. Harabec crashed into the skeleton from the side corridor, a flurry of wings and spear, pure rage distilled into flying form. The tireless undead warrior, however, bore the assault with incredible fortitude, barely pushing Harabec off before the Knight cracked a single femur. Its mobility now compromised, the skeleton squared itself in the middle of the right-hand corridor, only giving enough room for one man to come at it with any safety. With a glance and the barest of nods to a whispered sound behind them, Saul and Harabec moved forward in tandem. The macabre skull swiveled between the two, and the skeleton prepared for a double, uncoordinated attack. A scream once again echoed through the halls – but this time from a different throat. As Harabec and Saul dropped to the floor, Maha-Kala barreled over their heads in a flying leap. Far too quickly for the skeleton to react – this new threat had been too much of a surprise – Maha-Kala flew over her commanders and even the skeleton, vanishing back into the darkness behind the undead warrior while her claws caught on the skull’s eye sockets and ripped it off. For a few seconds, it stood there still, sentinel. But the enchantment which held it up was focused on the head, as Darien had rightly informed the Ninja, and soon it toppled with a massive crash. The warrior, armor and all, crumpled into dust before their eyes. Maha-Kala emerged from the darkness, brushing off her hands, a feral gleam in her eye. “Good job,” Saul congratulated his squad. Harabec nodded his grudging assent. “Now, Darien,” the one-winged Aeriar continued, “What were you saying?” The mage cleared his throat, looking none the worse for wear after his close encounter with death. He has changed, thought Harabec, regarding the balding mage with amazement, There was once a time when this half-human would’ve cowered in fear before such an apparition…he has come a long way from those days. We all have. While the hawkman mused at the change in his squad, the wizard explained the meaning of the runes. “These writings detail the destinations of both of these corridors. However, the language is obscure and I’m not entirely sure I’ve gotten the right connotations from it…however, I will continue the best I am able.” He gestured to the glyphs on the right. “These claim that the hall – which they refer to as the Hall of Undeath, for obvious reasons – leads to the Aragothi Pool, which as far as I can tell was the source of this king’s power. The left-hand corridor,” here he gestured again, “apparently leads to the tomb itself. There are warnings on both paths, dire curses on our health, and predictions that none who enter will return.” The portly mage shrugged. “The usual.” It is time to decide! Which path will the Imperica Pariah choose: the Tomb of the King, or the Halls of Undeath leading to the Aragothi Pool? What dangers await these intrepid explorers? What riches lie hidden in these dark catacombs? Your destiny awaits, Harabec! Outcome: Quest Continues
Imperica Pariah – 1 day healing The Temple of Seven Lines “So that’s where the name’s from…” Darien remarked as the five intrepid warriors approached the massive desert temple. Though huge from this angle, the pyramidal structure had only appeared as they came near – from farther away it was totally invisible. Saul had muttered uncertainly about mirages, but none of the others credited that. Darien, especially, could feel the lines of power – seven, as in the name – emanating from the temple. The leylines reached deep into the earth, anchoring the enchantment that protected the place against all but those who knew where it was located. Harabec felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as the Imperica Pariah passed under the first great arch leading to the entrance. The ancient stone loomed high above, and seemed almost to sag under the weight of time. Built in the Elder Age to honor some long-dead king, the Temple of Seven Lines was a legend among treasure-hunters. One of the most famous of Kallacia ruins, it was rumored to hold ancient weapons of incredible power. Whether the legends were true or not, certainly there was much treasure to be had in the tomb. And it was this treasure that Harabec and Saul needed. Maha-Kala scouted ahead as the party passed the final arch. Suddenly, shouts from behind broke the holy silence of the place. “Allies! Halt!” The Aeriar and his companions turned, and spotted four figures dashing along the hot sand. The recently-knighted Harabec noted the Imperica symbol on their armor, the twisting Dragon-in-Flight of the Lord Imperator. The four stopped, panting, and the largest spoke. Saul noted the long red goatee appraisingly – few Hawkmen could grow such a beard. “Ach, my friends…I thought we would miss you.” The man spoke with a strange accent…none of the Pariahs could place it. “I am Ceallachan Rogan of the Imperica Army, and these are my soldiers. We spotted you leaving the village, and followed you all the way here. We figured you could use some help.” Sneering, Harabec prepared to crush the man’s hopes when Saul spoke up. “Of course, we would be happy for your assistance. We’re not sure what’s going to be in there, and could use some extra sword arms.” Ignoring Harabec’s obvious rage, Saul turned and beckoned the rest into the shade of the entrance. Maha-Kala was waiting at the massive slab that they assumed was the door. “Closed, but not locked.” She growled, tossing her silver-blue hair back. “There’s a latch in the center, perhaps a bit too obvious. One of you can pull it.” Shrugging, Ceallachan reached out a massive hand and pulled the mechanism. With an audible click the slab separated into two and slid slowly apart. Musty air blew past their faces, and Darien began to cough. Cartes was kind enough to pat him on the back, and Darien straightened with a grateful look toward the soldier. “Archers to the back,” Harabec commanded, in control of his emotions now. “Ceallachan, you and Saul take point. I follow with Maha-Kala and our mage.” The huge man nodded and started out, side-by-side with the comparatively puny Saul. As