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#Post#: 410014--------------------------------------------------
Andreth's Journey: A Guardian's Tale
By: Demonreach Date: October 12, 2019, 3:59 pm
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An ancient order whose legacy was fighting off this old god, as
well as the hordes of grotesque spawn that marched to its
heartbeat, emerged from the shadows with prophecy: of a soul
born of both darkness and light, of a soul that carried a sword
of purity to strike down the god and its hordes. A nameless
order of warriors training, of preparing, for the fated day
their child of prophecy would lead them against the legions of
the Endarkened God.
That fight, that battle, is now over; the old kingdom, now
without name, was brought lo by the child and the order, through
great sacrifice.
It has been twenty years since the fall of the Old Kingdom,
ruled by the Elves. Their king, Siagni, brought ruin to the
races of men and elves alike; his allies, known has the
Endarkened, sought to revive an old god from which they were
named after. A god that would enslave the living and allow those
that dwell beneath the earth to reclaim it once more.
The unknown order was decimated, though a few survivors were
left; the few left sought lives apart from each other, their
prophecy fulfilled.
This, however, is not their story.
There is stirring beneath the earth; a darkness seeping through
the cracks. The dark god begins to stir anew, his unconscious
thoughts seeking those sympathetic to his cause.
Will there be a hero this time, or will the World Above fall to
those Below?
#Post#: 410016--------------------------------------------------
Re: Andreth's Journey: A Guardian's Tale
By: Demonreach Date: October 12, 2019, 4:56 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
There was a faint rustle of clothes as the man jumped over a
fallen tree, the dead leaves crunching beneath his weight as he
took off running again; his breathing evened as he lengthened
his stride. His hood had fallen from his head long ago in his
mad dash for safety, he did not know if his pursuers were still
behind him, and did not care to find out. The old tracker made
quick ground despite the thick forest around him and found his
destination before the moon had passed above him. Throughout his
run back, he heard the faintest sounds of pursuit; his sharp
pointed ears picking them up. That, and it wasn't as if his
followers were scared about being found out. There was no one
around here but himself, who was on a scouting mission on the
rumors of strange happenings coming from this part of the Forest
of Lyra.
Rumors which turned out to be true.
That being said, he needed to know more.
How lucky for me..., a dark thought came.
When he came to the copse of trees he had set up at before
setting off, he was still out of sight of it when the smell hit
him. He stopped in his tracks, eyes wide fear for a brief a
moment; a chill of dread crawled up his spine as his mind spun.
The lack of sound hit his ears next, his ears would have picked
up his horses snorting at this range. He could smell his horse;
soon, he found it.
Or the head of it, at least.
He was already in the trap, he knew, but that did not mean all
was lost. The true question was how they knew where he had been
set up at. Perhaps a patrol? But that seemed out of the way for
nothing. Obviously not entirely for nothing since they had found
him. His horse had probably given itself a way, which was poor
luck as his lungs were starting to burn with the exertion. That
being said, he stopped in his tracks as the smell got stronger,
mixed in with the dead horse; he knew that what was ahead would
be dangerous --but that was known to begin with. Without
thinking he had already drawn a short sword, simple in design
though well-taken care of, as he called forth the battle energy
that coursed through his veins.
His left hand was free and so he used it to form hand sign that
would activate the minor enchantments on his garments
--enchantments he had spent hours painstakingly threading into
his clothes, pouring his magicks into them slowly over the
years. The man didn't plan on a fight, as the scent was fairly
old despite its lingering presence.
He got to the lean-to he had made himself the first day.
Clearly, he had been gone awhile.
His pursuers had gotten ahead of him somehow, or perhaps there
was another group which was a dangerous prospect. He shook his
head to dispel the faint anxiety. No matter how long he did
this, how many times he dove back in, he feared his own death.
Did that make him a coward? Or perhaps was he a saint for
persevering through it all? Either way, he would die in this
duty for it was what he swore so many years ago.
The camp, if could have been called that to begin with, was
ruined; the small fire pit he had dug had been built upon, which
is what he smelled. The horse had been roasted over their fire,
after they had torn off its legs. Likely cooked it alive. As his
eyes scanned the area he found more evidence to that; found
their feces.
He pulled a cloth from within his shirt, covering his nose and
mouth with it as he bent at the knees to examine their waste.
Clumps of hair and bits of bone and teeth stuck out, likely from
the horse. He glanced around and found a stick to poke through
the shit; bits of deer and gods know what else revealed
themselves at his search along with some roots upon closer
inspection.
A forward party then, coming from the south as to coming from
the east like he and his pursuers; that makes said pursuers
outer patrols. He frowned, putting the cloth away as he
straightened. He needed to move on. Putting the sword away, he
deactivated his enchantments and went a ways off from the site
to a freshly dug patch of earth. He dug it up quickly with his
gloved hands and pulled out his saddlebags. He quickly unpacked
what would be needed and what could be replaced before placing
it back, taking as much time as he could allow himself to blend
it in. He carved a small symbol on a nearby tree, murmuring
softly to enchant it.
The tree trembled as he ran a bloody finger along the symbol.
A small attack enchantment which would protect his saddlebag
should anything find it.
