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 on: September 05, 2017, 04:44:33 PM 
Started by Guy-tor - Last post by Duane Knight
My bling ring looks like an infinity sone.

 on: August 09, 2014, 08:12:21 PM 
Started by Andil - Last post by Andil
Quick question regarding magic items. I currently have a certain celestial spell strike scroll that is actually an earth spell. Ie a celestial scroll that does spellstrike cure light for example. In the event that this gets put into a weapon and permed... If it were to get hit with a disrupt earth would there be any affect? Like wise what would happen if it were hit with a disrupt celestial?

 on: July 10, 2014, 09:13:12 PM 
Started by Rowan - Last post by Rowan
Hello all you weapon makers out there I am looking to buy some throwing daggers or knives which ever is eazyest to make, Im not needing them to all fancy just simple ones will do mid size I would like about 10 of them so if interested please let me know and how much it would be thanks for your time.

 on: July 02, 2014, 03:07:54 PM 
Started by Dan Cook - Last post by Dan Cook
The next four hours were a tempest of agony and death.  The surviving defenders were constantly pushed back toward the sea, but they fought fiercely.  They knew that success would mean the safety of the people of Trestar.  It became their sole focus, their life’s mission.

The city’s people filed out seaward gates and flooded the coastline in their exodus, their safety ensured by the blood being spilled within the city.  For a time, it seemed as if the escape would be made, but that was not to be the case.  The remaining defenders were pushed out from the city and the fighting led right to the civilian evacuees.  Pinned between the undead horde and the sea, all thought death was imminent.  Just when all seemed lost, the skies lit up with fire.  The stars fell from the sky and struck deep into the attacking horde.  Explosions sent undead forms careening into the night as torrents of flame tore through the enemy.  From the west, a horn sounded.  Its trumpet was followed by legions of foot-borne troops, bearing the familiar red and gold of Carpathia.  Their numbers seemed endless and they crashed into the reeling foe and destroyed them utterly.

As dawn creeped by, the battlefield held an eerie calm.  Carpathian warriors milled to and fro finishing the night’s work.  Civilians, seeming dazed and in shock, wandered the battlefield looking for their loved ones.  Slowly, street by street, the city of Trestar had been cleared of undead horrors.  The death toll was disgustingly high, but the battle had been won by the Carpathians.

The city was full of Carpathian patrols and James did what he does best and blended in.  Winding his way through the many streets, he made his way back to Miles’ manor house, where he found the Mage in the company of four Battle Healers.  They were administering to him and the situation remained dire, though he seemed stable.  James inquired as to whether the Mage had spoken yet, but he had not.  His brow furrowed with concern, the Spymaster returned his thoughts to that broken sword. Elven in make. Heavy as though made for an offhand blocking style. The copper bronze color of the hilt…

Elsewhere in the city, a figure clad in red and gold armor sat astride a gallant warhorse.  He was flanked by another, more heavily armored, male on his left, and an elegant female, dressed in an almost gypsy fashion, on his right.  The three surveyed what they had wrought and seemed pleased by the taking of Trestar.  Before them, more than 40,000 Carpathian warriors milled around the city, undertaking the soldier’s work.  The trio had directed that leadership of the city forces be brought to them.  Unsatisfied with lieutenants and captains, they were informed that the distinguished Court Mage, Lord Miles, was present in the city, though grievously wounded.  Immediately, they dismounted and ordered their troops to take them to where the Mage was.

Some time later, James looked up to the sound of footsteps.  Before him, a trio of Carpathians proudly climbed the stairs leading into Miles’ manor house.  The Spymaster rose to his feet and adopted an invisible defensive posture.  Coiled for action, he would not let any more harm come to Lord Miles.