the darkness surrounded them and became complete, Harabec handed a torch to Darien, who muttered a few arcane words and gestured towards the rag-wrapped club, which immediately burst into flames. The small aura of light generated by the torch seemed pitiful protection against the encroaching darkness, but it was all they had. Harabec and Saul were the better off of the group, their sharp avian vision providing at least ten more feet of visibility. Making sure everyone was grouped behind them, Saul and Ceallachan continued into the depths of the tomb. Half and hour later, Harabec snorted in disgust. “There’s nothing here. Just a bunch of empty braziers and coffins. Whose idea was this, anyway?” Saul gazed at his co-commander with cold eyes, then shook his head slowly. The rest of the group paused for a short rest while Darien examined some runes on a nearby wall. Harabec allowed his gaze to idly examine a small spider crawling along the floor. With a shift, he crushed it beneath his spearbutt, looking up quickly when Darien gave a wordless exclamation of surprise. “What is it?” Saul asked, the rest of the party crowding around. Darien squinted at the writing, making sure of what he had seen. “It appears that these chambers were only the servants’ and guards’ burial places. The room we’re standing in now was the resting place of a prince under king All’orr’en’kel. If what I’m reading is correct, there should be a passage to the King’s Chamber right here. But…there’s nothing…” ”It must be a secret door.” Harabec made the connection quickly. “Spread out, find something to open it with.” “But-“ Darien started to protest. Before he could finish it, something snapped over by Maha-Kala and a section of the wall began to rumble, slowly shifting to the side. “Scatter!” Saul yelled, spotting the threat before the others. The massive shadow charged out of the newly discovered door quickly, far too quickly for something of its size. Easily as tall as Ceallachan, and nearly twice his girth, the guardian leapt for the light first. Michale screamed in horror as a huge stone figure materialized out of the gloom, a massive rock fist streaking at his head. It connected with a wet thump, knocking the unfortunate soldier to the floor instantly. But before Ceallachan’s lackey hit the ground, Harabec was all over the intruder. A flurry of wings, spear, and armor, the hawkman struck quickly and with deadly purpose. However, his spear was unable to penetrate the golem’s thick skin and it slapped him out of the way with ease. Saul and Maha-Kala were the next to attack in the confined burial room, blades glinting in the guttering torchlight. Their assaults were turned aside with a seeming unconcern as well. The golem picked up the fallen Maha-Kala in his massive stone hands as a roar nearly toppled the packed stone ceiling down on them all. Ceallachan charged, fury released in a massive juggernaut. With a single, clean swipe of his huge battleaxe, the giant of the west clove off one of the golem’s stone arms. Ceallachan’s incredible strength served him well for an instant, but in the next the golem moved with uncanny speed and crushed the axe with its remaining hand. The rock hand then went for the giant’s neck, but Ceallachan was quick enough to put a stop to that, latching his own fists around the creation’s. Struggling futilely with the golem’s untiring magikal strength, the westerner felt his own endurance begin to sap. “MOVE!” Darien yelled, his voice booming in the small chamber. Ceallachan didn’t bother to ask questions, rolling out of the golem’s grip instantly. Momentum shoved the creation forward, into the wall. Dust fell from the ceiling as it hit, and the entire temple seemed to shiver. Before it could recover, Darien yelled an unpronounceable arcane phrase and a huge beam of fire shot out of his outstretched hands. It struck the golem directly in the back, slamming it against the wall again. Though the monster struggled to escape, Darien kept the Flamestrike on the creation, keeping it off-balance and unable to dodge the cleansing fire. Soon the rocks began to lose form, becoming shapeless and falling off of the mortared creation. Eventually it sagged to the ground, the connection pieces which kept its magikal bonds intact melted. With the fall of the creation, Darien also collapsed. The mage was drained, completely and utterly, with the long amount of time he had had to hold the golem at bay. Ceallachan lifted the exhausted soldier off of his feet, Cartes picked up Michale, and the group proceeded silently into the adjacent chamber. Gold! Harabec’s mind shouted, joyfully. And so it was. The precious metal glittered in the torchlight, off of every wall. Ceallachan put Darien down, entranced by the tableau. The rest of the warriors also stared, unable to help themselves. It was Saul who broke them out of the spell. “Alright, pack up what we can. Get weapons and armor especially. Come on, let’s move! I want to breathe fresh air again!” The others snapped out of the daze, and began to collect whatever they could carry. Examining a particularly fine chestplate, Maha-Kala recognized the emblazoned fiery axe and exclaimed, “I know this!” The others turned to look. “This is the armor of Laxius! We had legends about this in my land…Laxius, the avatar of the demigod of war!” Darien, through his exhaustion, looked confused. ”Wasn’t he buried in the southern wastes?” The mage asked, from the floor. Maha-Kala shrugged. “I thought so as well. Strange.” Ceallachan lifted a particularly odd-looking warhammer. The hammer side was generally flat, but far from smooth. The metal surface was grooved with jagged spikes, making it a deadly and brutal weapon. The back end was curved, and carved into a semblance of a goat’s head and horns. The giant warrior grinned. He showed it to Darien wordlessly. “I’ll appraise everything when we get out.” Darien said, wearily. “Right now, I need to sleep. I say we leave this cursed place.” The rest concurred, and quickly departed from the Temple of Seven Lines, dragging their loot behind. Outcome: Tomb-robbing successful.