He had picked up his shovel and, after getting the horse head,
he dug a small grave for it and made a sign to ward off evil and
to thank it for its life.
#Post#: 410025--------------------------------------------------
Re: Andreth's Journey: A Guardian's Tale
By: Demonreach Date: October 28, 2019, 1:04 am
---------------------------------------------------------
He turned south and started at a job before sprinting through
the forest. The veteran knew the area well enough, though a mile
or two north and he was lost. He carried a key around his neck
that warmed as he got closer to the boundary he had etched into
a few trees that were enchanted to activate as he got closer.
They grew upon the trees lifeforce to activate and, so long as
the tree remained alive, the enchantment would persist; it
activated if he stepped within a certain range of it.
While he and his enemies were on common ground as they too
frequented this area, the half-breed moved easier through the
forest than they. As any of his kind were wont to do.
Once the moon rested on the horizon, with his body drenched with
sweat from the exercise, he stopped and allowed himself a few
seconds of hard breathing to get fresh air into his lungs. While
he knew there was some urgency to this, he would have to lose
his tail. Despite his best efforts, he hadn't been able to lose
them, which he had taken into consideration and pushed himself
to run longer. He allowed himself a small drink of water and a
bite of hard biscuit before he started to climb a nearby tree.
He glanced around and sighed.
He began to strip himself of his clothes, wrapping them tightly
around the branches in his proximity. Their coloring would make
them hard to spot, even with the bugles; which could be mistaken
for knots in the branches and, in a tree like this, that would
more likely. He wound his weapons around the trunk: a
shortsword, a hand-and-a-half hilted sword that was wrapped in
cloth, his bow and arrows, and the shovel. His boots he placed
on the branch above him. As he was undressing, his lips were
speaking softly and as he tied off the final piece of clothing,
he bit a finger and wrote on the tree with his blood.
The tree quivered slightly, leaves murmuring their displeasure
at being disturbed, the branches groaning with years of disuse;
the trunk peeled itself away, the ground at the base of the
trunk sinking in on itself to reveal a small cave just barely
big enough for a small man to fit inside. The ranger was not
small by any means. He had grown lazy, the years of peace
beginning to rear its ugly head. Still, in his prime, he had
trouble fitting into these.
He allowed his body to relax as he shifted himself to fit inside
the tree, arms wrapped around his legs with his knees to his
chest, and the tree closed around him with eery silence.
#Post#: 410059--------------------------------------------------
Re: Andreth's Journey: A Guardian's Tale
By: Demonreach Date: November 20, 2019, 4:13 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
'Get up, you have been summoned, daetry.'
Andreth stared at the creature that spoke; the creature's voice
was rough, the pronunciation of the words were broken and harsh.
She had been born in captivity, nearly twenty years ago. Her
parents had been captured, though had shortly died after she had
been born. Or at least, she had never been allowed to see them,
so she assumed they had perished. The life of a slave here was
short. For a female, even shorter.
Andreth got to her feet -which were bare, scarred, and
calloused- and exited the cage; a rusty prison with serrated
bars. Black vines twisted angrily around said bars as well as
the roof. The vines were sentient to some extent, she had come
to realize, though as to their purpose, she did not know. The
creature followed her out, closing the cage behind it. She
barely felt the warm stone beneath her feet, barely felt the
heat from the furnaces that seemed to glow day and night; the
constant billowing of smoke through exit tunnels in the roof of
the cave left layer upon layer of soot on the stone floor and
upon the ceilings; bats and other detestable creatures she did
not know the name of clung to the ceiling and stalagmites.
Horrific monstrosities that, had there not been others like
herself, other daetry, she would have been convinced she was the
monster. There were not many daetry that lived within the caves,
more having been kept in pens outside like livestock. Still, not
many were gathered. A few dozen here, though she knew there were
more cities like this within the cave she was in.
The creatures called themselves Shreyl'Kar, or Endarkened, one
slave had told her. They stood as tall as any man, some reaching
as tall as seven or eight feet. Other daetry call them ugly, or
monsters, but this was the life Andreth had known and typically
regarded her fellow slaves with a cold indifference. The
Shreyl'Kar had dark skin, pulled taunt across their bones; some
were wiry with too-long limbs; some broad-shouldered and
barrel-chested; more could be mistaken for a man. A few, those
of the tallest order, had limbs that seemed to have too many
joints: they were the Eyeless, their word for them sent chills
down her spine and was nearly-impossible for human tongue to
replicate. Horns protruded from their skulls, twisting upward.
Some curved away, some twisted around each other; some had none,
other horns short or tall.
The Eyeless were an elite order of Endarkened, serving as
priests for their god, or gods. She had only met one god, though
the Eyeless seemed to hint at more. They were taller than the
rest standing nearly eight feet, towering figures shrouded in
black robes, their hoods keeping their features secret, but
Andreth knew what hid in that blackness: A face with a lack of
features save a mouth that would grin to reveal needle-like
teeth. There were five at any given time -should one somehow
die, another would take its place- and all wielded staves with a
varying number of white-metal rings around the ends of them,
save for one, which was reserved for their leader. These served
as tools in which to wield the magicks of their faith.