The trio stopped inside the antechamber and looked down upon Miles’ unconscious form.  One male, identifying himself as Ramius, stepped forward and said,

“Do not fear.  Trestar is now safe in the hands of Carpathia.”

 on: July 02, 2014, 03:04:43 PM 
Started by Dan Cook - Last post by Dan Cook
One hour had passed since that fateful third horn had sounded.  Since then, the terrifying reddish eyes of greater undead had smashed their way inside.  Mikna Sillenor, a battle-hardened veteran of Her Majesty’s Battle Healers, stood atop the walls of Trestar watching the battle.  Archers lined the ramparts where they laid low hundreds of lesser undead.  Despite their efforts, the tide of animated corpses still flowed on.  It was not the largest attack Mikna had ever seen, nothing compared to the attack on Tustor so many years ago, but it ranked up there.  The attacking force was formidable, while the defending force was small in number.  Walls went unmanned and gates went unguarded ever since the main force had departed for Marce.  Thinking of small miracles, Mikna was glad to have the sea at her back.  In her mind, this was an attack intended to force the recall of that main force, so that Marce would not have to bear its brunt.

The archer next to her suddenly cried out in pain, as a bolt of necromantic energy pierced his neck.  Realizing she had been woolgathering, Mikna quickly reacted to her fallen brother and mended his wounds with a touch.  The archer stood and nodded his thanks, while continuing to knock his bow.

From Mikna’s vantage, she was able to see most of the city. Undead were attempting to climb the northern walls and small groups of Battle Healers were trying to repel them.  She was grateful to have the Battle Healers in the fight and it was apparent that the other forces felt the same way.  It wasn’t just their competence that was so valued, but their ability to fend off greater undead monsters.  Very few enchanted weapons existed in Trestar, so the Healers were paramount in the struggle.  Mikna watched the struggle as these many unblooded warriors faced down the foe.  She watched them buckle and watched them bolstered anew by the presence of the Battle Healers.  She saw no way for the day to be won and stared quietly into the melee.

All around her the undead swarmed and attacked her colleagues.  The smell of death was strong on the air.  The regular forces, renewed by the presence of the Battle Healers, regrouped and fought a smart fight, but they were slowly being overwhelmed.  Mikna was pushed into cluster of defenders and united with her fellows.  The battle was fierce, and she fought ferociously, but they could not gain ground.  The power of the foe was simply too great.

From her right, she heard her brother, Zeke, gasp, “Mother of Tyrra!”  Turning to see what he was about, Mikna stifled a gasp and hardened her expression.  Trundling through the gate were more of the fiendish red-eyed horrors.  Their skeletal and birdlike heads casting despicable shadows all around.  Defending against these lesser undead was one thing, but this was the breaking point.  The undead horde poured over the walls and through the gate.  Mikna knew that this gate must be defended at all costs, while the evacuees were being gathered.  She turned to her brothers and they spoke of death and resolve.  Marshaling her remaining forces, she stood strong to hold her gate.  In a stern voice, she said, “We hold this gate. We hold it as long as we can, get it? We won’t have a chance to resurrect here and rejoin the battle. So we hold it as long as we possibly can. Thousands of lives depend on it!” Her brethren cheered their agreement and waded into the fray with spell and sword.

 on: July 02, 2014, 03:04:14 PM 
Started by Dan Cook - Last post by Dan Cook
Moving faster than he had ever moved before, James cleared three steps at a time.  Moments before, the protective shield Miles maintained over the city failed.  he knew that something was wrong and he raced to discover its nature.  As he saw the Court Mage fall, he leapt, sliding across the last few feet of stone on his knees to catch old Miles before his head hit the ground.  Weighing almost nothing, the Mage was easy to handle.  Cradling his head, James lowered the man face first on the ground.  The cold steel blade protruding from the mages back was obvious to the Spymaster.