Imperica Pariah – 2 days healing
Rage of the West – 3 days healing The Risks of Hiring a Mercenary The full moon rose over a silent Onara. The warring nations stretched out endlessly, a tapestry of mankind and nature. The shining light of the moon reached down to the northern swamps of Onara…or tried to. The silver beams were intercepted midway down by massive black clouds, harbingers of the coming storm. Thus were Gedrin and the Merciless shrouded in complete darkness as they searched the treacherous swamps near Urrak. “Screw this…” Ariana mutters, unsticking her boot for the millionth time from the clinging muck. The Knight silences herself, however, at a single growl from Gedrin. It takes several hours, but the trio finally stumbles upon a clue. Silently, Seldoff points to a footprint deep in the mud. Taking in a broken branch nearby, Gedrin and his lackeys follow the arrow these two items create toward their prey. After an indeterminable time, the three glimpse the flicker of a watchfire between the stunted, dark trees. Slipping on his glinting Ring of Acceptance, Gedrin grinned tightly and crept through the underbrush, followed closely by Ariana and Seldoff. The sentry, however, was fairly alert and heard the three breaking through the shrubbery. Suspicious, the disheveled bandit peered around the dim circle of light cast by her fire. Unsheathing her sword, the lookout stood up and made as if to poke the snoring bundle next to her stump. As the tip of her sword pricked her partner in the side, Seldoff wrapped the haft of his broad axe around her neck and heaved her backwards. With a strangled gasp, the sentry fell onto the Barbarian, while the sleeper sprang up with a muffled curse. “Dammit, Sherry, why you gotta-“ Staring blearily at the three revealed mercenaries, the bandit cried, “INTRUDERS!” just before Gedrin’s axe silenced him forever. The rest of the camp shuffled groggily to their feet, except for a single bandit who leapt quickly up. Sporting a jaunty red bandanna and rusty – though certainly thick - armor, the bandit strode calmly up to the three mercenaries and placed his gauntleted hands on his hips. “Who the hell are you?” The Thane demanded. “We’re here to take over your operation.” Gedrin growled, tightening his fist around the Ring of Acceptance. “Your profits are too low. You need some changes. It’s time for a new leader.” As the bandits behind their commander began to mutter, panic began to show in the Thane’s eyes. It quickly passed, however, replaced by grim acceptance. He drew his bastard sword with a long sigh of steel. “We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way, you know.” ”I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Gedrin replied, readying the Balric Axe, which hummed softly in response. Without waiting for any sort of signal, the Barbarian leapt forward and engaged his enemy in combat, locking haft against blade. With a vicious twist of his arms, Gedrin tossed the Thane to the muddy ground. As the bandit returned to his feet, Gedrin spat on his back. “You don’t stand a chance, maggot.” The mercenary growled disgustedly. “I know.” The Thane replied, resignation in his green eyes. With a roar, the Barbarian launched himself at the bandit. The Thane caught his attack on the greatsword, then swept it aside and spun, slashing Gedrin across his lightly armored back. Soundlessly, the mercenary twisted in mid-charge and turned, swinging his axe in a wide arc and slicing through the bastard sword cleanly before falling on his wounded back in the mud. As he pulled himself out of the cloying substance, Gedrin heard the bandit’s knee hit the ground with a thud. Looking up, he saw the defeated Thane lowering his head in acceptance of his fate. Without hesitating, Gedrin clove the man’s head in twain, both pieces falling to the wet ground with an audible splat. Several of the bandits looked slightly green in response. Raising the fist wearing the Ring, Gedrin howled at the sky in victory. Several of the bandits looked nervous, fearing that these mercenaries would kill them and take the bounty. The Barbarian commander put their fears to rest. “I am Gedrin Bonesnapper, and we are the Merciless!” Gedrin’s gutteral voice rang out. “We are your life and death! If we ask, you will die! By our grace, you live!” He paused for effect. Some of the bandits still looked nervous. “Otherwise, it will be business as usual! Now let’s start getting this camp in shape!” Moving through the compound, the mercenary began shouting commands left and right. Grabbing Seldoff, Gedrin took him aside for a moment. “I want you to return to Urrak and tell them that we were killed. Then return here. Got it?” ”But…they’ll never believe me.” Seldoff said, quirking and eyebrow. “I don’t have a scrape on me.” What he read in Gedrin’s return glance caused the flunky to shiver uncontrollably. “No…w-wait…” The organizing bandits shuddered slightly at the screams echoing from across their base, but continued with their work. It was better not to question their new leader, they wisely decided. Ariana ignored them completely, looking through the stores of the bandits for useable weaponry. Outcome: The Lawbreakers under new leadership.
The Merciless – 1 day healing; + 3 to 8 gold per week Oasis Slaughter Deep within the Kallacia Desert, a small oasis bubbles peacefully to itself, greeting the rising sun as it peeks over the rolling horizon. Surrounding this small pocket of life within a vast sand pit is a small town known only for its exotic rug patterns. The inhabitants of Eli’tiath live unconcerned about the politics of the outside world – all that matters is that the caravans make their regular passes through the town. And even these traveling merchants are rare, arriving usually only once per year. But the town survives, mostly out of sheer will than anything else, and though under the Theocracy’s jurisdiction, the townspeople could care less about who rules the land they live, work, and die on. Indeed, the Theocracy only maintain a token presence here: six guards, an old priest, and a disgraced Templar. Though he was sent to this post as punishment for ineptitude, Templar Cillak has grand ambitions. His dreams range from the absurd to the pathetic, and will truly remain always mere illusions. But this morn, perhaps, they will come to life – though in a way Cillak will not enjoy at all. There is another whose temper is already flaring. Harabec spreads his wings angrily, nearly knocking Lux off of the saloon roof upon which they both lay. “Who does he think he is?” The Aeriar hisses, balefully. “He dares usurp command of my squad? Does command actually think I’ll work with him? Have they all gone mad?” Lux can only shrug as the two watch as the shadowy figure of Maha-Kala creeps