Freeform Archive · Legacy archive
The Last War
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The Last War
#161Armor of metal
Well oiled weapons]
Sweat and leather
Horses struggling over rough earth
Curses flung easily over orders not understood
Fear of powerful dark magik that
Brings acquiescence
Rory stumbled back into his head. “Horses bearing heavily armored men come this way and carts as well. They can track us, which means they are using magik.� He paused letting those words sink in. For his companions benefit as well as his own. He was already thinking of a plan to get them away but it would take all of his strength to cast such a spell on a group this large. He’d be unable to cast any other spells for a day or two. One chance always one chance. He told the group to stay still and he drew a circle in the earth around them with the end of his staff.
“Stay in the circle. Even moving over rough terrain our foes will probably get here in an hour or two. If I’m still asleep wake me up. You guys should try to get some sleep too. But leave a watch just in case they have advanced scouts.� He looked at Yas who was looking at him with a look of disbelief. “Yes?�
“You say there are men on horses coming to kill us and you’re going to go to sleep.�
“Uh-huh.�
“But…but…� The girl stammered. “Shouldn’t we run or something? How can you sleep at a time like this?�
Rory was already wrapping himself up in his oversized cloak as he answered, “Practice.�
“Practice?!?� Yas nearly shouted in exasperation. “Rory….Rory!�
The young wilder was already asleep, his snores infuriated Yas as she turned to Smeed for an explanation.
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Dugal looked out of the small rectangular grimy window of the narrow confines of his cell. The narrow hallway with its low ceiling was filled with the bulk of the latest prison guard come to taunt him about his impending execution.
Dugal took it in stride. Of course the man hated Dugal, hated what he represented, hated that the cruel barbs and taunts he threw Dugal’s way were met with stony silence.
The guard soon tired of his sport. As he waddled down the hallway he called over his shoulder, “The day after tomorrow Black Dugal, you die. Ha Ha. You don’t look so legendary now.� He slammed the heavy iron door at the end of the hallway with solemn finality, leaving Dugal with the sound of dripping water and the furtive scratching of rats for company… -
The Last War
#162Odat really wasn't paying attention to what Rory had said. He did know that he was running low on flasks that weren't empty. That meant either he needed more alchohol, or a lot of water to side-step that hang-over the next day.
So figuring that if fourteen flasks wouldn't do it, that maybe another probably wouldn't help, that he would get some water. He stumbled over the magic line without breaking the circle, and headed west in search of water in like...a lake...or...a river...or...maybe a pub. There had to be a pub around here someplace....
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Daren patrolled on his horse for the magic users. So far he had seen no traces of them, so he really wasn't sure what they were looking for, but this Voramis kept telling them that they were there, so him and the other eight knights with him kept looking.
Everybody was on their gaurd. Those rumors of what had happened to the last of the men sent after this band were making everybody on edge. Who wouldn't be. He had heard that one of them commanded the Fog of Souls and could kill a man with a single command. What armour could stand against that.
This very thought went through his mind when he saw a lone man, walking drunk through the woods. Just looking at him made Daren a little uneasy. It was a miracle that the man could stand. With all of the rumors going about, Daren did not feel like taking any chances. He decided to get the other eight knights.
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"So let me get this straight. You thought that you needed eight other knights to take down a single drunkard in the woods? What exactly did you think he was going to do to you? Steal your brandy?" Tomas said as he clipped off the last words of his scalding remark. I mean what has gotten into you Daren. You have been figety since we started this Mission."
"lay off the boy" came Zandar's Deep Bass tone. "He was only being a bit over-cautious. I remember that you used to believe every ghost story you ever heard."
Zandar let the silence fill the air a moment before continuing. "Besides... Something killed those men, back there, and it would be best if we didn't add to that tally by being reckless."
"Well speak of the Shadow" Tomas said. "It looks like thats our man" And he pointed to the almost invisible silloette of A drunken man staggering through the woods.
Since we are all here, we might as well take him by the books. Take an Archiomer Eye formation"
"For a drunk, I don't think so. Im gonna take him down now, And just for wasting my time, I'm gonna trample him a little first."
Tomas rode his horse hard at the stumbling man, but just as he was about to trample the man, Odat seemed to fall backwards and catch his arm. In a second, Tomas was flying through the air, his arm on fire, before his life came to a quick and abrupt end with arm splintered into pieces and a broken spinal column.
Odat seemed almost as surprised as the eight Knights at what had just happened. In seconds they were on him, Eight Knights in Chain mail, surrounding him with lances and swords.
Odat merely stumbled about in his usual fashin before raising his hands and slurring out the words "Errr. I givvvve up"... -
The Last War
#163Even a troll could tell something was wrong with Baldwin. He was just sitting there all mushy over this, this, this Thing! Grumple couldn't see any beauty in her. (Of course, Grumple's idea of True Beauty would probably range somewhere between an orangutan and a rhinocerous.)
One thing Grumple could see was that they had all been running for their lives, and now they were just standing there. She seemed to have attached herself to him! Grumple wasn't much for worrying about someone's fragile emotional state (or had you noticed?), so suppressing a growl, Grumple peeled the little lady off Baldwin with a jerk and quickly shook the man.
Well, Grumple got a reaction, all right, of the emotional kind he hadn't been much for worrying about, up to then. -
The Last War
#164It is a fact appreciated by very few among us, that there are truly countless numbers of insects in the world. Insects which, all things considered, do basically two things. Eat, and reproduce. Millions upon millions of tons, trillions upon trillions of bugs, crawling and flying about every day, everywhere upon the planet, endlessly.
True, some insects eat other insects, and that some birds consume their share. But one thing, basically, holds this relentless teeming horde of six-legged desolation from multiplying and stripping the earth of all its vegetation in a single season; from wiping out all other life forms in a year.
Spiders. The silent sentinels. Patient. Clever. Mercilessly efficient.
It is a fact appreciated by even fewer among us that the ubiquitous arachnids devour the weight of insects Equal To The Weight Of All Humanity. EVERY DAY.
All spiders have some poison. Some have poisons that can kill a man in minutes; the most hideously toxic substances on earth. Most of the energies absorbed from liquifying and sucking out the life of the insects go into the spiders' webs... since most spiders use them, either as the snares we have all seen or gotten on our hands or faces, or as a silken thread to transport the smaller spiders as they float through the air.
They are everywhere. Under every exposed rock or stump by the dozens. In every house by the hundreds. Hanging in the trees by the thousands. Watching everything. Waiting everywhere. And always, always hungry.
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Back at the clearing, near the cooks setting up camp, Kras-minion Voramis put out his arms once again and silently sunk deep into the vibrations of The Strand. Eight thousand thousand eyes gave him sight for miles around. Eight thousand thousand legs felt the vibrations of horses' hooves, twitched at the sensations of life they felt through the forest. Cavalry, men, archers, animals, Captain Kraggis on the wrong trail, a troll -- every living thing. But something was missing.
Why could he no longer "see" or "feel" the enemy magic users and the group he had "seen" before? There was a stumbling man only two miles away, with several spider webs caught on his face and body as well as several eight-legged passengers. Another dead soldier on the ground.
Where was the enemy? Voramis knew he had been sent by Belzar to capture magic users, but had not expected such mastery from the "undisciplined" ones. Even the spiders of The Strand who were carried on their bodies were silent.
And this stumbling one! His "passengers" were jumping off him, repulsed by the stench of alcohol. Voramis ordered them back on again with little effect, so he also ordered those who rode along with the horses to observe. This man was very, very interesting. He had killed a heavily armed knight with no effort at all, stone drunk. Could that have been an accident?