Screaming for a Healer, James whirled and faced the nearest onlooker. “You! Find the Battle Healers. Tell them to bring needle and gut. The Court Mage needs surgery and magic won’t do.”  The wide-eyed man nodded and ran off in the direction of the city barracks.  With a sickly sucking sound, James drew the sword from the Mage’s back, who wailed in agony.  James’ pouch yielded a first aid kit and he was thankful that he had learned the art to begin with.  With a sense of great urgency, James began to stymie the flow of blood as it poured forth from Miles’ back.  It was then that the old Mage began to mumble, saying, “I’m…. sorry…” 

“This isn’t your fault. You should not be sorry.” James said passively.
“Who… who was it?” the weakened old man coughed.
James replied, “Save it Miles. Save your breath.”  Hoping that the Battle Healers would soon arrive, he tied down the bandage and applied continuous pressure to the wound.  The old man’s breathing became shallow and rasping, a sign his lungs were filling with blood.  James sat next to the old man knowing there was little more he could do.  Time… it always came down to time.
The harsh stamp of hard leather on stone awakened James from his deep thoughts.  Four members of Her Majesty’s Battle Healers rushed up the stairs and fell in beside him.  James quickly briefed them and in unison, the four went about their grisly work.  Gently cutting away the bandages that James had dressed Miles with, they made to cut through the old Mage’s robes, but the fabric of the robes didn’t want to yield to the scalpel.  Eventually, the Healers were able to push aside the clothing and take measure of what they faced.  James watched them work and admired their efficiency. Lighting a torch for light was the only way that James could help and he stepped back to be out of the way as the practiced surgeons went to work plying their trade.

Through the clear air of the night, a horn sounded.  James tensed with anticipation.  One horn meant incoming friendly troops.  A second horn blew, signalling either refugees or unknown forces.  A third signal sounded into the air and James’ blood ran cold.  A third horn meant incoming enemy forces.  Fear and adrenaline combined in a flood of emotions.  Trestar was under attack!

From the direction of the Western Gate, a loud cracking noise tore the night.  Shouts of alarm sounded from all over the city.  Soldiers began rushing to their posts.  Officers shouted orders and the military forces in Trestar began to operate with a well-drilled efficiency.  Unused to the chaos of war, civilians scattered in every direction seeking shelter.  Military officers barked commands at them and guided them to safety. 

James turned his gaze back to the Battle Healers “Move him someplace safe as quickly as you can.”  With that, the Spymaster turned to rush into the depths of the city.  As he turned, his foot struck something hard on the ground.  It was the sword that James had removed from Miles’ body.  He stooped to pick it up and noticed something peculiar.  Raising an eyebrow, he realized that he had seen this sword before.  Rolling it over in his hands, he inspected the blade closely. Elven in make. Slender and well crafted for a nobleman. He suddenly realized that he knew exactly who this broken sword belonged to.  Tucking the fractured weapon into his belt, he made for the heart of the city.

 on: July 02, 2014, 02:53:31 PM 
Started by Dan Cook - Last post by Dan Cook
“The going was hard and we met heavy resistance in the form of skeletons, zombies, and greater discorporeal undead.  Thanks to the new weapons of the Fey and the golems, we met these challenges successfully.  Deaths were few in number, but we had a great many injured or suffering the lingering effects of the discorporeals.  Healers made short work of these problems and got us moving again.

“We were within one mile of Marce and I could see the city’s high walls in the morning light.  Arrayed before us was a vast assortment of skeletons and larger animal skeletons.  Damn.  Archers.  Our own archers fired a salvo and did their goodly work.  After the initial barrage, the Fey, Fa’Leeki, stepped forward and waited for something.  When the skeletons fired their barrage, I could immediately see what.  As their cloud of arrows filled the morning sky, the Fey waved his hand and muttered an incantation.  The flying arrows turned into snakes right before my eyes!  They hit the ground and slithered to whatever cover they could find.  This was something that had me rubbing my eyes, damned Fey and their tricks.  Lord Pietrov ordered the charge and this arrow trick played out a few more times.  Arrows turned to sticks, bees, and pine cones to protect us.  What had I gotten myself into?  Just then, the Golem horde crashed into the enemy army and lay devastation before them.  The commanding greater undead joined the fight and Pietrov ordered his newly acquired Unseeley contingent into action.  They were a whirling dervish and fought devilishly, dog-piling greater undead and beating them into submission.