across the packed sand of the town square towards a few of the hovels. Their vantage point is directly across from the church. The sun has barely risen, and the plan has gone perfectly…so far. Harabec tosses his gruesome package from hand to hand, carelessly. Lux is careful to keep his gaze focused on the doorway to the Theocracy barracks, which is conveniently located directly to the side of the church. There mere thought of Harabec’s “gift” makes him queasy. Maha-Kala reaches her position, and then vanishes. A womanly scream breaks the early morning silence, the source of the piercing sound deep within the church. “That’s my cue,” Harabec mutters, and with a whoosh the avian leaps off of the saloon roof. Rising high into the dawn light, the Aeriar laughs raucously and swings the severed head of an old human by the hair. “Come, sheep, and see the fate of your shepherd! Bwahaha!” As the few guards pour out of the barracks, Harabec tosses the head of the priest at their feet. They look upward, enraged, as the hawkman laughs at their consternation. The single archer in the group takes aim, drawing his bowstring back, before falling to the ground with his bow snapping harmlessly as a barbed shaft takes him in the neck. Lux draws a second arrow and waits. The group of guards, reduced now to six, look around for the attack in confusion as Harabec continues taunting them from above. Suddenly, from beneath the ground begins to heave and sway, tossing a few off of their feet and knocking the rest off-balance. Harabec swoops down as Saul charges from behind the saloon. The two hawkmen engage the humans of the Theocracy in quick, vicious battle. Harabec and Saul each take one of the guards down immediately, the former lancing a fallen enemy through the throat and the latter slicing through a distracted opponent’s chest. The remaining four rally and attempt to outnumber the two Impericals, but their number is suddenly reduced to three as another arrow pierces the faceplate of a Guard. Untrained and unprepared for any sort of assault, another Theocracy troop falls before the final enemy flees haphazardly towards the hovels. As he reaches the small grouping of houses, however, Maha-Kala appears out of thin air and punches her claws viciously through his chest armor. They spear his heart, and a final gasp escapes his mouth before the man falls to the ground. Licking the blood off of her claws, the strange woman joins Harabec and Saul. “Well fought.” Saul admits, grudgingly. “You’ve lost none of your skill.” Harabec doesn’t bother to reply, a dark look on his face. He nurses a cut on one of his ebony wings. Saul shakes his head, scorn in his features. Suddenly, an arrow whizzes past their faces and into one of the darkened windows of the church. With a solid ping, it rebounds off of some unseen metal. In response, a fist raises out of the open window, pointing to the roof of the saloon. There is a crack, and a blast of bright light. The next thing the trio saw was Lux, rolling down the slanted roof of the saloon. The archer hits the sandy ground hard, dust billowing up around his unconscious body. “What?” Saul yells, turning swiftly to the source. A well-armored figure steps out into the light, crosses adorning his armor at the shoulders and chest. An armored hand flips open his visor – the eyes that stare out at the three warriors are filled with a cold, eager light. “Finally, my chance has come!” Cellak’s voice rings out, higher than would be expected. “My God, I will prove myself to you, and I shall be rewarded! Smite these heathens with me!” Raising his hand once again, he clenches his open palm in a familiar gesture, and the air explodes around where Harabec once stood. For when the hawkman noticed the Templar’s hand come up, he was already moving. Maha-Kala and Saul quickly followed, dashing around the Templar as the holy knight drew his sword and readied his shield. “Forsaken of God! Prepare to meet thine maker!” Cellak yelled, then charged. Armor clanking, he fell upon Saul with righteous fury, completely ignoring Maha-Kala’s frenzied attacks. Cellak’s armor took the brunt of the Ninja’s assault, while Saul was overwhelmed with the Templar’s brute strength. The sword which faced him was also glowing eerily, and burned in Saul’s eyes. And now, it burned in his flesh as well. The crippled Aeriar yelled as the glowing longsword ripped through his half-plate like it wasn’t there and pierced his shoulder. He fell to the ground, shaking, as the Templar turned to his Ninja opponent. Now, finally, Harabec made his appearance. Charging in from behind Maha-Kala, he lifted her from the ground and soared into the air. Furious, she almost sliced open his throat, but then glanced back down. A bright beam of flame erupted from the shadows of the saloon door, engulfing the Templar where he stood. Caught off guard and attempting to shield himself, he stumbled backwards into the church. As Cellak crossed the threshold, the beam of flame changed its focus to the doorway itself, and then the church. The entire structure quickly caught fire, and the force of the beam obliterated the doorway and surrounding walls. The building collapsed in on itself as the final throes of the beam sputtered out, leaving only a normal, incinerating inferno. A wounded Saul stared in mute fascination at the blasphemous scene. Blood leaked from the hole in his shoulder, but he no longer felt the pain. Darien suddenly stood beside him, admiring his own handiwork. Maha-Kala and Harabec landed, softly, neither saying a word. Oddly enough, in the end all that stood of the old church was the cross that had once graced the altar. In front of it, arranged almost carefully in a kneeling position, were the charred and melted remains of heavy armor. Outcome: Eli’tiath under control of Imperica Pariah