Screams could be heard echoing throughout the cave and its
systems from the various daetry being punished for their
transgressions as her captor led her away from the singular
cells, making a wounding route through the makeshift city.
Smells of food wafted through the streets, the sound of a
smithy; the grotesque beasts that the Endarkened used as mounts
and their shorter, but stockier built, cousins that were used as
work beasts patrolled around, some ridden by their master; the
beasts of burden moving carts of dead bodies or precious metals,
or other various things she did not look at too closely lest she
be struck by those leading her.
As they rounded a corner, two more joined them, falling in front
of her; she noticed the one behind her had fallen back a few
feet more, allowing a safe distance between itself and her. They
were in armor, crudely made, as well as armed with curved swords
with wicked edges which hung behind their back; horizontal to
the floor. They had spears in hand, long poles of twisted
blue-gray metal with heads of a black metal -swirling patterns
had been inlaid in the spearheads, on purpose or accidental,
adding a strange beauty to the twisted weapons.
An escort?
She felt a sudden fear, her breath getting caught in her throat
as a lump formed. Andreth was going to see the Endarkened
Eyeless. Feeling her panic rise, Andreth quelled her thoughts;
finding her cold place and allowing indifference to shield her
from the terror.
Not many things terrified her here, in this place, but the
Eyeless... They were fear itself.
She hadn't realized she had stopped until the one behind her
struck her to the floor, growling in its language at her; the
guttural sounds were harsh and sharp. It kicked her when she
didn't respond fast enough and she scurried to her feet as the
two in front of her stopped as well, looking at her.
Soon, they continued and she realized they were leaving the cave
and out to the forest.
#Post#: 410064--------------------------------------------------
Re: Andreth's Journey: A Guardian's Tale
By: Demonreach Date: November 25, 2019, 12:15 am
---------------------------------------------------------
The tracker woke with the first light, the tree groaning softly
as he pried himself free from its embrace; his eyes blinked
against the soft light that barely made its way through the
thick forest. What he saw as his vision adjusted came as
something of a surprise.
His pursuers were here, and they were dead.
Impaled by dark roots that had came from beneath the ground,
some bodies pierced by multiple roots; some twisted around and
strangled their victims. They had been dead awhile, given the
decay of their bodies. The trees had begun to decompose the
bodies by absorbing the nutrients from the bodies. Not a drop of
blood had been wasted, any that had hit the forest floor was
quickly soaked up. There were about eight of the would-be
attackers, all a head taller than he, though difficult to tell
as the roots had taken them into the air. They were just as ugly
as he remembered and he felt his stomach twist in disgust at the
sight of them, although the smell of their decay may have
something to do with that as well.
The trees would take care of them before too much longer.
Another search party might come for them, but he would be long
gone by that point. Besides, he had a timetable. Their ritual
would begin before too long, if it hadn't started already. His
hands clenched into fists, the old leather creaking with the
strain.
Releasing his fists, the half-breed allowed himself a small
drink out of the waterskin at his side, wetting his lips and
throat.
The forest around him were cursed, the trees being somewhat
sentient. If one were to dig beneath one of these ancient
monstrosities, they would find Endarkened bones along with the
bones of the now extinct dwarves, along with elfin and human
bones. Twenty years ago, a war had broken out here and this
forest was the result. The Endarkened corrupted anything they
touched, their vile influence twisting the earth as they dug
deeper into the bowels of it, searching; ever searching. Even
with the forest corrupted like this, his magicks still worked
upon them, allowed him to use the trees to their full potential;
though not even he knew what they were capable of entirely. In
all honesty, he still wasn't sure why they allowed him to
trespass, not just to hide within them whenever convenient, but
as he strode unmolested through their many paths. All he knew
was that, like with other flora and fauna, they obeyed him to
some extent.
In truth, he didn't care, so long as they didn't try to harm
him.
He'd hate to have to burn them down.
A hand rested on the sword hilt at his side, pondering as he
examined his now dead foes. They obviously did not take him
seriously. He'd have to change that. With that, the half-elf
took off.
As he strode through the forest at a light job, his long legs
carrying him fast and deeper into the forest, he felt his heart
aching with the thoughts of the dwarves and their sacrifice; a
sacrifice that meant nothing now, in light of what he has seen,
let alone felt. The earth beneath him rumbled with anger,
boiling with a dark and cold rage as eternal as the night sky,
threatening to burst forth and cover the land in darkness, and
death.
He shook his head, focusing on the task at hand.
A few years after they had driven the Endarkened back the first
time some twenty years ago, a soothsayer had found him and
foretold of this day; of his new fate. To tell him that his
task, his part of the prophecy, wasn't finished. He had struck
the soothsayer down, leaving the body broken and dying at the
side of some forgotten city, even now feeling anger at the words
recalled.
And yet, he was here. A death as needless as the death of the
dwarves. Their great underground cities lost, their craft and
technology lost to the Endarkened; a race that cared not for
such things, having desecrated and razed those great cities and
wonders. He wasn't sure there was anything left of the dwarves
save a few trinkets here and there.
Sighing, he let the thoughts fade from his mind.