Voramis turned to a guard, and hissed: "Tell Zandar to bring the captive to me". The guard rode off toward the knights, snaring spiders and webs as he went along -- just like everyone else in the woods. -
The Last War
#165Smeed simply shrugged his shoulders at the exasperated girl. Rory's quirks were as unfathomable to him as they were to her. "I suppose if Rory thinks it's safe, we ought to trust him," he said with a wry smile, sitting down next to the snoring form and rummaging in his pack. At least now he would have enough time to lay out his cards and do a reading. It was a shame that Rory couldn't watch, but a young fellow needed his sleep. Somehow, Smeed felt a little too apprehensive to join him.
Smeed drew out his dense stack of pasteboard cards, and took a moment to admire the intricate, ornate artistry adorning each face. The Master Arcana especially were given lavish care, painted with bright colours and interwoven patterns - and subtly reinforced with hidden symbols. Like Death's cowl, with its hem woven into a spiderweb motif.
For a moment Smeed wondered why this particular detail had caught his eye... but, then, he did look at Death very often. Almost without thinking, he shuffled the bulky deck in his knuckled grasp and laid it on a relatively flat patch of dry earth, pausing to draw ten cards from the top and lay them in a circle around the main deck. Not once did he look at any of them: to do so would compromise the pattern and force him to start over.
Drawing a long quill from his pack as well, the old man scratched five marks in the hard soil on the inside of the card ring - one below every second card. He used no ink: that was only useful on surfaces that would accept pigment. All the spell needed was a connection; it didn't matter if that was ink or simply lines in the earth. In fact, he suspected that such a natural method might even help the process.
Joining up each of the marks with a furrowed line in the dust (thus creating a pentagram inside the circle), Smeed replaced his quill and sat back. The layout was complete - now he needed to wait for a sign as to which card he should pick first.
The aged man closed his eyes and let himself relax, waiting for the tug to come from one of the ten. Usually it was from one of the five points of the pentagram, but there had been times when the lesser points of the circle had called to him instead - these were often less important, though. Smeed had no idea why; he just turned over the cards and puzzled about what they meant.
An odd, mental pull brought Smeed back to the present, and his eyes flew open - he'd never felt this before... Looking around him, he saw that the limping child had come up to him - remarkably quietly - and was touching one of the cards in his ring. Just touching... running a finger over the back of the face-down piece of pasteboard. Yet the feeling the card was giving him was unlike anything he usually felt when some low-life in the market-place tried to take a card... It was almost like singing - faint, unearthly singing in the back of his head...
It was disconcerting. Smeed sat up and brushed the boy's hand away, with more force than he intended. Startled, the boy flinched and drew back, rubbing his finger. "It hurt," he complained in a high voice. "The card hurt me."
Smeed wondered at this - his cards had never hurt anyone before - but he was concentrating on the card that Yas's brother had touched. It was definitely tugging at him now - stronger than they usually did when he noticed their call. Yet only after the boy had touched it had this feeling arisen - would the spell still hold?
Only one way to find out – Smeed tentatively reached for the card in question, feeling the accustomed tingling as his fingers met the grainy surface and flipped the card over to sit face-up.
It was Death. An odd coincidence indeed. Smeed felt a shiver run down his spine, and quickly moved into his accustomed habit of flipping each card up, going counter-clockwise from the first.
The next nine cards were less coincidental: the Six of Masks, the Serf of Sabres, the Deuce of Towers, the Leper, the Seven of Vaults, the Seer, the Queen of Masks, the Ace of Stars, and the Ten of Sabres.
Now came the difficult bit: determining the message behind the scattered bits of pasteboard. -
The Last War
#166Rory snapped back into his corporeal body, looking at Yancy and Smeed. What was going on. He had been checking in on his brother. Hopefully Holly and Grumple would be able to smack some sense into him. His group had their own problems to contend with. Rory didn’t know the extent of the power of his foes but he was sure they had the use of magik so he couldn’t be too careful. The bad thing is that he didn’t know what the extent of their power was.
He looked into Yas’ scowling face that was inches from his own. She was very much like Baldwin, he could understand the affinity they shared. “How long did I sleep?� he asked with an infuriating smile.
“An hour.� Yas responded thru gritted teeth. She missed Baldwin more than she thought she could. This Rory was crazy, he was going to get them all killed.
The object of her disdain was stretching his long arms and looking about the clearing, sleepily. Odat was gone. Well, Rory had the feeling the man could look after himself. Besides his absence meant there would be one less person Rory would have to spell.
Rory closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He spun tree times then ran around the group running his staff around the same path he had before he went to sleep.
“Behold� Rory said in his best show voice and a flourish of his slim arms.
Yas looked at him like he was a tree toad. Nothing had happened. Rory told the group to stay together and move along down the path. Yas didn’t mind dying herself because Rory was an idiot. She just thought it was really sad that her younger brother and the other children had to have their lives snuffed out because…
A leaf hanging suspended in the air in the middle of the path stopped her in mid-thought. She walked up to the leaf and looked at it. Upon closer examination she saw, with wonder, that the leaf was drifting downward, very slowly; almost too slow for her eye to register the motion. Something caught her attention from her peripheral vision. She turned to see a fly hovering nearby. She could see the wings moving up and down slowly. Yas noticed that she didn’t hear the sounds of the forest anymore.
She turned to Rory with a look of skepticism painted across her young features, “So you made a leaf and a fly move slowly. I’m impressed.�
So much for respecting your elders. “Young lady,� Rory began again in his stage voice, “I didn’t make anything move slowly.� He pinched her cheek. “We are moving much faster.� His voice took on a serious tone as he addressed the rest of the group. “We are moving much faster than anything around us. Let’s move a bit more quickly. But stay with me and be careful. I don’t have to tell you what would happen if you hit a tree or a large rock while moving this fast.� He started to trot down the trail at a brisk jog. “At this pace we’ll be in Halbad in about fifteen minutes, although to us it’ll feel like the rest of the day.�
Yas’ mouth dropped open, Halbad was at least two days away by foot, she was at a loss for words, stunned at the feat Rory had just accomplished. She was attempting to stammer out an apology for doubting him earlier.
“Just keep up.� Rory interrupted…
Baldwin hit Grumple as hard as he could. It felt like he was striking a tree. The troll staggered back two steps but held his ground. “CAN’T YOU SEE SHE’S HURT!� His eyes had a crazed look to them. He backed up standing protectively over Nya’s prostrate form… -
The Last War
#167"yeah just like a dog, what are you stupid or something?" Holly had a very angry look on her face and she was giving Baldwin a very deep glare, she turned and looked at the girl, Holly stepped forward, towards the girl, and pushed Baldwin out of the way, "what are you? how have you done this magik, let him go or i will be forced to kill you" Holly gave her a nasty look and awaited what Baldwin would do. -
The Last War
#168OCC: Well done, "Mr. Smeed". I think I never really understood the possibility of prophetic card use until now. Unbelievable writing. Or, I wonder, if you experienced such a thing for real? (You don't have to answer that.)
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IC: The wolf spider was hungry. It was its turn to feed. The spider existed not just in the now-moment like so many insects, but had a basic comprehension of time. No surprise, since it was several years old.
It had to be, to be this big. As big as a man's hand. A large man's hand. (The Wolf spider knew this.) The Wolf spider's body was the palm. The Wolf spider's legs were the fingers. Always moving, always feeling, always sensing.
The Wolf spider knew this because it had once bitten a large man's hand and been struck by the hand in return. But the Wolf-spider was strong, and fast. So strong, so fast. It had escaped. The man had a 500 to 1 weight advantage but the Wolf spider had escaped. To recover, and to hunt again. And again. Forever.
The cold time long ago had made the Wolf spider slow, but the warm-time had been good. Moisture had been plentiful. Green things were grown fat and juicy. (The Wolf spider could not eat green things). Game was fat, juicy, and plentiful. But insects were too small to satisfy the Wolf-spider any more, too small. The Wolf-spider needed bigger, juicer prey, day by day by day. Bigger. Juicer.
