Stradia: The 4th War - Book 1 Thread 3 "The North Falls"

[Mintaro]

Penn smiled grimly when he saw his arrow hit the man. The grin changed to defiance however when he pulled the arrow out. He was about to draw his sword to attack the man directly when he held up his hand.

The next thing Penn knew he was enveloped in a cacophony of wind, noise and pain. When he had regained his barrings he saw that he was now inside the ritual room. He recognized the ceiling from when he was a child. Other than that the place looked like a slaughter house. Blood was splatter across much of the room. He tried to stand up but fell back again on his ankle painfully. He reached down to feel it, it was swollen but did not feel broken. He noticed a large piece of broken wood nearby, likely the culprit of his twisted ankle. Standing up slowly, taking pains to balance on one foot he watched the goings on.

He watched as Zoreg was finally taken down by the warrior. Saw the diminutive Loki, laying quietly in a pool of blood and vomit. He was about to rush over to Loki's side, to make sure he did not die. The man seemed to have a knack for taking horrific blows. When Ishvah shouted out to him.

Looking down Penn did indeed see the bare leg. He was not sure however if he could hit this target again. Or even if he could, whether it would do much. But draw he did anyways. This man was a Venurian, and all Veniruan's would have to be fought sooner or later. Feeling his quiver he felt his last five arrows. Pulling out one he pulled back his string firmly, taking careful aim before releasing.

[Barahad]

Graeme paused a moment as the mighty troll shuddered violently and died. His sword had been driven deep into the side of Zoreg's chest; hearing the cries of battle behind him, he began pulling with as much force as he could muster. The sword came haltingly at first, and then a terrible pressure was released, and it popped out, nearly setting Graeme on his rear. Straightening, he examined himself, then his fellows.

Loki was in a bad way, and it was unlikely he had much strength left to stave off death. Graeme gestured at one of the uninjured priests, who had been standing like a statue during the interminable combat against the Venurian warrior. "Father, your skill in the healing arts would be a blessing to my Dwarven companion; he lies at Death's door, and I fear it is inexorably opening."

He then glanced at the other uninjured priests. "Tend to your fellows as best you can. Lay the dead to rest, and take care of the living."

He glanced then at Bentis, as he registered the heroic and deadly conflict Penn and Ishva were caught up in. "My friend, I think our particular skills might be required near the entrance of this sanctuary." Lifting his sword into a middle guard - protecting himself from nose to groin - the now shieldless knight advanced on the combat, hoping that his presence would afford some measure of distraction - and protection - for his companions, that they might have to face less of the creature's potent wrath.

"Avelia protects," Graeme whispered. "Bahamut guides. Armour be strong, blade be true." Then he was in the combat, and the time for prayer was over.

Graeme did not strike immediately upon stepping into the stone-skinned troll's awareness. Instead he watched the creature's movements, registered the cracks in the stone skin, the weaknesses subtly revealed by fresh chips and flakes. Blood dotted the troll in some places. Ishva and Penn had done admirably well.

Graeme finally struck: his sword cutting diagonally, hissing towards the troll's wrist. Steel sparked on the thick stone; the troll itself seemed unmoved, but looked at the knight with smouldering eyes. Graeme frowned and drew his blade back: the wrist he had just struck flicked dismissively in his direction, and the knight felt a powerful burst of air strike against his chest. He dug his feet in and leaned into the gust, but the burst intensified, and soon the knight found himself lifted off his feet and thrown unceremoniously to the ground, striking hard on his back. He gasped at the pain of the landing, then scrambled quickly to his feet.

"You would dismiss me so casually, creature?" Graeme's eyes were bemused, but his mouth set in a grim line. "Tell me, what is your name, and what is your purpose?" Then the knight moved to strike again.

[Azisien]

Temple of Avelia - Ritual Room

Jahvid, in a gesture that was most surprising, bowed low for Graeme. As he rose back to his full height, Graeme was already starting an attack motion. The staff came up quickly, but Jahvid shifted it back in a defensive manner, equalizing the momentum of the blow. The longsword slashed deep into the wooden staff, and the sounds of the cracking, splintering wood was audible throughout the room. "In the tongue of this land I am known as Jahvid, personal apprentice to Lazarith. My purpose is to follow my Master's orders, nothing more." With that, another powerful blast of air rocked Graeme backwards. More interested in holding onto his sword, the knight lost his footing and fell just as hard as the first time.