The old warrior wasn't quite sure how long he had been moving,
though his muscles were aching softly; exhaustion a long ways
off still. The trees around him had grown darker, more menacing;
seeming to loom over him as if trying to intimidate him into
leaving. Perhaps a warning? Either way, he knew he was on the
right path. He could feel it, even as the hairs on the back of
his neck stood on end; a tickle in the back of his mind warning
him of dark energies being used. He gripped the hilt of his
sword, feeling the innocent and virgin power within touch his
own well of magic: a muted dark power that swirled with wisps of
light.
'Ah... So the Tysu'a comes, as expected...', the words were
dark, a growl that spoke of warning and threatened hostility; it
was as if broken glass had entered his ears, so harsh were the
words to his elven ears.
He spun, the sword being drawn with the motion to cleave through
empty air. The light from the blade broke the creeping darkness
that threatened to consume him; eyes that glittered darkly
reflected themselves against the light, hidden in the trees,
watching him with something like glee.
'You..', the word was a murmur, his voice cracking against the
singular syllable; the word was more of an accusation, ice
entering his veins, freezing his heart and lungs.
'Yes, me, Tysu'a. I have returned, though I was never really
gone, was I? Your Undyth and their sacrifice were, in the end,
pointless.' The voice had altered itself, to a more
dispassionate and indifferent tone, no longer making him want to
claw at his ears with the harshness. 'You can put away your toy,
Tysu'a. I come to congratulate, and to warn. You have done well
to make it this far, but you will turn back now. The Eyeless, as
you call them, have finished and soon, my Oracle will be
reborn.'
With that, the eyes, and the oppressive presence that he hadn't
known was there, vanished.
#Post#: 410099--------------------------------------------------
Re: Andreth's Journey: A Guardian's Tale
By: Demonreach Date: December 2, 2019, 11:53 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
The unholy voice that had so whispered in his mind left his soul
cold; his mind numb, all mental faculties halting for a brief
second until a sense of urgency pulled him forward.
Giving rise to another Oracle? But no, those had been the exact
words spoken to him so many years ago. Had the entity decided to
torment, to taunt, him so? Hair began to stand on its end as he
felt the dark workings of the Endarkened Magi'y, realizing that
the time to ponder such things was long past. He steeled
himself, gathering magic around him, pulling it close to his
skin like a layer or armor; he forged his will, gathering more
of his magicks to his right hand, twisting it into a disk to act
as shield. His left hand pulled free the black-hilted sword at
his hip.
It was as if light had finally broken free, as if it had finally
found the floor of this cursed forest. It was more than that,
though, as the cold terror that had gripped even him receded to
the fringes of his mind, of his awareness. Warmth flooded
through his body, the ice in his veins melting; the fear in his
heart giving way to calm, a sense of heightened awareness.
The warrior took in lungfuls of air, feeling the crisp, cool air
of the north; smelling the forest of Lyra, allowing the noises
to wash over him in a way he hadn't felt before.
It was a rush of energy, a flux of magical power that reinforced
his magical conjuring's.
It was pure, simply.
The trees and their many arms and legs recoiled away from him,
or to be more accurate, the sword. A faint glow came off of the
magical blade, allowing a reprieve from the darkness that had so
clouded his mind and vision. He felt his own stomach twist as he
gripped the handle, his magicks swirling around the blade as if
curious to the new power that was so alien, so pure and light
compared to itself. Soon the magicks seemed to compromise with
each other and mixed together like old partners, the light and
dark dancing against each other in ever rotating swirls.
The power of the sword came from the horn of the unicorn it was
forged from. The magicks of the both sword and sword-bearer were
intertwined from a bond of friendship, of comrades in arms; the
soft light was almost melancholic, speaking of the great
sacrifice made in order for the man to be alive today.
It was not the same sacrifice mentioned by the voice, as the
Undyth were the dwarves that had fallen in the beginning days.
Instead, the man's friend, a unicorn with a blackened horn, had
sacrificed itself so that the half-breed may live. It had been a
dark and terrible day, and a longer night.
As if in response, the soft glow brightened, causing small
shrieks as branches recoiled away, burned from the pure light.
Readjusting his grip, he trod onward.
As he continued his path towards the cave entrance, he noted
strange sounds, though familiar. Soon he came to a cliff that
looked down upon a village There had been wards placed along the
cave and written in the winds around the entrance. Tonight,
however, those wards had been let down to allow those within to
go without, and vice versa.
A market day? He almost laughed at the notion of these creatures
becoming domesticated, but upon seeing the roughly made
buildings that were residential as well as industrial. He saw a
smithy, a morbid interpretation of a tannery, as well as a few
food stands that held strange meats and roots. And that's when
he saw the slaves, the dozens of humans plowing fields, being
whipped, or going about other tasks.
Whatever the reason, the warrior was glad for it and as he
watched, breathing soft and easy as to not alert any who might
be listening, he noted a group of taller Endarkened leaving and
heading away, to the east, with a smaller body between them.
Perhaps he wasn't as late as he thought.
Sneaking down the gentle slope of the cliff, he followed from a
distance; just close enough for his elfin ears to pick up their
mutterings, though he quickly abandoned the effort lest he lose
what remained of his sanity. Following some random Endarkened to
some unknown location, with all other variables unknown as well?
Weighing options, he had the decision taken from him as they
sensed him, or at least his sword, and turned, growling at him.