The Wolf spider hunted and found a rat-hole. The smell was intoxicating. Life... Life for the taking. The rat-hole was barely big enough for the Wolf spider. It moved carefully down the hole. Carefully. A grown rat could do great damage; more than a successful predator could suffer, and still hunt.
In total silence. No heat signature to give it away. No real scent that a rat could detect. Oh - so - quietly on padded, gently hairy leg-tips. Always and forever on tip-toe, even at a dead run. The ultimate hunter.
There, ahead. In the total darkness, where even the Wolf-spider's eight eyes could not see. But they could be felt by their heartbeats, their tiny vibrations; smelled by their breath,. Baby rats. Only the size of a man's fingertip. (The Wolf spider knew this.) Naked. Defenseless. So delicious.
With rapacious hunger growing, it spread its eight hairy legs over the first of the rat's offspring. The Wolf-spider plunged its sharp mandibles into the squirming, blind infant. It squeaked quietly, calling for help.
There would be no help. Juices flowed in. Liquefying the tiny mammal, melting the cell membranes, turning bones to jelly. Juices flowed out, into the Wolf spider. Strength, and energy. Life transferred from one, to another. Simple. Direct. Efficient.
Not satisfied, the Wolf spider plunged its mandibles into each tiny form in the nest. Again and again. Over and over. Until all were shriveled sacks of pale pink skin, silent and still.
The Wolf spider silently crawled up out of the hole and across the clearing in the forest. Across the clearing to Kras-minion Voramis. (The Wolf spider knew this).
To join with him again. To give strength with all the others. -
The Last War
#169OOC - once again, Dream, you have impressed me. -
The Last War
#170OCC: Dream I'm stunned by your post. I can't even post now. Callista, Rory's not with you, just Baldwin. When he was in Astral form he didn't get close enough for you to see him (if your character can see such things). I'm out. I've gotta check my room for spiders after Dream's post. -
The Last War
#171OCC: Thank you. This was one posting I had thought about a bit. Usually I just sit down and write and what comes out, comes out. [Scares me, occasionally.]
I really thought Tantus' trick on Odat in poisoning his drink was enormously well done. "Nobody" was impressed, too, even though he had Odat shrug off the event. (He had contacted me.)
We have a good group here. I predict a very fine story for anyone who wishes to observe.
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IC: Grumple staggered back a bit. Grumple opened and closed his mouth a time or two, but could not find words to help. Grumple had seen drunken men before, and although Baldwin did not smell like drink, Baldwin had been drinking. Or something like that.
Grumple looked down at the... at the girl-thing, which was getting up now. It didn't look all that hurt. The only thing hurting here was Grumple's head. Nothing made sense. They all had to leave. Grumple could hear horse's hooves pounding down the road.
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Lars Ness was a cook. How a tall, blonde, huge northerner like Lars Ness became a cook was a long story. But Lars Ness was the head cook, and the Quartermaster to the Black Hand Riders. Lars Ness was the fuel in their fire.
Sargeant Ness was known as "cookie". But he was not sweet. Lars ruled his men with an iron hand. An iron hand that was also artistic and rewarding. Artistic, since Lars could create edible, even delicious, food out of the most meager of supplies. Rewarding, since any man could bring to Lars what he wanted, and he would give generously in return.
Every soldier wanted respite from his hard life. A decent meal. Maybe even a hot one. Or a plug of tobacco. Or -- the holy grail -- a flask of strong drink to quench his thirst and bring sweet release.
100 men ate a lot of food. A LOT of food. And drink! Then there were the horses as well. Each required hay, oats, salt. Eating Machines, every one. A soldier and his horse might sleep at night, but the Quartermaster had to plan, prepare, and frequently scheme.
Sargeant Ness would send his squad out to, shall we say, "requisition" supplies from nearby towns. His wagons carried only enough hot food for two days. Dry food for three more, usually. The soldier that brought him a deer got a flask of wine. For a cow... a jug of strong rum.
Ness preferred strong drink in his casks. The stronger the better. He could water it down and make Grog. He could purify bad water with it, and preserve it for travel. He could pickle meats and even start fires with wet wood. Most of all, he could win over any soldier with it, and guarantee their loyalty. In a battle, the soldiers could be counted on to protect their "Cookie".
Even Captain Kraggis gave Quartermaster Ness his space, and due respect. If the men were fed well, they could be led well. Lars Ness always fed them well.
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Quartermaster Ness looked up from a huge steaming kettle of beans to see Zandar and his men bringing in a prisoner; a huge, tall man. -
The Last War
#172OOC: Wow, Dream. Just wow. As always, your eloquence is indomitable.
As to the cards - I'm just working off the top of my nut, with a little help from some random website I Googled... I had never even seen a Tarot deck before that. :wink: But thanks for the compliment...
IC: Trotting to keep up with Rory's gait, Smeed wondered how best to approach the subject of his card reading. What he had found - if it were correct - might cause them a good deal of trouble before the end.
"Er..." he began, keeping his gaze on the ground ahead, "While you were asleep, I took the liberty of, well, reading my cards, and... I don't know if you'll want to hear this, but..." the old man swallowed and forged ahead. Thirty minutes' puzzling over little painted cards couldn't be wasted simply because he didn't want to break the news.
"The first one I turned over was Death. Now, even in ordinary circumstances, that's not good - but this time it was different - that Yas' brother touched it without realizing, and it suddenly felt... odd." Smeed hardly realized that Rory might not have any idea of what he was talking about; he just wanted to say it all, and quickly.
"So the first was Death, which I thought at first meant that someone was going to die soon. I hoped it wasn't the boy who touched it... but these things work in odd ways. The other ones were clearer…� Smeed went over them again in his head. The Six of Masks - deceit - the Serf of Sabres - speed and diligence, which must have meant Rory’s time spell back there – the Deuce of Towers – strength in numbers. The Leper – corruption and revulsion – the Seven of Vaults – secrets best left undisturbed – the Seer – magikal espionage – the Queen of Masks – beauty hiding danger. The Ace of Stars – nobility or dominance – and the Ten of Sabres – military force. Together, they formed a picture he wished they hadn’t.
“Well, to put it shortly, I fear we’re being followed by a good deal more people than we thought – and somewhere out there, there are plenty more. Not only that, but someone among those people has been tracking us – but not using normal methods – some form of deception, I believe.� He lowered his voice, hoping that the children would not hear. “And also – as if that weren’t bad enough – the cards are hinting[ at something. I hate it when they do that – it means that even they are afraid. They’re hinting at something repulsive, deceptive, controlling, corrupt – everything we’d rather not have following us. The sooner we reach Palaten, the better – Lord willing they’ll be able to stem the tide – before whatever it is makes itself known…� He shivered. It is a terrible feeling, that the very tools of one’s trade refuse to speak for fear of what they might disclose. All of a sudden, the forest looked much less tranquil. -
The Last War
#173Captain Kraggis led the twenty Black Hand horsemen down the forested slope. They floated toward Baldwin and the others like a vengeful spirit bent on the destruction of everything in its path. Soft boots trod upon the grassy earth with scarce whispers of sound. The group moved as one, in unison, slowly. Their blades were fell objects to behold, wickedly curved and notched with signs of savage combat, and forged of blackened steel that seemed to suck in the light of the sun. These blades were poised to strike as the group flowed down the hill and across the flat ground approaching the river like a dark shadow poisoning the earth with its passing.
Nya, a creature of magik to be sure, gazed at Holly with a look that would have slain the woman if it was within the Dryad’s power. Baldwin glared at Holly and Grumple and if not under the sway of the Dryad would have noticed the wave of black gauntleted armored killers creeping down the hill. He would have noticed them fanning out and surrounding the large tree they were standing next to. Beguiled as he was, he did not notice them until Kraggis growled at Grumple, “Troll! You hold something that belongs to me. Return it and I will let you live.� Kraggis held his armored hand out expectantly. The Black Hand surrounded the group; a ring of deadly steel, reinforcing Kraggis’ unspoken threat.