"You are no doubt consumed by the rigours of war, I..." Jahvid trailed off, and glanced down at his left leg. An arrow had just pierced the back of his calf and the tip was now protruding just to the left of his shin bone. He looked back up at Graeme, his facial expression unchanged. His eyes were watering, but otherwise you would think he was just looking at a bug on the ground. "...I don't believe my presence is entirely understood." The apprentice of Lazarith walked over to the bloodied corpse of Lieutenant Zoreg, which was still pinning Bentis to the ground. Jahvid started to grow in size, as if he wasn't already large to begin with. The arrow protruding from his leg didn't grow with his body, and started to bend and tear the now sizzling tissue on his left leg. The druid's face only noticeably twitched once, when the wooden shaft finally snapped in two within his growing bulk. He reached a full ten feet in height.

Jahvid's staff had grown with him, it was as tall as he was. He slammed one of the pointed ends into the stone, but there was no breakage. The stone seemed to merge with the wood, as if it had become water. Leaning over slightly, the druid grabbed Zoreg's mangled neck with one huge hand and lifted him up. Bentis gasped for air as the great weight was removed.

Zoreg's body started to smoke, and seconds later his armor burst into flames. Following suit quickly, his skin and what was left of his hair ignited. Soon his entire body was a giant, seven-foot-tall torch, held comfortably in one hand by the strange, augmented Venurian. As the light show continued, and Zoreg's body burned away to ash before their eyes, several of the unharmed priests crept up to Loki, Bentis, and Graeme.

Two priests huddled around Loki's fallen form. The dwarf had succumbed to unconsciousness still gripping the dagger he had intended on using against Jahvid. Together the priests held hands and placed their free hands on Loki's back. White light glowed over all three of the bodies as the priests uttered synchronous prayers to Avelia. Loki's smaller wounds started to close, and all other bleeding stopped. Though, the dwarf had very little left to bleed out. Noticing the front of his shirt soaked in both old and new blood, the priests gently turned the dwarf over. After a few moments of examination, they found his deepest wound. One priest laid a hand on the puncture wound, but shook his head at the second priest. "Too deep."

The second priest smiled and clasped Loki's hand. "Avelia protects." This time a more subtle white energy started to flow between them. The magic was concentrated and moved in discrete lines. A close observer would also notice the lines moved from the priest's artery to Loki's veins. After a few more seconds, the priests hand had been completely drained of any colour. With each passing second, his heart would pump more blood into his hand and return the colour, only for the magic to remove it right away. The first priest laid his hands on his companion's back and muttered his own prayers, transferring much needed energy to the donor. Despite the contribution, the second priest's eyes started to flutter, and her body started to dip forward. Loki, on the other hand, was looking much more lively, though still unconscious.

A third priest looked over Bentis, who was still on the floor gasping for air and clutching his crushed body feebly. With Zoreg defeated, his rage had finally subsided and he was now more concerned with his damaged body. The priest laid a hand on Bentis's ribcage and closed his eyes. After a few moments he opened them and looked into the boy's eyes. "You are fine. Four ribs are broken and limiting your ability to breathe." The priest glanced at Jahvid, who had burned over a third of Zoreg's body away. "You are a hero. I watched you fight that monster with all your heart. Now we need your strength more than ever, to strike out against this greater evil."

With that, the priest laid a second hand on Bentis's ribcage. "This will hurt." Intense white light burst from the priest's hands, and the pair both screamed in pain together. Drips of sweat fell from the priest's face almost immediately. Every two seconds, there was a light popping noise as one of Bentis's ribs was set and mended. On the tenth second, the priest collapsed onto the boy's ribcage; even comatose, the servant of Avelia continued to sweat profusely. And though he had fallen on Bentis's ribcage, the militiaman had felt no pain.