'Tysu'a!', one managed to snarl before having its head liberated
from his body; the other two, no three, were set upon him almost
immediately after. The slave they had been escorting just stood
there, watching, dark green eyes emotionless; cold with
indifference.
Was that fear?
All other questions faded as he twisted his body to duck beneath
a swing from a crudely made sword, the longsword whipping out to
lope the offending arm off, following the move to parry a mace
from the second, using the flat of the blade to push it into the
third, hitting it in the chest. He heard the air leave his
lungs. A leg kicked out into the mace wielding Endarkened,
taking it in the ribs. He cut down the third with a quick flick
of his wrist, whipping the blade around again to lick at the
side of the seconds throat, dark purple blood gushing from the
lethal wound.
His shield vanished and he made a gesture towards the woman,
whose body went limp as he put her to sleep. He caught her with
his free hand, the unicorn blade smoking with the blood of the
twisted creatures. Their armor had been useless against its
edge, and had he been of mind, their weapons would have broken
beneath the swords power as well. Still, they were dead and he
was alive.
He lifted the small woman over his shoulder like so many bags of
potatoes and took off, headed southwest.
It was time to leave.
Several minutes, perhaps an hour or two even, had passed before
those guards were found by the Eyeless awaiting their arrival.
Those shrieks of rage and fear from the mouthless monsters
haunted him still, in the darkest corners of his mind that his
subconscious even shied away from.
#Post#: 410104--------------------------------------------------
Re: Andreth's Journey: A Guardian's Tale
By: Demonreach Date: December 7, 2019, 3:16 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
It had all happened so fast for Andreth.
A few minutes had gone by as she was being escorted through the
forest, away from the village around the cave entrance. It was
different, strange, alien, to her as she strode by other daetry;
some eyeless, missing a hand or several fingers; some had a foot
removed, in most cases both were removed, forcing the now
footless bodies to work on bloodied stumps. The maiming's were
harsh and brutal, dealt out swiftly and without much fanfare. It
was just that way here.
Andreth did not know why she had been spared the cruel
mistreatment like so many of others of her kind, or at least,
pondered why her punishments were never so severe. Had she been
any other female daetry, she'd probably have been forced to bear
the abominations of the crossbreeding of the Endarkened and
slave.
They were small, fragile-looking creatures that grew to be about
three-feet in full height, though their hunchbacks forced their
already small bodies into looking even smaller. Despite this,
they skittered across the ground of the cave and the forest
floors like so many spiders, using their small greedy hands to
help propel their small frames forward, like grotesque dogs or
rats. Even these creatures, known to her as imps in the slave
tongue, however maintained a station about the daetry.
The imps were allowed special privileges to use the dark magic
of the Endarkened gods to transform into spiders, albeit large
ones, as well as carrion birds and rats. During the war twenty
years ago, the kingdoms of the daetry had made it a practice to
kill such creatures upon sight. Some lands, closer to the
forest, still made a point to do so- some of those much closer
to the forest, or even used the cursed forest as a backyard,
allowed no hoods for fear of the Eyeless.
The Endarkened she dealt with on a day to day basis did not know
the names of such places, as they all saw them as slave lands.
This would be her first meeting with the Eyeless herself,
despite having seen them from afar every dark moon; despite
having felt their cold magicks seep into her body, coiling
around her mind, her inner self, like chains. The next three or
four nights left her shivering in the dark, sleepless and
paranoid as she heard that dark voice murmuring its thoughts,
its dreams, into her mind. Images that had left her a sobbing
mess at first.
As she counted the steps they took, for little else than she was
bored and tired of chasing circles in her head as to the
reasoning of such an escort, she felt it. A prickle at the edge
of her senses, a sense of purity and light that inspired a new
fear inside her heart. She turned around slowly, watching as the
Endarkened warrior yelled a word, something that didn't make
sense to her, and was beheaded. The other two quickly fell.
She stood there, watching in horror as this unknown light came
for her; basked her in its glow that left her soul bared to it,
burning out the infection that sickened her very being.
And she screamed, almost a shriek as she tried to get away but
unable to move, unable to look away; her voice broke, silence
filling the air, and then darkness.
#Post#: 410113--------------------------------------------------
Re: Andreth's Journey: A Guardian's Tale
By: Demonreach Date: December 13, 2019, 8:22 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
The girls scream had broken something inside her throat, the
warrior knew having heard the break at the zenith of such a
noise, and he feared that even that split second of sound had
alerted the dark-spawn below them. He moved quickly, allowing
his magicks to disperse around him; the conjured shield and
armor, translucent to the human eye, started to swirl with the
dark magic within him. The blade of the unicorn sword in his
hand had stopped smoking, the purple blood becoming nothing as
he slid it back in the sheathe.
The dark magic that ensorcelled his body hid his presence, or
more to the point, allowed him to blend in with the forestry
around him, as cursed as it was. It was why the guards had been
lapse in their vigilance, not that they were expecting him to be
here of all places. However, not matter how he hid himself, the
Endarkened God would feel the death of its followers, of its
ilk, and soon the real hunt would begin.
And to think, he had spent all that time avoiding being caught
by those pursuers so many hours ago.