Imperica Pariah – 3 days healing Urrak Arrival “Damn this morass…my boots must weigh ten pounds…” Attempting to shake the caked mud off of his feet, Seldoff continued muttering under his breath as the Merciless trekked along the damp path toward Urrak. Having caught a bit of his complaint, Gedrin turned his shaggy head toward his underling and leered madly. “Have a care, worm. Stop whining or I’ll pull your tongue out and roast it tonight.” Seldoff shut his mouth hastily, his teeth clicking together with an audible snap. Ariana muffled a snicker. The three mercenaries finally emerged from the last bit of swamp on their way to Urrak. The city sat in the middle of a marsh, making its living off of trade between Volinus and some far-flung remnant of the Empire of the Thousand Eyes. While it wasn’t the most prosperous city in the land, it certainly did well for itself. Which was the main reason that the Merciless had been called here. The squad arrived just after noon, though the sun hardly showed itself from between the overhanging clouds. It was a dismal, wet day, though no rain fell, and the town let depression sink into its very bones. The citizens moved sluggishly today about their business, and only a single caravan was scheduled to leave the city. The Merciless met the Urrak Archon, Ulios Ken-Tent, at the trading post. The Archon was nearly as big as Gedrin, with long tangled hair and wild piercing eyes. His clothes were old and torn, and if it wasn’t for the hidden wisdom in his erratic gaze one could almost mistake him for the village idiot. He shook a staff laden with feathers and gourds at them. “I want you should kill these men.” The Ulios began, bluntly. “I want you should take their heads back to me, so I will be spearing them to the gates. Brigands have no place near my city.” The Shaman peered at Gedrin closely, and the mercenary felt deeply violated. Growling in his throat, he nodded and then prepared to stalk off. A hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Easy,” Ulios intoned. “We know not where the Lawbreakers make camp. Searching in the swamps is dangerous…going with the caravan, a better idea.” Throwing Ken-Tent’s arm off of his shoulder, Gedrin growled. “I make my own decisions.” He muttered. Could the old man know? Outcome: Quest Continues It is time to decide! Will you travel with the caravan and ambush the Lawbreakers as they attack? Or will you take to the swamps and attempt to find their camp, eliminating the problem at the source? Your destiny is at hand! The River Speaks: Battle for theYamere The waters of the Yamere River gurgled and rippled as they continued their miles-long journey to the placid, silver waters of the lake with the same name. It was spring in Onara, and the rushing waters were fueled by melted snow from the mountains far to the north. None in Volinus had ever seen the source of the Yamere, and it would likely remain that way until the end of time. For Commander Allan Gyrka, the waters spoke. While his body sat on the bank with his light blue robes wrapped around it, the Ocean Mage’s mind skipped over the flowing ripples of the full river, feeling the cold spray from the leaping mist and the tiny awareness of the fish underneath. The frustration he felt over not being able to obtain enough supplies from the quibbling Archon Council washed away in the calming serenity of the magik he was working. Gyrka was a simple man, a warrior to the core, but he was commonly considered too compassionate to truly ever become one of Volinus’ great leaders. While the man was a magikal genius, and had a superior grasp of tactics and warfare, he admittedly would choose to save his men if given the choice between sacrificing them and winning the battle. It was something he took pride in. It was something the Archon Council despised him for. They cared almost nothing for the common soldier – calling it foresight, they claimed to look to the future and the good of all. And perhaps they did. It hardly mattered here, at any rate. To Gyrka, there was only the noise, taste, smell of the rushing water that passed before him. Clay before an artist. ~ “He’s been like that for hours, Ferran.” Lannot grumbled, concerned with his commander’s apparent trance. “Maybe someone should wake him? The Imperica is likely to be here within the hour.” Over the horizon, a faint cloud of dust could be seen. Many soldiers nervously checked their weapons unconsciously when staring at it. “He said he’d wake up when they arrive.” Ferran, as usual, was calm and composed. The young noble had found that concerning himself with tactics and preparation helped ease the inevitable fear that arose in every man before battle. When everything had been done, all was in readiness, Ferran felt at peace. He had done all he could, and let Vjolnire decide the rest. Lannot decided not to argue. The young man strode off to prepare his squad. The Lightning Legion would be ready, and that’s all that mattered. Ferran was observing the river, looking for the faint ripples of the pikes they had placed underneath the waterline, when the rest of the Patriots convened behind him. They were as ready as their master, stretched as tight as a bowstring. “This is a grim morning, indeed…” Ferran whispered, feeling the weight of all the free men in Volinus rest upon his shoulders as he stared at the heavily overcast sky. And the nobleman, young though he was, wondered if perhaps Gyrka felt a heavier burden than even himself… ~ Elsewhere in the Volinus camp, three old friends dealt with the impending battle the only way they knew how. “Gah! Get off! I surrender!” Laughing, Bekin Angorak attempted to wrestle his neck out of the headlock that Kefther’s powerful arm had him trapped in. “I don’t think so, loverboy! First you admit that you’ve fallen for that red-haired vixen, THEN we cut your balls off for being such a pansy!” Yulke mock-growled into Bekin’s face. The farmboy stopped struggling for a second, long enough to pass a hand in front of his nose in affected disgust, before Yulke slugged him playfully in the stomach. “Dammit, Yulke, your breath could kill a cow! I almost wish I’d been choked harder…” Bekin laughed. The three fell to wrestling in the green grass, their laughter ringing brightly over the camp. To some, it sounded like blasphemy to the upcoming slaughter. To others, it was as a ray of sunshine in a dark wood. To Lannot, it was a reminder of younger days, carefree in the fields of his own family’s farm. He smiled at the boys’ antics warmly. Peace such as this was beautiful. Regardless, it was the last peace the three young men would know for quite some time. ~ On the Pax Imperica side of the river, things were a bit more hectic. Arcaile Calore and his Black Serpents had been made to help carry the massive barge that would provide the army their bridge across the Yamere River. Arcaile was grumbling, but such manual labor was necessary. For the glory of the Imperator, and all that tripe. He peered up ahead, at their commander, ruefully. Leading the Pax march, Gaius Aurus was a prime example of the gentleman warrior. A Lord in service to the Imperator, a stately rapier bounced at his side with every step and an aura of luck and good manners pervaded his presence. It was said that he refused to kill women, even if they faced him in clean combat. A legend surrounded this figure, one inflated by time and by his great deeds. For Aurus was a man with a purpose among the power-hungry nobles of the Imperica, a man who shared the vision of the Imperator: one land, united under a single hand and striding confidently toward a better future, one where all people were one and peace was the rule of the day, rather than the exception. It was a