“By then, we were pressing hard for the walls of Marce.  The fighting was fierce, but we were its equal.  I was offered respite from the fight by a summons from the Drae himself.  Rushing to his command tent, I could hear talk of many armies attacking at the same time we were.  There were hushed murmurs of an Arcane strike, great discourse on the assaulting barbarians, and rumors that the Dwarves had set to work on the west side of the city.  Hell, someone even mentioned the Fendari meeting the engagement.  This was all a wonder to behold.  We were doing it!  We were winning!  I couldn’t stand this talk anymore, and just when I thought my head would explode, accounts of flying drake-riders caught my ear.  There I was, standing stock still like an idiot.  I had completely forgotten why I was called here.  My eyes met Lord Pietrov’s and I quickly remembered.  I rushed to him and he bade me deliver a message to the siege commander and gather the Faithful contingent to the command tent.  I made for the line as quickly as I could.

“When I arrived, I was told the siege commander was in the tower closest to me.  Gaining permission to enter, I climbed the tall ladder that hung from the side.  It took some time, but I eventually made it to the top of the fifty foot tall tower.  The commander was there with his back to me.  I reported and passed off the message.  With a grudging “thank you” the commander went back to his work.  I chanced a look over the side, and it all hit me at once.

“It seemed like I could see for miles.  In the foreground, the forces of the Red Hood Rebellion and the Elven Nation fought valiantly against the enemy.  We were attacking the north wall and seeking entry into its gate.  My eyes were drawn to a vast horde that lay to the south.  Orcs.  I know it was my imagination, but I swear I could hear their grunts and screams of rage as they fought.  Farther south still, a new horde joined the fight.  The air was littered with flying creatures and I swear there were riders atop the beasts.  The Barbarians!  Their mass crashed against the walls of Marce and their fury was undeniable.  At that moment, I took pause to back in the work we were doing, but only briefly.  Over the city, where the west wall lay, I could see pillars of smoke climbing from multiple places.  The Dwarves, no doubt, displaying their warcraft.  From the heart of the city, I could see a great cloud swirling over the center.  Bolts of magic flung themselves to the earth and wrought horrible destruction.  All around me was the clatter of sword versus shield and the screams of the dead and dying.  It was the sound that freedom makes as it claws its way from the earth.  It was the true sound of liberty.  Below the tower, I could make out the small contingent of Faithful fighters engaging with a host of skeletons.  With blade and with spell, they knew few equals amongst our army, and they proved it by shattering each wave of undead in kind.

“Remembering that I was to summon them, I slid quickly down the tower’s ladder.  I joined with the Faithful warriors and lent my blade to their effort.  In good time, we dispatched the immediate threat and I passed along the instructions I had been given.  They nodded gruffly and bade me to lead them back.  Once we returned to the command tent, Pietrov quickly called them over to the planning table.  He instructed them to return to Clanthia and spread word of the war.  He said that all the Faithful would be needed for the final assault and must be prepared to act.  He ordered a small escort, including myself, and we set out for the fabled home of the Faithful.  We have only just now arrived to spread the word.  Gather your barons, gather your forces, it is time for the final battle in this End War.”

 on: July 02, 2014, 02:53:13 PM 
Started by Dan Cook - Last post by Dan Cook
Late one evening, a herald wearing a red hood made his way around Clanthia.  He had a bold story to tell and regaled anyone that would listen.  Claiming to be an eyewitness to the following account, he told the story with conviction and fervor.

“So, there I was, along with my squad, attempting to contact the Elves of the Darkwood.  We had made camp just south of Lamont, because we knew it had been recently taken back.  It takes no genius to figure out that the Elves make their way to Marce and by putting ourselves right in their path, they would have to talk with us.