Dusk was falling now, the sun quickly hiding its eye from the
world to allow its sister moon to reign. He had long since
abandoned his veil lest he be too weak to fight, though allowed
his conjured armor to return. Besides, they all knew at this
point.
He felt the rage from the bowels of this earth, felt the trees
shudder in response; felt the girl slung across a shoulder like
so many potatoes stir and murmur -noise he quickly quieted. The
half-breed had been running for a few hours still, dead
sprinting through the forest heedless of the dangers. Twice he
had to dispatch two patrols, allowing the forest to take the
bodies. The branches had taken their pound out of the half-elf
as well, scoring scratches across his bare flesh as he ran.
Stopping, the intruder allowed himself a small break, quickly
drinking the remaining water he had before setting off again. He
knew he was close to the border of the forest, close to open
country and road. They wouldn't be able to catch him then.
So close, so far.
He stretched his legs out, lengthening his stride. He could feel
them behind him, giving chase; their war drums a desolate sound
that echoed in his bones, a horn that bellowed through the
trees, shaking the leaves with its singular note of death; he
heard the baying of dogs, a sound that left ice in his veins.
So close.
Again, the baying came, closer again and to the left; the sound
was off, bouncing off the trees as the sound echoed around him.
Three hunting parties, at least eight per party led by those
dread-hounds. Another round of baying and then silence.
He imagined he could feel their breath on the back of his neck,
and that's when he heard it, too late though as one of the
hounds overcame him.
It came from his right, crashing into him with a snarl. A war
veteran, as well as being elvish, the tracker rolled with the
blow, having lost the girl in the crash, and came up with a
viciously elegant dagger that gutted the hound as it tried to
pounce upon him.
Creatures as ugly, if not more so, as their Endarkened masters.
They stood as tall as his stomach, heavy with muscle; their fur
was thick and often matted, fetish items and other Endarkened
ritual paraphernalia twisted in the dreads of their clay-red
fur. They were intelligent, vicious animals with fierce yellow
eyes, fangs as long as daggers and claws like shortswords. They
produced venom through their saliva glands and their claws oft
times were sharp enough to slash through most metals as well as
some weaker magical armors and wardings.
He found the girls body, still unconscious, and bent to pick
her, left arm wrapping around her waist, when he felt himself
being watched. He paused in his movements, moving his head
around to search for his stalker.
Or, as the case may be, stalkers.
Upon looking around, the other hounds had caught up to him,
panting grins as they licked their lips; ropes of saliva dripped
onto the forest floor, sizzling lightly. He was caught, though
their masters were still some distance away-- still if he didn't
solve this quickly, he'd be outnumbered and outmatched. He was
fast, adept at his craft, but a score and a half of Endarkened
would make quick work of him.
Touching the black-horn hilt at his side, he felt the purity of
the unicorn's power intermingle with his; both magicks caressing
each other beneath his skin like lost lovers. He had been chosen
so many years ago, found worthy in the eyes of his former
companions, and he would be damned to die here, cut to pieces
like some dog.
He rushed a dread-hound, pulling free the unicorn sword and
cutting the dark-spawned beast in twain; using the momentum of
his slash, he flicked his blade to send the blade slicing into
one of the other hounds that had jumped towards him at his rush,
dismembering the front two legs at a diagonal slash before
bringing the blade around to behead the creature, and took off
at a run. The girl hadn't left his grasp with the rush, even
through the cuts that killed two of the dogs.
Three dead; three more to go.
With that, he slid the sword into its sheath as he ran,
summoning his own magicks this time.
Dark energies coalesced around him, seething beneath the thin
layer of magical armor. He shaped his will, his voice deep and
low as he incanted, his words giving his magic form and purpose.
The magical armor cracked, seeming to barely contain the power
beneath it; abysmal power seeped through the cracks, pouring
over it and out like smoke, or a thick mist.
As he felt the miss of fangs on his heels, a small misdirection
ward that saved the ankle tendon and his own life, he cleared
the forest; almost stumbling as he felt relief hit his soul,
filling the very fiber of his being.
Still, they wouldn't give up.
He jumped a few steps into the clear countryside, a plain of
grass that hit his shins, flipping backwards to crush the spine
of the dread-hound that had missed him; his lips twisted into a
feral grin and he allowed the dark mist of energies to explode
from the magical armor, the armor pieces being used as shrapnel
to inflict injury upon his pursuers. With that, however, the
dark mist swirled around him to cover a small area of a few
dozen yards.
He came through the other side of the mist, panting as he
spurred himself onward, his prize in hand.
Behind him, he heard the yelps of the hounds as they breathed in
the dark mist; the magic murmured into the tendrils of mist
would choke and suffocate those that entered it within moments.
It would seep through their skin, their pores, and orifices to
render them helpless as babes, soaking up their lifeforce and
using it to prolong its own life. The yelps soon stopped, and he
turned back, more than a hundred meters away now.
The parties were just converging upon the mist, cautiously
approaching. He murmured to himself, vocalizing the mists
secondary function as they surrounded it. They didn't know he
was gone, that he stood, watching.
Soon the mist started to collapse, seeping into the ground; as
it did so, the mass of it flattened, spreading out to cover the
ankles of the Endarkened warriors.