hopeless, beautiful dream, perhaps, but what is life without dreams? And what would life be without this great man, this gracious soul, in it? To human nature, the hopeless dream is the noble one – and the eternal idealist the noble man. The morning sun was soon blocked behind dark, dark clouds, pregnant with cold rain. As the first huge drops fell from the skies, Gaius peered upward and smiled. This mysterious legend of a man stared at the impending rain, and flashed an impudent grin. It was easy to see the charm that had convinced thousands to join the Imperical army, and wooed nearly as many women to his bed. Safe and dry underneath the barge, Arcaile listened dejectedly to the drum of the rain upon the protective tarp that kept the boat from overflowing. At least sixty other Pax Imperica soldiers were needed to carry the massive creation above their heads. They all remained bone dry while their comrades were drenched, but not a one relished the skeletal sound of the massive rain drops tapping out their sepulchral sound. ~ “Damn this rain!” Ferran cursed as the massive droplets splashed down upon his upturned face. Shaking his head rapidly, the young noble looked to the three Flame Mages at his left. The foremost shrugged helplessly. There was nothing to be done. Growling with frustration, Ferran strode over to where the lone Wind Mage stood. “Can you get rid of this?” he demanded, gesturing angrily at the sky. “Of course.” The Mage replied. “But even if I were able to call this back again once our initial plans were done, nothing I could accomplish would equal the ferocity of this storm. And the plains are too wet now, anyway, for me to do any good.” Ferran inwardly raged against this simple truth, but he knew in the end it would avail him nothing to get angry at pure bad luck. He gave a curt thanks to the mage and took his leave, returning to the riverbank. Gyrka awaited him. “Awake already?” Ferran asked dryly. The Volinus commander ignored the tone of the lordling’s voice as he ignored the rain pouring down his face. “Yes. The spell is prepared. This storm may be a blessing in disguise, I think.” Ferran regarded the incoming Pax army. He could now make out the massive barge on which they intended to cross. “I hope you’re right…” ~ Pure chaos reigned on the banks of the Yamere River. The clouds were pouring their tears heavily down now, the rain a thick curtain of water. And with those drops fell a deadlier rain, one composed of wood, steel, feathers, and fire. The archers and mages from the two armies filled the air with a buzz that could be heard even above the omnipresent drumming of the downpour. Men on both sides dodged desperately, seeking nonexistent cover as the deadly rain of arrows fell. Archers peered, locating shadows in the storm, then loosed at the opposite bank. Mages chanted their spells and loosed them in arcane fury. The curtain of water separated both armies from each other’s sight, perhaps a small mercy in this time of war. Arcaile felt absurdly grateful for the massive barge, now, as comrades fell all around them. The boat protected those underneath it from the stinging rain of projectiles, though that would soon change. The carriers in the front yelled their command, and dropped their load onto the river. The barge slowly crossed the storm-swollen river, its process impeded greatly by the quick current and wide crossing. The carriers in the back gave a final violent push, and the barge finally reached the other side, slowed only in the least by the few pikes not washed away by the flood. Soldiers from the Pax Imperica drove massive stakes into the ground and moored the boat with strong chains, preventing it from careening downstream. In this aspect of the battle, the rain served the Imperica. The archers on the opposite shore, if given a proper shot, could’ve shredded the army as they boarded the barge. But the curtain of rain allowed the Pax to cross with minimal difficulty, engaging the front Volinus defenses. Armored Phalanxes and Guards met with the horde of Pax Soldiers and Barbarians, men being hacked to pieces in the cold pouring rain. Magic, arrows, and curses flew through the dank morning air. With a mad yell, Lannot Bern and his Lightning Legion attacked furiously. The three worked together in perfect tandem, using a strange alternating strategy that kept at least one of the fighters fresh. Relying on this unusual tactic, the Legion tore through the Imperica forces trying to spread out on the shore. Lannot’s short sword ripped through a Pax soldier as Yannal’s spear stabbed another in the heart. He grinned madly at his subordinate. “For Hunnik!” Lannot yelled into the rising storm. Kyujo responded with a roar of his own, while Yannal’s piercing warscream rang out into the rainy day. The nearby Pax troops shivered with sudden fear, and for some of them it was the last action they ever took. Now lost in the red haze of battle, Ferran no longer fumed over the lost opportunities and plans gone awry. He was simply a killing machine, his claymore weaving in and out of enemy armor and flesh. Josephine and Allassandra were by his side, both beautiful warriors gracefully cutting their way through their commander’s enemies. Eirlys stood close behind the three, sending barbed shafts into any Imperica face she spotted. Arcaile stood in the pounding rain, arms crossed over his broad chest, on the Imperica side of the Yamere. “Let those fools die on a flooded river,” he muttered, “I’d rather not commit suicide today, thanks.” Cias and Laredo flanked their commander, unspeaking. Runlets of water streamed off of their backs, down the black-on-white twisting Imperica dragon there. For a minute, the fighting dulled. Ferran used this lull as an opportunity to glance back toward the Volinus archers, his eyes searching for and finding Gyrka. The Ocean Mage stood silhouetted against the dark sky, his arms raised to embrace the storm and his robe billowing around him. Only his head was lowered, as the mage concentrated the magikal forces that would eventually converge on the Imperica. Satisfied with this brief glimpse, and reasonably certain that all was going well, Ferran turned back to his own battles. ~ “Woo!” Yulke yelled, invigorated by the pouring rain and his feeling of invincibility. “Bekin! We’ve got the bastards by the throat! As long as we hold the shore, they can’t get across in large enough numbers to stop us!” Bekin took only the time to nod before he was cutting his spear across the throat of another Imperica soldier. Kefther laughed. “Let’s charge em, Bekin! We’ll take ‘em all down!” Along with his two friends, Bekin eagerly charged the Imperica barge, ready to stem the flow of warriors. As they reached the first wooden planks, the three farm boys were met by a