One of the priests that had been injured woke from Vincent's song and limped to Graeme during the brief pause in combat. "Sir Knight...Avelia protects...through you." With a hand on Graeme's shoulder, the priest suffused warmth, comfort, and power into his body. Scraps, small cuts, and gashes healed. Bruises were reduced, aches faded noticeably, and Graeme became fully alert once again. "Avelia protects." The priest said weakly, and fell on his buttocks, conscious but looking like he could sleep for a month.

A fourth priest, a male, had busied himself with dragging Amwhey's unconscious body out of the danger zone.

Vincent, continuing his song and watching as Zoreg was burned away into nothingness, finally reached the broken bench where Amelia had been carelessly thrown. The song had done little to improve her condition, but Vincent could feel her lifeforce. At the very least, she was alive.

Jahvid burned away the last bits of Zoreg's body, but kept a small chunk of black coal, the remains of the ex-lieutenant's skull, in the hand he had held the body with. He calmly placed the stone within the folds of his robes, which moved as normal clothing did, despite the fact they were still coated in solid rock. Still ten feet tall, the apprentice Blood Druid looked up at the ceiling, a smile washed over his face. "Another mission completed, Master."

******

Outskirts of Gole Forest - Between the Temple of Avelia and the McGuiness farm

Embrize sent scouts to survey the farm they had assaulted rather unsuccessfully earlier. The hunters returned in short order to inform him, and Xivven, that Kenshurian horsemen had arrived from Gole or a random patrol. They had burned the Venurian bodies in a heap and carried their own fallen back to Gole, along with the few survivors. Embrize turned to Xivven, making sure the whole company listened in as well. "We should hug the treeline of the forest for the rest of the day. There's little chance any Kenshurian patrols will spot us, and even if they did, they won't be able to chase us down within the trees. South and east, as far as Gole Forest will take us. We can make camp at the very edge of the forest." Embrize knelt down and used his spear to draw a crude map, noting their position in the center, Gole to the east, and the forest running south and slightly east of their position. He added two straight lines south of the forest, one west-to-east and one south-to-north. "These are the two main roads that connect to Gole, used for merchant travel. Any Kenshurian armies would also use the road, puny as it is, that is the way of this country. Master," Embrize nodded to Xivven and continued, "the easier road to strike is the west-east one. It lies only a mile south of Gole Forest's southern edge. However it leads to the village they call Weste, a pathetic stronghold even by their standards. Traffic is greater on the second road that connects to their larger cities...But it is at least four miles away from the forest, and more heavily patrolled."

The other gargoyles in the party grunted. They were still eager for battle, even after the day's gruesome events.

[Aieris]

The giant tree had finally stopped chasing her, which meant that Aieris could finally stop moving, and breathe. As she sat down in the shade of the largest tree she could find, she took a few moments to do nothing but breathe, then closed her eyes, leaned back against the tree, and concentrating on making sure that the fires she had started in the moving monstrosity that had chased her would not go out.

[TheBlindMime]

Loki was up, hammers in hands, all the rage within him channeled into as constructive a manner as any dwarf could muster. He wanted to fight. Charging his massive opponent he hooked their wrist with a hammer and spun him around, there was no glory in a killing blow to the back. The creature looked at him with the utmost disdain, Loki returned the vile gaze with an added grin, "Zoreg!"

Grinning stupidly now, Zoreg nodded, "Loki Swordforger." Loki grimaced at the trolls inflection upon his clan name. In this sacred place, they each knew each other as well as they knew themselves. Twas the curse and the blessing of Goggruck, the final battle. The temple was far from this place and long forgotten by the two warriors, in every dwarves final moments he comes here along with his final enemy to prove himself worthy of the promised land.

So they stood before the gates of Muldoon. The city was drenched in the night of a land long lost to the dwarves, yet here it stood with its braziers burning low, save for the bright light surrounding Loki and Zoreg. Loki had never been here, but he knew it well. This was Muldoon, Muldoon the land of the dwarves, Muldoon the land of heroes, Muldoon the land of the dead. This was the place of judgment, the place of Goggruck. If Loki could best Zoreg now, as he had bested him in life, he could pass through these gates. But first, Zoreg must be silenced. "Die kenzhuran!" Zoreg drew back his arm to begin his powerful swinging mace.