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Rory listened to Smeed as they jogged down the main road leading the West Gate of Halbad. His enchantment had worn off and they were moving at a normal pace once again. The west gate was the commoner gate and the area outside was surrounded by ramshackle shacks and huts that seemed like they had been thrown together at the spur of the moment. There was a twisted maze of paths cutting through the clutter and a larger rutted path that was in ill repair leading to the gate itself. The inhabitants of the shanty town stared at the group of children with varying degrees of guarded interest and open curiosity. They wore ragged clothes and the hungry visages if those who had fallen on hard times and were doing the best they could under hard circumstances. Burly guardsmen bearing halberds stood at the gate itself, denying entrance. Gleaming chain mail peeked out from beneath tabards bearing the sigil of the baron, a green dragon on a field of gold. Yas was stunned. The ragged clothes her group had worn since their flight from Palaten seemed like Nameday finery compared to the rags these people wore. Why? Yancy limped behind her holding her hand, eyes wide with awe. He looked at Smeed and shook his head.
Rory had a pensive look on his face at the news Smeed had given him. “Death,� He began, his voice low. “Our constant companion thru all our days, it dogs our steps, waiting for us to make a fatal misstep. The ten master Arcana are not the most important. At least it doesn’t seem so to me but I’m a bit different than others. I see things thru my way. Thru the now. Every message in the cards is important. Just as every decision. Nothing is small or large. We just place judgment on the choices we make based on our limited understanding.� He gave Smeed a wry look. “That’s why the sword chose Baldwin.� He looked at the three guardsmen at the gate, who returned his glance with flinty stares. “What decision should we make here?�… -
The Last War
#174In addition to being the Baron’s son Malik was the Captain of the NightWatch. The NightWatch was in addition to being the eyes and ears of the baron was the group that kept order in Halbad and the surrounding lands. Their methods would be thought of as draconian by some but the common weal often necessitated extreme means. Order was necessary, by any means. Often the common man had no idea of the forces at work and the labors undertaken by Malik and the men under his command, in shadow, to maintain order.
A serious threat had hounded Malik and the fair city of Halbad for years: Black Dugal! Malik closed his eyes and imagined the joy at the thought of the execution on the morrow. Savoring the thought as he sat up on the edge of his large bed, the silken sheets the color of blood falling away. Malik strode to the large doors of his bedchamber, they were ornate, pressed with gold leaf. Throwing the doors open he called for his servants to fetch his clothes and draw water for a bath. The death of Black Dugal was not all he strove for. No simple death was for lesser men. Simple death was too good for one who had been such a thorn in his side and a threat to order. Malik would destroy all that Dugal held dear. The Deshii would all die today… -
The Last War
#175Zandar was not being particularly kind to his capture. The man had killed one of the knights under his command. That had not boded well. Not well at all.
Zandar still could not fathom how the man had managed that move. Never in all of his years in the service, had he seen a single man kill a heavy cavalry up close and on the charge, without taking at least some kind of serious injury in return. And it had been done without a weapon of any kind.
The scene kept replaying itself in Zander's head: Tomas was charging. The man stood drunk and stupefied in front of the charge. Then, in the very last possible moment, the man moved out of the way of the charge, hooked and caught Tomas's weapon hand, and with a powerful twist of the arm, had literally flung Tomas in a rainbow arch over his head, and send him head first into the ground. Tomas's body weight, and his chain mail came crashing down on him with more than enough force to snap his neck.
How was that possible. Just the weight of Tomas's armour alone should have made the feat impossible, and that was leaving out the flawless precision and timing required of such a move. And that was forgetting that the man was stone drunk.
He was drunk. There was no way to fake that. He had eleven empty flasks in his trench coat, as well as two un-opened flasks, and then the one that he was holding. One of Zander's men had taken a sip from one and had nearly burned his throat out. The stuff was very strong, as it turned out.
Zandar wanted to kill him. He should die. If it had not been for Voramis's order to bring him back alive, the man would not be alive right now.
"We have the prisoner, and he awaits questioning" Came Zandar's heavy Bass voice.
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It came upon Odat's realization that he was not enjoying this experience very much. Being dragged behind those horses was pretty painful. Plus, being carried by the arms now was really starting to hurt. Not fun at all. And even worse, they had taken his flasks. Not just the empty ones either. What kind of world was this that they would take a man's drink.
It was then that Odat saw the only thing that could make this day go any better. Several casks of drink being trucked along with all sorts of foods and supplies. -
The Last War
#176Tantus' dream crawled with lowly things, centipedes and snakes, spiders and other creatures who lived in the cracks of rotting stumps and in the shadows cast by rock and tree. Something on the wind snared at his instincts, a cloying scent that was deceptive and cloying. He could only barely smell it, so faint that he could easily imagine that it was only a fancy of the mind, something remaining from the dream. As Rory cast his spell and they traveled, Tantus was troubled by the smell.
To Tantus, the world was alive with smells, it was the bugbear in him, the enlarged sinus cavity, as a wizard had once told him. Where humans could smell only revulsion from a heap of midden, Tantus' bugbear nose could sort out the contents of the pile. He could smell the oats and the hay, and the smell of horse in a pile of horse droppings where a human would only wrinkle their noses in disgust. There were few things truely disgusting to his nose, and very few of them existed outside of Brother Antimony's laboratory. Those smells were harsh and caustic, they burned the senses and brought tears to his eyes, while the bold little monk would only chuckle, his own sense of smell seared away by the chemicals and reagents in his glass bottles and smoking alembics.
He caught the smell again, a dry smell. It had a sweetness to it, like almonds, or Father Cadmius' vanilla. But that was not what bothered him, it was the smell of dried flesh that slunk under the pleasantness, like incense burning at a funeral. He could imagine the corpse on the bier, surrounded by the dry kindling, the flesh was dried and withered to the bone, blackened and dark. Spiders were crawling through the eyesockets...
Tantus coughed, snapping out of his reverie. Something wicked was following them. He had taken that sort of smell only once before and he had sworn a vow before Saint Logan, Father Cadmius and the Lord Almighty that he would never divulge the events of those days and nights.
"Rory, we are being followed by something..." He said. "I think. It might by following the others, I don't know how far away it is, but there is something wicked coming this way, something wicked beyond the capability of mortal men." -
The Last War
#177OOC: yeah really good writing Dream, and yeah sorry about that, i was a bit tired so i must of wrote the wrong name but all fixed now :lol:
IC: Holly jumped as she heard kraggis's voice float through the air, as she jumped she whipped out her sword and held it at arm's length, there was loads of them and without Baldwin fighting then Holly and grumple had no chance, but she held fast, "Baldwin forget about her, please help us or we will all be killed including her" Holly glared at the girl again, one of the soldiers let an arrow loose by accident and it flew through the air, hitting right into Holly's arm, she gasped as blood seeped out from around the arrow, Holly looked angrily around at the people surrounding them, she pulled out her arrow and shot one of her magic arrows towards the boy who let one fly and it had hit her, the arrow hit home straight in the forehead, and appeared shiny and gold, now all she was able to do now was wait. -
The Last War
#178Grumple looked around. And around again. Grumple's hand tightened around Grumple's Spear while Grumple ground his teeth. The bad leader-man was there! The sound of his voice changed Grumple's fear to anger. A snarl started to rise to his lips. Grumple was ready to kill.
But there were a lot of bad men around them. A lot. And Grumple was small, only up to 130 pounds now (and that was including the bunny rabbit!) But Grumple wasn't like other trolls, Oh, no. Grumple held the snarl in check before it became a Roar, and looked at Baldwin. Wasn't Baldwin in charge or something?