“The rebellion knows that the Elven machine is crushing its foes beneath them and we must ally ourselves behind their banner.  Whatever their reasoning, it doesn’t matter.  They are stridently anti-Sovereign and so are we.  Pssh!  If they want to expand their holdings, what do I care?  We’ll deal with that later.  For now, it’s time to wage war.

“We made camp for several nights and on the third night, we heard a strange noise from the north.  It was an unusual noise, like the breaking of branches and the shuffle of leaves in fall.  Not knowing from whence it came, we scattered into the woodline.  I can only speak on my individual experience, but I came face-to-face with the gleaming tip of an arrow.  As my terrified eyes followed the shaft back, I made note of the bow, then the string, then the hand pulling the knocked arrow for the kill shot.  My eyes met his and we stayed motionless for a few moments.  Finally, before I was about to wet myself, the archer spoke.  “State your business,” he said.  And I mustered the courage to say something about alliance and war.  He commanded me to drop my sword and I eagerly obeyed.  Only when I was disarmed did the Elf lower his bow slightly.  He backed away and suggested that I take him to my leader.  To which, I said I was the leader.  He grinned and let the tension off of his bow.  He asked how many I had brought and I answered two dozen.  He seemed satisfied and bade me to follow him.

“We travelled for a short time and eventually made our rest at the edge of a very thick forest.  I made note of my fellows gathered in a small group to my left.  They appeared to be unharmed, if disarmed.  Their wardens stood guard and would not let them trespass further.

“The Elf that was tending to me told me to wait a moment and he would return with his leadership.  I waited more like an hour, but he finally returned with someone in tow.  A Drae.  I have never seen a Drae before and I’ll admit, I was more than a little nervous.  This could only be one person and I knew it.  It could only be the late King’s brother, Lord Pietrov, and he was indeed wearing the Kingdom colors on his hip.  He spoke calmly and quietly, so quietly that I had a hard time hearing him.  He questioned the intention of my squad, my position in the Rebellion, and my motives for coming here this night.  I was about the fight, I told him, and besides my squad, I could muster more than two thousand from nearby camps and villages.  I was proud to inform him that the Red Hood Rebellion was ready for the fight.  We just needed guidance on where to strike.

“He pondered for a moment. Looking at the Elf that had captured me, he ordered that an Elven squad be detached and present themselves immediately.  The Elf took off like a scalded dog and returned shortly with a dozen foresters.  They stood expectantly while Lord Pietrov issued careful orders.  Basically, he was instructing his squad to take half of my squad and round up the Rebellion members.  Oh, I started to get excited then, because I knew that we’d get to fight alongside these Elven warriors.  I wanted so badly to see their skill.  If it’s anything like the stories go, I’ll be so dumbfounded that I’ll likely get myself killed.

“Lord Pietrov bade me follow him.  We walked around the forest’s edge and came to a quickly thrown together encampment.  I saw a female Elf, a Dwarf, a red Orc, and a man dressed in furs.  He introduced them in turn, but the female Elf is who got my attention.  He said she was none other than Talendra of Darkwood!  This was a war council!  I knew it!  The Drae ushered me into place around a large table, where area maps and Kingdom maps were arrayed.  There were miniature figurines to represent military forces, direction lines, and detailed annotations of areas of importance.  All forces present were represented on the map and I was amazed by the number of warriors it suggested.  Presiding over this scene was the noble Kingdom banner, jammed firmly in the ground behind the pavilion.

“I was a little out of my league here.  While fairly skilled at squad-based skirmishing, I had no idea how to plan such a large scale assault.  I stayed quiet most of the time, only interjecting when I thought it would matter.  Eventually, though I didn’t fully understand, some consensus was reached and I was directed, by the Dwarf, no less, to gather what men I had and form up west of the forest.  We did and we waited and waited.  

“Several days passed and my squad hooped and hollered about the arrival of more Red Hoods!  I could see that they had turned out in force for this fight.  I knew that many of them were not warriors, but sure enough, they brought their pitchforks, old kitchen knives, and heirloom swords.  It was time to end this and they knew it.