Leaping into action Loki charged headlong, he moved with a swiftness and skill he had never known in life. In moments Zoreg was a shattered heap of a beast and Loki stood triumphant, standing tall over the weak and pathetic troll. The grin had returned to Loki's face, accompanied by a fine beard that any dwarf could be proud of. He turned towards Muldoon to call for the Boreniur Horn, to sound his triumph and herald his entrance to the famed city.

Muldoon was gone. Zoreg as well. Loki stood alone in the aether, there was nothing. "Is this all there is, is death as much a hollow shell as a corpse?!" His cry reached no ears, there were none to hear him. Soon he too began to fade into nothingness, a proud dwarf to the end he smiled and began to laugh at the enveloping darkness. It had not defeated him, it only smothered him.

Victory was Loki's.

[Lumenskir]

As the new troll began its ascent to gianthood, Ishva had the slightly nauseating sensation of what Loki called life, staring up at the daunting figure of a being that towered above everything in the room. This was a true master of shapeshifting, a body of living canvas, where any whim played out in splashes of strength and swirls of invulnerability.

Even as Vincent's song washed through her, the futility of the situation crashed against Ishva's sensibility. "We cannot hope to beat him...""

And then the song stopped beating into Ishva's ears, warping from the consonance of the hymn to a singular, gruff, familiar voice. "Well, sure, you don't have a chance with that attitude."

Ishva forced her head to remain still, not wanting to dare the chance that shaking her head in delusion would shatter the image of her mentor. "What can a Journeywoman's hands hope to accomplish against that thing?" Her voice was spiderweb stretched thin, longing to catch the faintest trace of any kind of promise, even that of false hope.

"I'd be surprised if you could even draw two more drops of blood with your hands. But, with stronger hands...maybe you could do some damage."

"I-I don't understand, the only hands I can change are my own!"

"No! You are a member of the Order of Recogni! If Bahamut wanted your hands for his claws, you could only be a willing supplicant! Give him a reason to perform such a feat, and you will have the tools to properly fight your foe!"

And with that the image was gone. Ishva reached out to make sure, but the emptiness was a grim embrace. She clenched her hand into a fist. "Then I shall be the claw of Bahamut..."

Springing to her feet, the elf plunged her hands into the ground, sinking into the rock as if she was plunging through sand. Pulling her limbs out, now coated in a veneer of rock to match the enemy's, she took her form and rushed at the enemy. As she ran her body shimmered, coating itself in scales. Parts of her mind submitted protestations at the heavy demands, but were silenced as the damaged leg of Jahvid began to take up more and more of Ishva's field of vision.

[Mintaro]

Penn lowered his bow. It seemed that this Troll, though he did not seem to truly be a troll, was not intent on killing them. If it was it would have done so already. Disposing of Zoreg so effortlessly, though he did allow them to kill the beast, was proof of that. Penn weighed the options around him as he watched his arrow snap like a splinter in the grown shapeshifting elementalist's leg. He took damage, and he bled, but in the end nothing came from it. Truly they stood little chance.

Penn could not run, because his allies could not run. Penn could attack, but likely the creature would simply kill them out of annoyance. Surely if the beast had meant them harm he would have done so by now, they were weak, but getting stronger by the moment. The priests healing them and renewing their vigor. Penn knew the truth then, they had to leave this creature unmolested, in hopes they could defeat it at a later date.

Then he watched in horror as Ishvah plunged her hands into the stone floor and pulled out wicked claws from them, she ran at the troll to attack. Penn acted swiftly. Running full tilt he made a desperate move. Getting between Ishvah and Jahvid, he held his arms out to the side, Ishvah did not have time to stop her assault. The clawed fist slammed into Penn. He would have been knocked backwards, except for the claws that stuck fast, holding his body in place. Blood spread out down and across his chest. Warming his skin but cooling his body. "No...more..." He gasped out.

Then letting his head lull back he looked up into the Blood druids eyes. "Please...leave us be..." Penn stood there, standing as though balancing on a great beam. His vision fading in and out. He was not sure what damage had been done, but he prayed he had stopped a far greater damage being done to them all.

[Azisien]

Temple of Avelia - Eastern Treeline Area

The persistant smouldering from within the roots of the Oak seemed it a kind of agony, and it's attempts to put out the flames were futile. Then, abruptly, it halted its attempts and started moving at impressive speeds towards the temple.