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Voramis strode up to Odat, with only a slight rustle of the all-concealing cloak for noise. [He had seen Tomas' death from where he was and took it personally, it seemed.] "Where are the others, fool?!" he hissed. Hissed, yes, but not so much in the ears, as in the mind. Even Corporal Zandar took a step back from the spellcaster, with the hair on the back of his neck and arms standing up from the sound. His flesh crawled beneath his chain mail. Trying not to look too obvious about it, Zandar moved around a bit behind Odat, keeping the drunk between him and the dark mage.
Odat staggered a bit, and breathed out some incomprehensible response, reeking of fumes. Voramis put out his gloved hand and grabbed the drunk by the throat, but then suddenly recoiled. It was as if his hand could not bear to touch Odat, in spite of the glove. His whole body trembled and twitched under the dark, flimsy robes.
Voramis stepped back and hissed again. It was not comprehensible as words, but it was totally understandable. It was a rush of hatred and revulsion of this prisoner. Voramis twirled and faced one of his guards, which shrank back before him. "Keep him captive!" he hissed again. "I must go forward to the troops to guide them. I will return."
Voramis knew he had lost contact with the enemy magic users -- in spite of their lack of discipline -- and needed to get the heavy cavalry after them before night fell again, which was very soon. Otherwise, his servants would have to do the job alone.
The Kras-minion mounted his horse and plunged into the forest after the troops, which were wasting their time searching in the forest in the place where the enemy was long gone.
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"Cookie" Ness wiped his greasy hands on his apron and shouted out from his position behind the chuck wagon, "HEY! Bring him over here!" Lars knew that one good way to interrogate a man was to give him a drink and let him loosen up a bit. He could play "good" inquisitor and let Zandar play "Bad" inquisitor. Always worked before!
OCC: Sargeant "Cookie" Ness is available to you, Nobody, as well as the squad and the camp in the clearing. Make the best of it while Voramis is gone! (You won't like it when he returns, heh, heh!) I'm hoping you'll reveal a bit more of the mysterious Odat. -
The Last War
#179Tantus's words confirmed Smeed's fear. "You felt it?" Yet even he could almost feel it now - a tension in the air - but perhaps that was only him imagining things. For some reason, Death's card kept appearing in his mind's eye - yet he somehow felt as though the figure itself was less important than some other symbol hidden beneath the painted surface...
Glancing around him, Smeed finally took in the shanty town, and the gate before them. "We must get inside," he said finally, low enough that the guards could not hear. "We must see some sort of authority - warn them of the soldiers, and of whatever else is out there."
He took a stride towards the nearest guard, flinching a little when the man leveled his weapon and gave a gruff bark. "Wot's yer business, father?"
Smeed cleared his thoart and ventured a reply. "My companions and I are travelers from Palaten, come bearing grave and urgent tidings to the lord of these demesnes. I fear for the safety of all those present if we are denied entrance." He had tried to keep his address short and to the point - a difficult task for Smeed - but perhaps he had still been too eloquent. He could almost see the man's brain working.
At long last, the fellow's face cleared, and he looked expectantly at Smeed. "'Ere," he said brightly, "does that mean we're at war wit' some'un, then? Only standin' around at a blasted gate 'alf me days is mighty dull, innit? Will we get to spear some folks, then?"
Blasted man. Smeed bit back a curse - he'd never liked commoners. Odd, seeing as he himself was in a profession considered to be almost below them. Now the secret was out. He feigned weariness. "My good sir, that would be too harsh a term. The fate of outside relations remains... undetermined at present." Struck by a sudden thought, Smeed leaned conspiratorially towards the guard. "Although... I suspect that by letting us pass, the chances of an even conflict will greatly improve. So, yes, you might get to 'spear some folks', sooner or later."
It was a lie - war was the last thing he wanted - but it seemed to help. The guard's face lifted another notch, and he positively skipped over to his comrades, who conferred amongst themselves and finally lifted the dense iron bar shutting the travellers out from their destination. Smeed noted, as he passed by them, that all the guards seemed considerably heartened by the prospect of a war. He only hoped he hadn't gone and started a rumour. -
The Last War
#180Nya’s tree was old, older than all the other trees in the area. It was large and its roots ran deep: a dense and tangled network of living twisting tendrils that drew succor from deep within the earth. Five hundred summers had passed since it had sprouted from seed, many seasons, drought plague, war; periods of peace had all meant naught. The tree was indomitable and withstood all of these changes standing as a regal sentinel of the glade. Nya was ageless as her tree and bound to it. They were part of each other, intertwined spirit to spirit, body to body. Its limbs were her limbs, the trunk her body, the leaves her long hair. They felt as each other. She had taken many lovers over the years; they were bound to her by magik. She kept them until she tired of them and sent them on their way. Typically they died shortly afterwards drained of their essence and broken hearted, but the weakness of man was not her concern. She was a creature far too vain and fickle to know of true love. Her latest acquisition was handsome, and strong. He was young enough to please her for many seasons. Now if she could get rid of all of the others so she could get to know him better.
The BlackHand archer aimed at Holly’s head with a creak of wood and let the arrow fly. She turned just as he released the bowstring. The point of the arrow passed her head less than an inch away passing thru her hair, and buzzing past her ear like an angry hornet. The trajectory unchanged the arrow thudded into the tree and sunk in deeply.
Nya, who had been standing stumbled clutching her stomach, falling to her knees. She opened her mouth and let forth a scream.
The scream was a of knell of doom, both deeper and higher in pitch than anything the men in the clearing had ever heard. The strength of the wail was overpowering and the vibrations blasted the figures in the clearing backwards, sending them tumbling like a child’s playthings. Dark blood poured forth from around the arrow in a steady flow. Nya held slim hands covered with blood against her stomach.
There was an answering rumble from deep within the bowels of the earth. Roots shot up entangling the riders of the BlackHand. Root ends with slim tips shot skyward puncturing armor, impaling limbs, seeking internal organs. A crimson shower of blood showered the earth. Smaller thinner roots snaked around the throats of other men constricting, crushing windpipes and pulling their victims earthward. Eyes bulged wide with fear as hapless souls were pulled down into the dark earth below the roots never to return. The riders were quickly reduced to half their number. The remainder attempted to flee swords swinging with arms powered by fright and the knowledge that swift death was near. Kraggis swung two swords slicing thru roots that were reaching for him, as he ran away from the tree. Vines thick with spiked brambles shot upward from the ground with an explosion of dark earth. Kraggis hurdled the rows his clothes rending, long spike shredded his armor as he ran towards the hill.
The glamour on Baldwin was broken, his senses returned. He looked at Nya with a start, wondering what had come over him. His teachers had told him long ago about the dangers of Dryads. How could he have fallen under the sway of this one so easily. “Come on!� He yelled at Holly and Grumple. Nya’s scream continued; an assault of sound that disoriented the most seasoned warrior. He started to run in the opposite direction as Kraggis had, toward the river.
There was a deep humming sound that grew louder by the second, then a stirring of wind that was nearly lost in the sound of the Dryad’s scream. Suddenly the air was filled with thousands of biting, stinging flying insects. They were so numerous that they blotted out the light of the sun turning the clearing to shadow. Baldwin was buffeted by them, receiving a hundred angry stings as his body was flung sideways losing his balance, he knew it would mean death to fall. He lunged, stumbling to the river bank and jumped into the cold waters of the river, his body wracked with pain. He could only hope his companions were behind him… -
The Last War
#181As soon as holly had seen Baldwin jump she jumped instantly into the water receiving a few stings, she swam under the water until she could see Baldwin's figure, as she got closer, she grabbed hold of Baldwin and put her mouth up to his to keep the air flowing between there lungs for as long as they needed, she could still hear the angry buzzing above the surface, pain flittered through her arm as she felt about with her free hand, she grabbed hold of the arrow and yanked it out throwing it as far as she could in the water, she held her hand over the wound making sure that not to much blood escaped out into the water, the buzzing began to die abit, and Holly could no longer hear the Dryads screaming, she pulled away from Baldwin and swam slowly to the surface of the water, the water broke as the crown of her head poked through the surface, she looked around carefully keeping a watch in each direction, they had to get out of here, she looked round again and noticed to the east of them quite near a bridge, she dived back under the water and tapped Baldwin on the shoulder and pointed to the bottom of the bridge and waved for him to follow, Holly began to swim towards the bridge hoping the others would follow. -
The Last War
#182OCC: Wow. Let me catch my breath first...