tall, almost skeletally thin man wielding a bright green rapier. “For the Imperator!” Lord Gaius yelled, still grinning his infernal devil-may-care grin, and leapt to the shore. He was immediately beset on all sides by Volinus forces, but his rapier became a green blur as it whipped around his body. The man almost appeared to be standing still as his sword cut through the surrounding enemies, too fast for the naked eye to follow. He was followed by his men, who were quick to protect their beloved leader. Bekin grinned and glanced at his companions, who – judging by their matching smiles – were thinking the same thing. The leader, echoed in Bekin’s mind. If we take him down…we’ll be heroes. “Come on, boys!” He yelled, a fire rising inside of his breast. “Fight! FREEDOM!” The three bravely charged Gaius, yelling wildly. The experienced Sabre met their charge with equal fury and speed, matching the three warriors blow-for-blow. Gaius was hard-pressed, but luckily for him three of his own soldiers stepped in, drawing off Yulke and Kefther. Unfortunately, without his companions Bekin didn’t stand a chance, and he knew it. He desperately attempted to figure a way out of this mess while his subordinates took care of their own problems. It could only be called a miracle. Bekin warded off blow after blow with his spear, wielding it with frantic desperation as the green blur came closer and closer to his skin. However, this miracle was fated to only last for a few minutes, at most – the farmer could feel his arms tiring under the constant assault, and during the fight he had no chance, no opening with which to go on the offensive. The rapier looked closer and closer to knocking his spear awry and slicing his gut open, divine intervention or not. Suddenly, Yulke and Kefther were at his side once again. “You didn’t think we’d leave you for dead, did’ja?” Yulke laughed as he thrust his longsword at the suddenly outnumbered Gaius. “Yeah! Hell, Bekin, you know us better than that!” Kefther attempted to weave around the leader of the Pax forces, clashing short sword against rapier again and again. Gaius was stuck on their side of the shore, now, trapped and isolated. His men looked on in helpless fury as he was forced down by the three Volinus warriors. The situation had been reversed. Bekin was staring into those deep blue eyes the moment they changed. Hardened. Gaius’ eyes became like two chips of ice, set into a ruggedly handsome but stone-like face. As Kefther finally maneuvered to Gaius’ side, the Sabre allowed himself to let go. To make a single mistake. “Ha!” Kefther yelled excitedly as his short sword finally drove deeply into Gauis’ side. The Pax Lord, however, let out not even a grunt as the cold steel pierced his skin. Instead he used the wide opening to drive his own attack home, one that was decidedly more deadly. Only when it struck did Bekin hear him speak, a short guttural tone that sounded somehow blasphemous. “Kefther, NO!” Bekin screamed, but it was too late. Gaius’ rapier blazed green flame as it cut through Kefther’s throat. The green fire burned down Kefther’s body, unaffected by the rain that sizzled as it struck it. The boy’s limp, burned corpse fell to the muddy shore, the short sword falling out of ruined fingers. Bekin screamed again, in helpless rage and fury, as Gaius bashed his hilt against Yulke’s head and stepped back, easily fending off Bekin’s frantic attacks. Though wounded, the Sabre seemed as fresh as ever, and would’ve overwhelmed Bekin had not the gods intervened a second time. “LIGHTNING LEGION, STRIKE!” Lannot roared as the three members of the Legion fell upon Gaius like their namesake. Bekin was thrown to the ground and dragged to safety by some kind soul, while the three Legionnaires fought the Pax commander to a standstill, and then a retreat. As his feet crossed the wooden threshold of the river, Lannot held up his hand. The Pax troops had finally reached their wounded master, and a few carried him to safety while more engaged the Legion. Lannot and his friends fought bravely, but were outnumbered and slowly pushed back again. The battle raged on. But…perhaps not for much longer. ~ “If you’ve got something up your sleeve, Gyrka, you better pull it out quick!” Ferran yelled to the older man as he oversaw the moving of the wounded to the back lines. Bekin’s unconscious body passed them, unseeing and uncaring. Ferran took little notice – there were many, too many – and continued to pester the Ocean Mage. Finally (Gods, it’s about time, thought Ferran), Allan Gyrka opened his eyes. Ferran started back in surprise. Formerly brown, the Volinus commander’s eyes now glowed a bright, bright blue. His face lit by the eerie magik, the leader of the Patriots stepped back warily. Gyrka’s mouth opened, and he intoned one ancient word, in a language that sounded almost as if he was gagging on something. However, the meaning appeared immediately in Ferran’s mind. Ice. The only warning was a sudden, suspicious cracking sound. Then there was only ice, rising in great shattering wave, covering the river and stilling the waters. It rose over the Imperica barge, now filled with the dead and dying, and crackled like a thousand powerful explosions in the rain. The hard white wave rose and twisted, raining cold shards upon the observers. All fighting stopped with this unbelievable spectacle, this wonder pulled out of the olden days and brought into the open for all to see. In the silence, only the ice spoke. The cracking sound rose in volume, overwhelming even the pounding of the rain, as the icy wave twisted itself into a different shape. What emerged was a maw, a horrible, terrifying face out of the nightmares of men. The head of one of the great wyrms took shape from the ice, a monster created out of frozen fear. With a crackling semblance of a roar, the head smashed itself down onto the barge, shattering the boards of the boat and throwing Pax Imperica troops in all directions. The remainder of the army was quick to flee, though the losses to their enemy had been grievous indeed. The dragon’s head was the last straw in their overworked temperaments, combined with the rain and river, and was more than enough to break them for today. As the last Imperica troop departed, the ice began to melt. The dragon’s face became unrecognizable as it drooped and finally crashed into the icy bed of the river, which once more began to flow sluggishly. Ferran de Zopyros found himself staring, along with the rest of the Volinus army at the spot where the ice demon had disappeared. His mouth hung open; his eyes were wide with astonishment. “That enough magik for you?” Gyrka rasped, breathing heavily. For once, Ferran found himself unable to reply… Outcome: Quest Complete. Volinus holds the River.