******

Temple of Avelia - Ritual Room

Jahvid came out of his longing stare to examine his massive legs. Layers of skin were bubbling and flaking off at an alarming rate, revealing more and more raw, bloody, burned tissue. The giant druid frowned disapprovingly; a gesture more fitting of a discovery that one's boots had been torn or stained. He glanced to the entrance of the room, but didn't seem to be watching as Penn dove in front of Ishva and absorbed a wicked blow. "Oak."

Suddenly, Jahvid seemed to snap out of something, and he noticed other people were in the room again. "Ah. Yes, I am sure you are quite confused as to why I am still allowing you to live. Truthfully, whether you die right now, die in the siege at your village, or die in some later battles makes no difference to me or my Master. Unless it is my mission to destroy you, which it was not. However, Oak's philosophies may differ from my own. If you value your lives, and I do not see why you would...Then again I am not you. But if you do, and most creatures do, I suggest you flee to your hiding places." The blood druid paused for a moment, as loud tremors started to shake the entire foundation of the temple. "Ah. With haste."

There was a loud crash that nearly knocked everyone off their feet. Something had just struck the temple. Penn was knocked over, unable to support himself or hold onto the beam. Without immediate healing, the two deep wounds in his chest would ensure his death. Another impact and an accompanying crash. Cracks started to line the ceiling above the statue of Avelia in the center of the room.

[Lumenskir]

A million responses crowded Ishva's throat, fighting to be released. Screams of 'Why!' and 'Why?', beaten down by admonishments of guilt, in turn superseded by harsh insults, coated with a smoky glaze of despair and hopelessness. In the end, after the cacophony of possible responses, all the elf could muster was a sudden heave of regret.

As the temple shivered, as her claws slid off what should have been Jahvid's damaged leg, there existed two Ishvas: One to place the full amount of blame on the troll and strive for his death, the other to acknowledge that no matter what should have been, she had damaged Penn, and any action against the troll would serve only to undermine his efforts, and his sacrifice. An internal forum commenced, with the guilt of Penn's wounds conquering all. As consolation, the other half was allowed one glance at Jahvid, and if looks could kill, the troll's entire bloodline would have been reduced to an eternal din of suffering and anguish.

Her body still boiling with unused adrenaline, Ishva scooped Penn into her arms, careful to disturb the body as little as possible. She left the vicinity of the troll, rushing towards the priest who had attended to Amwhey. She presented the body like a broken watch to be attended to. "Father...please?"

[Aieris]

As the huge Oak tree lumbered back towards the temple, Aieris felt its departure not only in the ground, but in her mind The fires she had struggled so hard to maintain grew steadily harder to maintain until, with a sigh of exhaustion, she let them go. The fires might continue, or they might not, but all Aieris would know would be sleep. Her last thought as she closed her eyes and leaned back against the tree were hopes that she would not be found by the wrong people.

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She was standing outside the cottage in which she had spent most of her years while growing up. The sky was dark, and so were the trees, the grass, everything really. The world seemed a pale gray, and the silence was overwhelming. There was nothing. Nothing moved, nothing made noise. There was no smoke or light coming from the cottage. In essence, the world aside from Aieris seemed dead.

As she stared out over the empty land surrounding the cottage, she caught a glimpse of a fast moving light coming from within the forest to the west. As the light grew closer, she could see not only that it was human-shaped, but that it seemed insubstantial. It passed straight through trees and hills in its way, never faltering or slowing its race towards Aieris.

As she attempted to draw power with which to defend herself, Aieris met her first shock of this drab otherworld. The fire was not there. It would not answer her, it would not come. And so, completely alone, she stood there as the light came steadily towards her.

As it neared the cottage, Aieris realized it was a woman, one that looked much like her, only with finer, more lithe features. As an astonished gasp of "Mother?" tumbled from Aieris' lips, the apparition came to a stop in front of her, and spoke.

"Daughter", the form said, and its voice came from nowhere. Its lips did not move, and the forms voice seemed to echo from the heavens themselves, "I am waiting for you. Come find me. Hurry."

The form of her mother then disappeared, and Aieris was left to wander the empty world alone until she awoke.