IC: Grumple may have been as dumb as a post... but he wasn't a post.
Grumple ran for his life! Arms and legs flailing as fast as the little troll could manage, Grumple hurtled headlong into the water and swam beneath the surface after Baldwin and Holly.
Grumple never saw a TREE get mad before! Now, that was new.
He thought about that for a bit as the water swirled past and the angry insects let go and floated away.
Grumple concluded, "Next time, Grumple not eat stump." -
The Last War
#183Kras-minion Voramis seethed with anger. Under his hood, the surface of a black sheet of cloth that served as a face mask undulated and flowed. The cavalry was nearly an hour ahead now, and evening was upon them all. He rode past the ballista crews, who had been unable to keep up in the forest with the calvary.
Finally he got to the place where the "trails" had been found. Voramis did not need a detailed report from spiders to see that the soldiers had been completely fooled. And here was the place where the enemy had been hiding. Right under the eyes of these idiots! On the other hand, his own "scouts" had been unable to see these people. Formidable enemies, indeed. Lord Belzar would be pleased when they were captured.
But they had escaped and gone on. To Halbad! Curse them!
Voramis dismounted and felt around him once again. Now, he was starting to feel and see their true trail. They had moved too fast to be clearly seen by spiders. Well, in that case, this enemy would have used enormous energy and be extremely tired.
Probably even more tired than his own men and horses. Voramis found a calvaryman and hissed, "Have the signalman sound the retreat to camp. The Penkwe must go back to the clearing for tonight. But you must follow me".
Voramis then rode on with the one guard, following the trail, led by the memories of the spiders that had seen and felt what had passed by. He needed to get closer. -
The Last War
#184The area just within the gate was just as squalid as the shanty town without. Rory was surprised that such poverty existed in a prosperous city as this. He looked at Smeed as they walked along the hard packed dirt street. “You did well to get us within the gates.� The Wilder voice was lethargic; showing the price incurred by the use of powerful magiks in the form of fatigue. Smeed’s reading disturbed him but he didn’t know what he could do about it. He looked at the children, moving in a tight frightened knot, looking about with frightened eyes. “We need to get to the Wyvern. It’s an inn in the merchant’s quarter. Baldwin will meet us there. We have family here. I can get in contact with them and I can see what we can do about getting a place for the children. When Holly gets here we can talk to the baron.
They walked through the city and as they got further away from the west gate they noticed that there was a steady stream of people heading toward the city square. Rory leaned over and spoke to Smeed, leaning more heavily on his staff than usual. “I wonder where these people are going.�…
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Baldwin burst out of the water at the river’s edge gasping for air and dragging himself onto the muddy bank. He took in large gulps of sweet air. His body was racked with pain from the numerous stings on his exposed flesh. He pushed himself to his feet and followed Holly into the woods.
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Malik stood overlooking the city square. He was on a balcony composed of marble. Heavy chairs with comfortable cushions were arranged in various locations. He couldn’t sit though he was too excited. The crowd in the square below had already started to build. He wore a silver tunic bearing the crest of the Nightwatch: a black raven on a field of red. A silver goblet was in his hand half filled with wine. Malik was in his prime. His black hair was shot through with streaks of silver and his tall frame was covered with taunt lean muscle. He bore a sword on his hip that was not ornamental. Ice blue eyes scanned the crowd below. Although his father was still alive he still thought of them as his subjects. He spoke without turning as the three guards brought the captive to the balcony so he could see what was about to transpire.
“Hello Dugal.� Malik said this without turning his head. Dugal was restrained by strong ropes about his hands and feet. Two guardsmen who were twice his size, held each arm while the third held a loaded crossbow with the tip of the bolt right against Dugal’s spine.
Malik knew Dugal’s reputatation and how hard it had been to capture him. He was taking no chances… -
The Last War
#185Good Inquisitor, Bad inquisitor wasn't going very well. Either this man was very good at keeping secrets, with his style of spewing forth haphazard useless stories that made no sense, or else he was so drunk that he couldn't remember a thing.
The problem was, that it was impossible to tell. His manerisms were both like somebody who was good at avoiding questions, as well as a drunk, and every time Cookie was about to release the man, he would say something that made Ness think differently. Maybe it was time to take a different approach.
"I noticed that you had your own set of Dice...what was your name again?
"Ohhhdatt..." ("oh that" in drunk speak)
"Odat huh? Odd name. Anyway, I noticed that you had your own set of dice. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to play a few rounds. If I win, you tell me what you want to know, and if you win, Ill give you a cup from my casks. Deal?"
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"!@#$%^!!! What is wrong with you, don't you ever lose!!!" Cookie shouted at Odat.
"And you" he said shifting his attention to one of the cooks nearby "Stop standing around like a moron, and get working!"
Cookie immediately took command of his crew, and in his current temper, nobody wanted to disobey him. Half of a cask. That was all that was left. That cursed man had won nearly all of it one cup at a time. It was impossible. How was it possible. The more Lars had lost, the more it had made him want to win. Now he only had enough to supply the officers with good drink. And that was only if they got some more very soon. At least there was some respite in that. There was always more supplies just around the corner.
"Stick! Tell the rest of the cooks that we are serving water tonight!"
"But sir, we have lots of drink right over there, whats wrong with using that? I have to tell them some reaon." Came Stick's hesitant voice
"Tell them that if they want something to drink, that they can play him for it! Now move you Idiot."
OOC:I had a better post, but then I had the power go out while I was finishing up, so, this is what you get. -
The Last War
#186OCC: OK, Wogden, I'll bite. Why is Life a Jellyfish?
IC: Corporal Fox had left Palaten to rejoin the Penkwe, after sleeping for most of the day. Night was falling, and he was only halfway to the clearing in the forest, even though he was riding yet another fresh horse. As he rode the 30 miles distance, his mind turned back to what he had seen in town.
Lady Elberen, (whose house had become "Captain Kraggis' house") had been taking advantage of Kraggis' absence that morning to go to her friends and help them cheer up under the brutal occupation. She was organizing some cooperation between the surviving families... now that their men and teenage boys had been largely killed off.
Apparently she had been some town official's wife, and now was taking over some of the responsibilities. Her daughter looked like most of the children in the city... stunned, depressed, eyes glazed over. The surviving mothers and older sisters tried to rebuild where they could. It was hard, and he felt sorry for them.
"War is hell", he reminded himself. But he was himself an agent of the past events. "Does that make me something like a demon?"
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The answer to this hypothetical question would be a resounding "NO", if Fox had compared himself to Kras-minion Voramis. This one was more than something "like a demon". At this point, he had picked up the main trail and approached at the fastest speed his mount could manage, near to Halbad. Night was here, and the armoured guard with him was exhausted, as was the heavier horse.
In the gathering gloom, at a bridge crossing the river outside the city, Voramis hissed, "Stop. Wait here." This suited the guard just fine, who tethered his horse under the bridge, took off his helmet, and lay down in the grass where he hoped he would not be seen.