The one they called Tysu'a turned as the screams began and took
off; his long legs and elven blood allowing him to cover the
ground fast.
It would still be days before he reached the nearest village, a
week still before he reached his actual destination.
He closed off the distracting thoughts, focusing his mind and
will to the task at hand.
Getting away.
#Post#: 410124--------------------------------------------------
Re: Andreth's Journey: A Guardian's Tale
By: Demonreach Date: December 29, 2019, 12:31 am
---------------------------------------------------------
The man had been sitting around the small fire, silent in
thought- brooding more like- as he stared at the unconscious
woman. She had small cuts and bruises from the fighting, which
were already healing. Her chest rose and fell steadily, body
limp from the magically-induced sleep.
He had taken the time after setting up the small camp to go into
the town of D'Efro just down the road- the walls that surrounded
the town stood and made from grey stone; various sections of the
wall were blackened from the many sieges it had fended off from
the Endarkened -he knew the town had been rebuilt at least
twice, the most recent twenty years ago. A dark time, indeed.
He tasted the bitterness of the memory; he could still smell the
chaos, hear the sounds of death around him.
The fortress itself was a large monstrosity separated by the
town from a river that cut through the land--four minor
fortresses also lined the river, though without being burdened
by a town-- allowing the two to be connected by the drawbridge
that led into the fortress itself; during sieges, the citizens
would be able to house themselves within the fortress, turning
the town into a potential battlefield itself. Sprouting from the
fortress like arms holding a child, walls encircled the town
itself, standing as tall as twelve men and wide enough to sport
a few mounted arbalests and giant cauldrons which would hold oil
during times of war. There were six gates that allowed for
entrance into the town, one facing the Forest of Lyra, two at
either end of the river that cut through D'Efro, and two more at
the south-east and -west; the last faced the northward, at the
fortress' flank to allow for trade, or escape should the need
arise.
The river itself was large enough for two barges to float side
by side, spanning for leagues in its path; it ran through an
underground aqueduct that spanned the town; on the northside of
the river the aqueduct sprang from the ground to connect to the
other fortresses. None were sure were such constructs had came
from, or who engineered their creation, the history having been
lost through the centuries. Some of the buildings had giant
cisterns atop their roof to act as a reservoir, though mostly
they could be used to flood the streets such was their capacity.
The fortress and walls were built about twenty feet into the
ground, which were hollowed out to allow for extra space and
storage.
His trip was mostly for supplies, and to make preparations; He
planned on staying for another day, at least, to recover and to
get messages out. Thinking about the woman again, he rubbed the
bridge of his nose, knowing his headache wouldn't be quick or
painless.
Waving a hand, he broke his spell over the girls relatively
simple mind and prepared himself.
He wasn't sure what to expect as the girl blinked the sleep
away, but she quickly deduced she was gagged and bound as she
struggled to run and scream. Tears began to roll from the dark
purple eyes that stared at him in fear, slitted pupils were wide
with panic. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding
and untensed his muscles, though didn't let his eyes stray too
far from the woman.
'I am Aegnor, and I do not mean you harm,' he spoke slow, firm;
allowing some of the hatred he felt for her creep into his
voice. 'However, I will not hear your forked tongue, nor will I
tolerate disobedience. The safest thing for me to do is to leave
you here, dead, and do not think that option is still off the
table.'
The woman nodded in understanding, still trembling and breathing
heavy; sweat had begun to bead along her forehead.
'Good. Now I will ungag you and unbind you, but before I do know
this: You cannot run from me, you cannot hide, and you cannot
talk your way out.'
The girl nodded again, and the man known as Aegnor did as he
promised, slowly removing the gag first before proceeding to cut
her free from the rope that bound her hands and knees. The woman
did not push his rules and merely sat there, staring at him in
fear. He wasn't sure the girl could do much of anything, given
how badly she shook. At least, he hoped it was fear and not
anger.
He still didn't know how much influence the Endarkened had over
her, how powerful she was. Aegnor wasn't sure how an Oracle
could be made, so didn't want to take chances, but he knew how
most of the enslaved were. Those with enough charisma were
allowed to spread the word, to Speak twisted truths, oft times
spread dissent. Their tongues were cut in twain so that they
could be capable of Speaking, turning a tarnished silver; and
given how they looked like any other man or woman, most people
don't notice they are even being turned by such a creature, for
surely such beings capable of turning their backs upon their
brothers -their own kin- could only be described as monster.
Given their unique characteristic, they were called forked- or
Silver-tongued. When they Spoke, they Spoke a truth tainted by
the Endarkened, corrupting the thoughts of those they target
with their tainted truth's. Serving much like the imps in the
regard of heralding the return of the Endarkened, their
influence had been known to topple kingdoms far from the border
of D'Efro, which had their own measures of detecting such
treachery.
Sighing, he shook his head, poking the dying fire, and spoke,
'We are going into a town. You will stay at my side and speak to
no one, even if approached. We will be staying here for the next
day and night, then we leave. Once we are on the road again,
there will be time to speak.'
Aegnor knew the girl was confused, but that was perhaps for the
best now. So long as she feared him until they were on the road,
he could deal with the consequences then.