“That’s when it happened.  From the south, we could hear the marching of many feet.  As all of the Faithful know, a skeleton’s feet make a certain clacking sound when they walk.  There can be no mistaking it and sure enough, from over the hill came hundreds of the foul creatures.  I was shocked that they could get so close without the Elves knowing!  Then it hit me.  Looking around, I could see that the allied forces were arranged in a large horseshoe shape.  The skeletons made for the curved innards of the formation.  It was a trap.

“The horseshoe closed in on the skeletons and a vicious battle ensued.  Us Red Hoods… we’re not trained for this.  A lot of lives were lost, but we didn’t back down.  Eventually, the last skeleton was downed and the collective force cheered.  The first battle tallied for our side!

“The next few days were a blur of preparation for the next move.  Long into the night we packed supplies, repaired armor, and sharpened swords.  Word went out that we would march by day to avoid discorporeal undead and be prepared to fight by night.  During those dark nights we moved, encountering stiff opposition in the form of skeletons, rotting dead, and some discorporeal undead.  Lord Pietrov had detailed numerous small squads to deal with the discorporeal threat.  I’m glad that task fell to more experienced warriors, because their haunting moans still bother me today.  

“As we moved, and I didn’t notice this at first, the forest moved along with us.  It was indeed the fabled Darkwood, and its members tore up their roots and planted them back deeply in the ground as they moved forward.  This was that strange sound we heard earlier.  It was reassuring to have such an ancient magic behind us, if not a bit disconcerting at the same time.

“We came within ten miles of Marce and that’s where we met the stiffest resistance.  Those that some call “lesser” undead were rampant.  Discorporeal horrors wrought havoc among my fellows, but they were managed by the aforementioned kill squads.  Terrified scouts returned from the enemy line and made a dreadful report.  Glowing red eyes, and you know what that means, had been spotted heading our way.  Once the report spread, tactics shifted imperceptibly.  We began falling back to the roadsides and left a wide open swath that led straight to the Darkwood.

“The fight continued and within an hour we could see the wretched beast whose eyes cast that evil glimmer.  Talendra entered the clearing we had made and I noted that she held a great horn.  It was silver, filigreed with gold, and had a faint aura about it.  Placing it to her lips, she let out a mighty trumpet.  Slinging it back to her side, she drew her blade and issued orders to those near her.  A group of Elves, perhaps 30, joined with her.  Each held a magnificent blade and I’m sure all were enchanted.  The forces in the fields beside the roadway formed up to defend and the Talendra-led group spread out and looked to be doing the same.

“From over the rise in the road, the first pair of glowing eyes became visible.  It chills my blood to think of it, but there before me was a massive undead warrior clad in rusted armor.  The piecemeal plate left unguarded areas, and I could see decayed skin hanging off of white bone.  This monstrosity was joined by dozens more, each bearing some foul weapon.  Someone on the line whispered “Death Knight” and my blood ran cold.  The stench was overpowering as it creeped its way to us.  They kept coming and coming, numbering more than fifty.  I felt lost in that moment, as I knew our force could not stand against such an evil.

“That’s when I heard the crunch of brambles and the crash of fallen trees.  I dared a turn toward the Darkwood and was greeted by yet another terrifying sight.  From the woodline, shapes became visible… monstrous shapes.  The trees actually parted to let these passersby through.  Before me, lay a great number of magnificent bears, their eyes glowing a soft green.  At their center was the biggest animal I have ever seen.  It stood more than twice my height and bore the look of an apex predator.  It’s forelimbs and head were terribly scarred and the fur was missing.  On those scarred places, great runes had either been drawn or tattooed.  The runes led up to the beast’s head where fierce markings of war had been drawn.