The Kras-minion rode until he was outside the city wall, unnoticed in the dark. He stepped off the horse and placed both hands on the wall. Already, he knew he was unnoticed by any human eye. Already, his call was silently creeping forth through the city. Already, hundreds of his servants were awakening. Their eyes looked about. They started to twitch their legs. They began to rise in answer to his nightmarish call. Then, it became thousands, as his awakening call spread wider and wider.
Soon he would find what he sought, caught in The Strand. Just a matter of being patient. Those of The Strand know something juicy always shows up, eventually. -
The Last War
#187OOC: Why, because it is small, round, and translucent; it can grow up to the size of a dinner plate; it sports tentacley things on its underside; and some species can deliver a fatal electric charge. And when it washes up on beaches, children poke it with sticks and wonder if it really tastes like Jell-o.
How's THAT for an allegory? :wink:
IC: Smeed nodded, hardly listening to Rory as he walked, numerous wide-eyed children pattering in his wake. All around him were the signs of the most abject poverty imaginable - had Halbad fallen on hard times? Then again, it had been ages since he had actually set up shop here, perhaps this was the city's usual state. It didn't look like a very desirable one: the downcast eyes of the general populace confirmed this, as they trudged in whatever direction they were going.
Oddly enough, it seemed a good deal of them were going the same way as he was... Up ahead Smeed saw the town square - that was one place he remembered from the last time. Back then it was the meeting place of all manner of mercenaries, headhunters, and generally loose-moraled fellows looking to collect rewards on whatever enemy of the state they had dragged in. It seemed there had been a public execution every ten minutes. Not a profitable place to stay, thought Smeed, when one's clients are all busy watching people die painful deaths.
"Judging by Halbad's history, I would hazard a guess that it's either a violent execution, or an equally violent pantomime." Smeed sighed. "Forgive me, I mean no disrespect to your relatives, but it seems to me that the folks of Halbad are a very bloodthirsty lot - especially judging from that guard fellow who let us in."
***EDIT:
OOC: Terribly sorry about the name mix-up... :shock: -
The Last War
#188OOC: Hey guys. Please give me a chance to post. I'm ripping the deck off my house today and buluding a new one, but for continuity purposes I'd like to post next. Pretty please
POG -
The Last War
#189OCC: To Wogden: Better than most allegories I've heard. -
The Last War
#190OCC: Hey, POG. Stop acting like a rip-off and post. It's always a shame when a Strolenite lets real life interfere with a perfectly good bad habit!
IC: The Corporal-without-any-men-to-lead Fox rode up to the clearing as darkness fell. It had been a hard ride. Apparently, the cavalry who had left early that morning had been, shall we say, "somewhat less than fully successful" in totally annihilating the enemy. From what Fox could pick up, the heavy cavalry hadn't found anyone at all. They were back at the clearing with the ballista crews forming up camp for the night, without any real officers present -- unless you counted Sargeant Ness as an officer, which he wasn't. He was "Cookie"; at least as long as you were on his good side.
And right now, it seemed, nobody was on his good side. Cookie was raging at everyone in the camp. The object of his rage seemed to be a tall, drunken prisoner. One that was not just Good at Dice, but Unbelievably Good. If he had been using his own dice, it would have been no problem. The Black Hand would have simply strung him up and used him for night-time ballista practice.
But he had been using their dice. Petey's dice and Gregov's dice and even Abdul's dice -- which were loaded even more than Odat, if such a thing were possible.
And it wasn't possible. The man had been drinking between every bet. It seemed to be his goal to get drunker and drunker. Normally, that would have made it easier to beat him at games of chance, but no matter what game of chance was introduced (even those which the men made up on the spot!), Odat beat all comers. Everyone was grumbling. Everyone had lost at least two days' liquor rations to the man. Some had lost more than a week's worth. And he drank it. It was "lucky", one might say, that he was still alive.
To the men, it was more than a game; it had become War. A war with some serious rules, however. Gambling was almost Sacred amongst warriors. It was a measure of their decency and honor, in a world where they had lost every other trace of such concepts. If Odat continued to win, they would pay up. If he lost, well, they would make sure he lost it all, Big Time. -
The Last War
#191It was getting late. Odat had been winning for five hours straight and was still going. It was impossible how he kept going. On and on he drank and played. Not just dice either. They played all sorts of games. Dice. Variations of dice. Cards, guessing games, games that they had made up on the spot. He just wouldn't lose. There were now only three kinds of people in the camp. Those who had lost a little bit to him, those who had lost everything to him, and those who still owed him something that they didn't have.
Sergeant Ness knew that something had to be done. How was he supposed to keep the soldiers and officers happy if they kept losing everything they had to this drunk. He would destroy this camp, and "Cookie" would get the heat. Maybe not now, but in the long run, it was really he who was in charge of morale, and it would only be a matter of time till things came back around to him.
Cookie Caught the man when he was heading off to go get some more to drink.
"Odat isn't it? Come with me. I have something I need to talk to you about."
He led Odat a little ways into the woods and stopped him there.
"You are free to leave. You are no longer a prisoner here. In fact, I will personally pay you these 25 Gold Marks if you will leave right now." he said as he held out the gold from his bag. "Furthermore, I am giving you this horse, with several casks of the drink that I owe you to help you get on your way. If however you decide to return, I will do everything in my power to make sure that you never leave. Now go." he finished, his face no longer taking a pleasant tone.
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Zandar knew what was going on. He had seen Cookie preparing the horse and loading it up with drink. As soon as Ness left the camp with Odat, Zandar signaled for three of the best fighters in camp to follow him as they followed Cookie and Odat out of camp. The men had been hand picked. They were the best unmounted fighters in the camp who would not completely give themselves away following Sergeant Ness.
Zandar and the three men with him waited for Cookie to head back to camp. Four men confronted the drunk.
Words were not really needed. Everybody knew what was about to happen. Everybody knew how far they were willing to go to avenge the death of Tomas. Everybody, that was, except for the drunken man, staggering about with a jug in his hands.
They would all enjoy drinking that liquor as a trophy. -
The Last War
#192OCC: Thanks everybody. And thanks for not complaining :P Oh except for Dream...
IC: “Tomorrow you will suffer the same fate as them.� Malik pointed down to the square where twenty posts twenty feet high had been erected around a platform. The bottom fifteen feet of the posts had been drenched with oil. Twenty prisoners, hands and feet bound were hugging the poles, most were close to the top of the poles but others were losing strength were slipping down towards the oil where there was no chance for them to avoid the cruel fate that awaited them below; a single sharp spike, six feet long below each prisoner, pointing upward, glinting in the afternoon sun resembling the horns of an evil bloodthirsty creature beneath the earth. The assembled crowd, which numbered in the hundreds held their collective breath in macabre grisly anticipation of the moment, and they knew the moment would surely come, when the prisoners lost their grip and were impaled on the spikes.
Dugal’s mind raced. Garth, Ian, Deris, all of his top men, his closest lieutenants, were before him, lashed to the oil soaked poles, with the waning strength in their arms and legs the only thing preventing them from being impaled on the spikes below. Already he could see them starting to slip towards their deaths. These were his brethren in the Deshii. They were like brothers, and sons. The followed him for years and were fiercely loyal. They followed his lead and he had let them down. White hot anger too wild to control exploded from Dugal’s core. He lunged at Malik, head first crashing his forehead into his temple. Malik saw stars as he fell back along the railing of the balcony, his vision swam as he struggled to maintain consciousness. The two burly guards grabbed Dugal, one lifting a knee between his legs as hard as he could lifting the smaller man off the ground. The guard then crashed a scarred fist into his temple and the world went black.
Rory was close enough to see the struggle on the balcony from his position in the crowd. At first he thought his eyes were fooling him because of his weakened state, but auras don’t lie.