#Post#: 410232--------------------------------------------------
Re: Andreth's Journey: A Guardian's Tale
By: Demonreach Date: January 4, 2020, 3:20 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
He had managed to sneak in the first time, but now he and his
ward were to go in through the gate. Aegnor knew he'd be
recognized and didn't plan on hiding himself; the lord of this
fortress and he were old friends from the Endarkened invasion
twenty years ago. The girl would be harder to explain, and the
reasonings Aegnor could think of would not satisfy his old
friend. He simply did not know enough about this coming war,
should one even be happening, but surely there must have been a
reason for the Endarkened god to whisper to him, to show itself
to him.
While the dark-touch -such as her purple eyes or his own ear;
the left ear having been cut, the scar blackened and cold to the
touch- couldn't be glamoured or hidden, there were more than a
few instances of others outside the Forest having been
dark-touched, enough so that two walking together would be seen
as merely odd, especially down here in the South.
He looked back at the Forest, regretting the loss of his horse;
regretting the loss of many things.
'Up, girl. We are leaving,' his voice was distant, cold; his
eyes meeting hers for a second in which she quickly scurried to
her feet.
Aegnor would have no arguments; though he supposed the
Endarkened were cruel masters. Shaking his head, he doused the
small fire with the leftover water he had heated in order to
make an ointment for her small cuts, though as he had been
watching earlier it looked like she might not need it.
He, however, needed sleep.
An hour later saw them to one of the many small, country roads
that connected to the main traveling road from the main fortress
to the other four, smaller fortresses as well as to many small
villages and farms that dared to try to forge a life for
themselves this far south. Patrols were often down into the
countryside of the fortresses; many outposts and barracks had
been built along roads and in those same villages and farms. The
roads were well maintained to allow people to travel to and from
the fortresses for festivals, such as Spring and Fall festivals.
Occasionally there would be a farmers market held throughout the
year, lasting about a week. The outer laying villages and farms
were a day, sometimes 3 days, ride away from the main forest.
He had been careful to avoid such places as they had traveled,
not wanting to expose himself or the his charge until they had
arrived; he truly did not want to stay longer than the day he
allowed for himself already.
Their trek on the road to the main fortress of D'Efro saw them
pass many farmers and merchants making their way along the road;
a few carts and wagons were being pulled with whole families,
though their appearances' were dirty they looked none the worse
for it, and it wasn't long before he could see the D'Efro
fortress.
The Southeast gate had a small line to enter, a small retinue of
guards hung around, loosely looking through bags, packs,
barrels, and various other containers that were escorted in.
Each guard that went through the belongings of their people, a
smaller person -male and female alike- took tally of the
belongings that were given to them.
A guard and his clerk looked him and the girl over, the clerk
frowning in disappointment and moved on to another group while
the guard spoke to them.
'What's your business here?', came a deep voice from within the
helmet, hazel eyes looked at the half-breed with a distrustful
look, but maintained a professional stance despite how rogue-ish
Aegnor probably looked.
'I have business with your lord, Hourdrith Stonebeard.' Aegnor
said, giving the soldier a small salute, 'I am known to him as
Aegnor Fellfire.'
The soldier froze, staring at the half-breed again before
bowing, 'My apologies, sir! Please, allow me to escort you to
see Lord Stonebeard!'
The soldier saluted smartly and began walking, followed shortly
by Aegnor and his companion; for her part, he noted she merely
watched, eyes wide with fear and not a little bit of curiosity,
which was slowly winning over the fear he could tell; briefly he
wondered if she even knew how to speak. They followed the young
soldier through the wall, as that would be the quickest way for
them. There were all kinds of shortcuts through the walls if one
knew where to look. All soldiers were required to memorize these
pathways. Despite the amount of forces that would be arrayed
throughout the farmlands, there still a considerable size of
soldiery within the walls and town, as well as the fortresses
themselves. In truth, almost everyone had done time on the walls
of D'Efro, or gone through some training. It was required, even
the women knew how to wield a sword and could fight; the
children were taught self-defense, though that was just to build
a foundation for them for their older years. They never fought,
used mostly as runners or couriers. Make no mistake though, the
children wielded small swords or daggers, sometimes small
crossbows, and knew how to use them if only basically.
The locals had dark skin, naturally and from years training
under the sun; their usual dark hair often times bleached from
the sun -more and more, the children were being born with blonde
hair. They were all lean and hard with muscle, their shoulders
broad. Personally, Aegnor enjoyed his years here; enjoyed the
laborious tasks, and as he breathed in the air, he allowed a
small smile.
It was a place he felt at home, despite the horrific
connotations it held for his memories. That, and he didn't know
if he would make it back in one piece. Truly, Aegnor felt that
he hadn't. His body hurt all over, and his legs hurt to hold him
up. He hadn't been in a brawl like that in a long time, hadn't
pushed himself so hard in years. The magic was taking its toll
on him, but he was so close.
And so, bone weary and soul-scorched, legs shaking with the
effort to propel his body forward as the girl and escort trailed
ahead of him before stopping before a large door, in which two
more guards stood at attention, pushed it open to allow them
entry into a rather large study and stood in front of the lord
of the fortress, Hourdrith Stonebeard, the last dwarven King.
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