The Patriots of the Republic – Healing 2 days
The Lightning Legion – Healing 3 days
Farmboy’s Militia – Healing 4 days
The Black Serpents – Healing 0 days The Battle for Tellen: Second Psalm Saharrah Mizuki and Ardan Masenfer strode through the tight clusters of buildings in Tellen, followed by their squads. Although Ardan was injured, by working together the two had managed to take down several enemy squads taking cover in the labyrinthine maze. The continued through the streets and alleyways, while the sounds of battle echoed all around them. As the pair turned another corner, the entire group came to a screeching halt. At the end of the narrowest alley they had yet encountered stood one of the few remaining Praetorian Guards. The scarlet giant stood impassively blocking their path. Ardan’s sharp eyes caught movement behind the warrior, but he was unable to tell exactly what was happening. The crimson guardian lowered his head menacingly. Though the massive helm blocked his face, Saharrah had a feeling he was grinning savagely underneath. “Come to your doom, sheep!” the Praetorian roared, what little sunlight that reached him glinting off of his deep red armor. Though her subconscious noted that the alleyway could only hold three at a time, Saharrah charged forward, flanked by Ardan and Arienne. In the close confines of the alley, the Praetorian had a huge advantage. He easily blocked the entire path, and his short spear was in no way confined by the tight quarters. A single blow knocked Arienne back, but then Saharrah and Ardan were upon him. For a few frantic seconds, neither could find any purchase for their steel upon his armored frame. Then Saharrah’s shortsword bit deeply into his side, and with a roar the Praetorian threw them both back before retreating hastily. Panting and staring in disbelief at the now-empty alleyway, Ardan felt puzzled. Then it struck him as the smell of burning wood reached his nostrils. Several plumes of smoke could be seen rising above the high rooftops, plumes that widened as the flames that fed them spread. “They’ve set the city aflame!” Ardan yelled, agast. “The bastards have set their OWN CITY on fire!” Saharrah, calm as ever, took charge. “We’ve got to get out. Everyone! Back the way we came!” The remaining Theocracy troops retreated from the blazing wall of inferno. However, much of the army was trapped deep in the city. As they stood on one of the surrounding hills, Ardan and Saharrah cringed at the screams issuing from the burning burg. It appeared that the Imperica had also failed to warn the citizenry of their impending doom. “Murdering bastards…” Saharrah muttered. Ardan nodded thoughtfully. “Evil, of course…but awfully clever. They knew they wouldn’t be able to stop up, and thus preferred to sacrifice the city rather than allow us to capture it.” Before them, the last plumes of smoke issued from the dying town… Outcome: Quest Complete. Tellen burns to the ground.
Crimson Empyrean – 1 day healing
Tsunami Knights – 1 day healing Red Flash of Insight “I’ve had quite a few challengers recently, but none quite as odd as you three.” Riktus Kress, his aged face framed by his long gray hair, looked down at the members of the Shadow Dancers with undisguised contempt. “A mismatched bunch of cullies, ain’t they, Dek?” The big Phalanx snorted in derision. His heavy armor clanked menacingly as he shifted, his arms crossed. “You…” Jade stepped forward angrily, her temper getting the better of her, but Fading Whisper grabbed her arm before she totally lost it. She glanced back at her younger friend, then shrugged as if it was nothing and stepped back into place, matching Dek’s defiant stance. Riktus chuckled grimly. “At least ye’ve got spunk, alright. Let’s see what ye’ve got, shall we?” As Dek shouldered his abnormally large spear, smiling eagerly, Riktus motioned him back. “Nay, let me handle these young uns. Might as well give ‘em a bit of a chance.” At this, Jade grinned triumphantly. She bent down to Fading Whisper and murmured fiercely into his ear. “This is our chance. We’ll show them we’re tougher than they think!” Fading nodded, drawing his shortsword. Jade’s claymore was already at the ready, and Sheath hurriedly unsheathed his longsword. Riktus himself drew a wickedly serrated greatsword from under his bright red cape, taking his time in pulling it out. The older Panzer saluted the three young challengers, then smiled. “Come on, then. See if ye can hit me. No killin’, ye hear, and we’ll stop once I’ve bloodied all three of ya.” Jade charged first, yelling, but with an surprisingly graceful twist of his hip, the old man tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. She hit the ground with a thud while Fading Whisper and Sheath charged, with a few hand gestures from the mute. Whisper darted to the left and Sheath to the right, but with a quick flip of his greatsword Kress threw the first off balance, then turned and chopped at the neck of the second, his hand moving so fast it was little more than a blur. Sheath fell to the ground, twitching, while the commander of the Shadow Dancers recovered his balance and attacked again. His short sword looked pathetically small against the mercenary’s jagged blade, yet the young mute held his ground bravely. Kress laughed, then with a hard shove knocked Whisper to the ground. As Jade crept up behind him, Riktus spun and kicked the large woman’s feet from under her, slashing at her body while it was still suspended in the air. She fell bleeding once again. Without a sound, Whisper was back on his feet. The young man knew he didn’t stand a chance against the seasoned old mercenary…yet he had to keep trying. If the Shadow Dancers ever wanted to become a force to be reckoned with, they had to learn how to fight first. And that was something that the old warrior could teach them to do, very well indeed. But without a plan? Fading Whisper and his band stood no chance against the seasoned old campaigner. For the final time, the mute attacked and was driven back by a sharp punch to the sternum, followed by a slash across the chest that left him bloody and dazed in a cloud of dust. Neither nor Jade’s wounds were very deep, yet they stung horribly all the same. Or was that shame? Riktus Kress planted his sword blade-first into the ground, then rested his gloved hands on the pommel and began to laugh. Dek and the rest of the mercenary squad joined in, and Whisper’s cut began to throb even more painfully. Finally, the laughter stopped and Riktus’ cold voice cut into his daze. “Come back when ye’ve learned how to fight, boy. Don’t you dare bring more of this shit back, y’hear? Unless ye’ve improved a lot, don’t bother challengin’ me again.” Outcome: Quest Failed
Shadow Dancers – Healing 1 day |