He turned to Smeed who stood next to him in the crowd. Let’s get the children out of here. They don’t need to see this. The crowd parted and four large men with long whips walked toward the poles. They wore the sigil of the NightWatch. They took up positions around the prisoners on the poles. In unison they began to lash the backs of the prisoners with vigorous swings of the leather whips they bore drawing crimson lines of blood. The prisoners started to slide downward towards the oil.
Up in the balcony Dugal was being restrained by the two guards and held upright as Malik slapped him back into consciousness. He came to just as the first prisoner lost his grip and slid down the pole.
As Rory and the children pushed their way through the crowd away from the gruesome spectacle, Rory told Smeed, “The man on the balcony, being restrained by the guards…
…he’s my brother�… -
The Last War
#193Holly stopped, leaning against a tree panting, Halbad was close and they had only a few more hours ahead of them, "Baldwin, we must keep moving, we must get that spear and ourselves to Halbad before it is too late" without waiting for a response she walked towards a small narrow path leading into the forest, if they followed this path they would come out in front of the gates of Halbad, "so soon that i can tell the king of this misfortune coming there way, so soon that i can get the army and show my anger, so soon it is before everyone who hurt one off my family or friends will die, and i don't care if i die at the end of it, but i will have my revenge" Holly looked to the top of the tree's and saw a small shine of sunlight through a gap in between two of the tree's, it was glorious the light ending in a small circle on the floor, looking as if it was God's light, beaming down to give them advice, Holly smiled, looked to the sky through the gap and whistled, a high shrill whistle. -
The Last War
#194Baldwin trudged alongside Holly, lost in a downward spiral of dark thought. He berated himself for falling under the sway of the Dryad’s spell. How had he been duped so easily? It wasn’t like him. In matters of war he always could determine the correct course to follow. In the heat of battle he kept a cool head. The thing that gnawed at him was the absence of the feelings that the Dryad’s magik engendered in him. The brief encounter taught him something about himself; taught him about a weakness in himself that he didn’t know how to address. His mind wrestled with it as the sun set. They should reach the gates of Halbad soon. He'd talk to his brother about it…
OCC: OK Wogden I'll bite on this one. Why is life a paper towel? -
The Last War
#195The common room at the Wyvern had about it the hushed pall of a funeral. It was here that many had come to take strength and solace with one another after the executions today. Night had fallen the poles had been taken away as well as the bodies of the prisoners who were friends and relatives of the people assembled here. Rory sat at a corner table with Smeed; the children were sleeping peacefully in rooms upstairs, exhausted from their weeklong ordeal.
Rory was listening to Mac, a solid fireplug of a man with meaty hands and forearms. Mac was a carpenter by trade, Deshii and a stone killer by nature and reputation. Mac was the only one of Dugal’s lieutenants who had not got caught in Malik’s web. Mac was Rory’s cousin.
“I don’t know how they found us out, to this day I don’t. The whole clan pinched. But he has your brother and He’s supposed to execute him on the morn. The same way as the others. It’s just me you an Win. Everybody else’s killed.�
Rory was eating his fifth heaping plate of food. Where was Baldwin? “We have to get him out. Tonight.�… -
The Last War
#196Grumple trotted along with Holly and Baldwin. Their best run was an easy pace for a troll.
Unlike Holly and Baldwin, Grumple was not lost in thought. Grumple had a simple philosophy about that sort of thing: "Mind. Terrible to Waste."
Instead, Grumple amused himself by tossing the spear ahead of the group as thoughtlessly as possible and sprinting ahead to pick it up over and over. Grumple never hit anything he aimed at unless it was alive. The key here being: "was". A small animal wasn't alive for long after being pierced by the three jagged blades of the spear that came to a single needle-sharp point. If the spear didn't finish the surprised creature, Grumple quickly did.
Grumple probably gained another 10 pounds despite the long jog. Nothing like "fast food" when you're "on the run"! -
The Last War
#197OOC: Why is life a paper towel? Why, because it is thin, beige, mildly soft and spongy; it is roughly a square foot in area; it soaks up even the toughest stains; various companies want you to believe that their brand is the best; and it should never - not even in the most dire circumstances - be used as a substitute for toilet paper.
Thanks for the bite. :wink:
IC: Sitting, hardly conscious, at a grimy table in a pub he could hardly remember entering; flanked by Rory and another heavyset man who was talking steadily, Smeed struggled to get his thoughts in order. It seemed he had passed a good deal of time without really registering it. His mind was still on the executions - and he wished it would stop.
Had he known exactly what spectacle would await him in the town square, he would have turned right around and left the town once more. How in the good Lord's name could people derive entertainment from such merciless violence?
It seemed his world was slowly turning on its head. He had come to Halbad to warn the citizens of an invasion by an army of merciless, vicious killers - and found himself in the centre of an equally debased lifestyle, which just so happened to be the very one he and his companions were alerting to the imminent threat... -
The Last War
#198It was night. Night or day. It didn't matter. But it was night.
The Black Widow did not open her eyes, but they glinted as she moved her head slightly. She saw. The Black Widow did not move around much. She had built her web under the wood. The wood that did not grow. It had been put there by men. (She knew this.) It was a good place for her web.
It was not one of the large, spiralling, graceful orbs spun by the enormous garden spiders. It was not the spreading arches slung between trees of the woods spider. It was a small, tangled, haphazard mass of threads -- or so thought some observers. But the Black Widow knew that it was efficient and effective it its way, spun there under the floorboards, where no one disturbed it. Except for the occasional crawling bit of food. Something juicy always came up.
The Black Widow was pregnant. Her eggs would soon be spun safely into a web bag in the darkest, dryest corner she could find. Her tiny, tiny mate had given so much. First he had given her a small insect he had poisoned. The Black Widow accepted that. Then, while she had drained the life from the bug, he fertilized her. The Black Widow had accepted that. Then, when he was done behind her, she had turned and accepted his final gift. The gift not given, but taken nontheless. His life. The final efficiency, the last bit of energy needed to strengthen her eggs already growing within her.
As the Black Widow clipped his lifeless body free from her web, she became aware of a summoning. One she had never felt before. One she had waited all her life to feel. (She knew this). This was the moment.
The Black Widow was summoned because of her venom. The poison feared by all warm animals; all men. So insignificant an amount, yet could attack the nervous system, scramble the blood clotting process, induce fever and death within hours, or sometimes even minutes. Convulsions, necrotized flesh, and horrible, horrible pain. So easy. So simple.
The Black Widow set aside her thoughts of making the web bag for her eggs. That would have to come later. Now, she might need all her strength to carry out her task. The call of The Strand was irresistable.
The Black Widow moved up between the floorboards and into the light. Climbing. Up, and across, and up again.
In complete and utter silence, across Smeed's shoe, onto Rory's boot. Up. -
The Last War
#199OCC: Dream, you’re a bad bad man.
IC: Rory paused deep in thought as he chewed. Not even aware of the Black Widow as she climbed up the folds of his oversized cloak. A seasoned hunter she knew that it would be best to get her venom close to the center; where the blood pumped strongest, where the air changed.
“Maybe it’ll be easier to free him tomorrow morning in the square because….OW!� Her fangs sunk deep into the flesh of his torso injecting their sweet, deadly payload. As Rory shot to a standing position and smashed her, the venom coursed thru his veins racing toward his heart. The Black Widow’s children would be orphans, but how would Rory fare?
Grey and still, he fell to the floor of the Wyvern amid the upended table and smashed crockery… -
The Last War
#200OCC: Bad? Me bad? Naaawww!
I knew Rory was feeling hungry, and wanted to see if "he'd like to drop in for a bite!!!" :twisted:
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IC: There were more Black Widows. Many more. They surged from beneath the floorboards and crawled upwards. Inexorably upwards. A billowing black dust, a fuzzy black tide. Rory, Mac, Smeed... anyone in the room would do. The calling of The Strand was strong.