“By this time, the horrible “greaters” had closed on the phalanx, led by Lady Talendra.  Her blades flashed in the moonlight as she dealt with the first foe.  The fighting became fierce, but our side defended well and suffered no immediate loss.  With a great roar, the bears joined the fight and I could see that their claws actually tore rents in the bone of our enemy.  A sneaking suspicion began to crawl down my spine…  were these were-creatures?  Were these the fabled beasts that roam the forest looking for human meat?  At that moment, it didn’t really matter to me, as they fought a common foe.

“The great, tattoed beast engaged with the largest of the Death Knights and a terrible fight ensued.  The undead horror, imbued with dark power, hacked toward the savage beast, but had its weapon swatted away by a massive claw.  In turn, the bear raked its one-foot claws down the chest of the Death Knight and tore loose a shattered breastplate.  Sword, tooth, and claw, I tell you!  The beast was the better of that horror by a long shot.  It grabbed him up in a fierce hug and bit down into the undead’s neck.  So fierce was the bite, it tore head from shoulders.  I later heard one of the Elves refer to the great bear as “Glumruf.”

“By that point, our battle was finished.  The undead terrors could not hope to withstand the arrayed might before them.  Victory was ours!  After we dispatched the last of the glowing eyed monsters, a great cheer went up among the warriors.  We had ability, momentum, and a superb army at our command.  We could win this thing!

“Lord Pietrov and Talendra asserted their command and restored order to the ranks.  He directed Healers to ply their trade, mages to study their spellbooks, and warriors to sharpen their blades.  We were ready for the final push into Marce.

“That’s when things got really weird.  In the clearing, where the Death Knights had been, a ragged stone doorway slowly began to form and take shape.  I still can’t believe it, but that damned thing was right there in front of me.  Once it had become solid, its opening took the appearance of shadowy quicksilver and flowed at the edges.  The forces around me coiled for a new combat, but they didn’t get that.  Almost gingerly, a single, leatherbound foot emerged.  It tested the ground like you would test the depth of a creekbed.  Finding solid ground, the foot’s person fully emerged.  Standing before me was something I had never seen before: an Unseeley Fey.  His dark complexion was riddled with darker veins.  His horns, one cleaved neatly along the middle, pushed forth from his head, swaddled in black cloth.  His clothes were rags, but he wore a neat stole that bore the image of a black feather opposed by a white one.  In his hand, he bore a twisted black walking stick.  It had some sort of webbing between the forks.  He just stood there, appraising the gathered army…

“Before long, this Fey cleared his throat and said,”I would… like to speak with… your, ah… commander.”  Lord Pietrov, weapons still drawn, approached the figure, but kept his distance to ward off attacks.  He announced himself as leader and demanded to know what this was all about.  The Fey held his hands palm-up, in a peaceful gesture, and said, “I bring you… ah, all the help that could be mustered from my kingdom.  From Eirinn.”  Peitrov visibly relaxed and sheathed his swords.  Those around him did the same and the overall mood relaxed greatly.  The Fey turned toward the door and waved his hand.  A short time later, children, yes, children, began to pour forth from the archway.  Each bore a weapon that was obviously too heavy for them to wield.  They began to neatly stack the weapons in front of Lord Pietrov.  The variety was endless.  Some were plain, others made of unearthly metals that I have never seen.  As the work was being undertook, the Fey said, “Ah… enchanted weapons to aid you in the fight.”  Pietrov picked one up to examine it.  Deftly, he flicked it through the air in a tidy little killing strike.  Seemingly satisfied, the Drae said, “Vat more can ju ovver, Fey?”  Our guest, the Fey, upturned his head and smiled.  Again, he turned to the arch and beckoned with his hand.  This time, something much bigger came through.  Armoured and vast, the hunching forms of golems ducked their way through the gateway.  They kept coming and coming.  All told, some fifty of these creations marched forward.  They were as varied as the weapons, some black, some Mithril, some like diamond.  One was pale green and dripped some acidic substance on the ground.  All were crafted to look like Fey warriors of old.  The Fey smiled again and addressed the golems, “Do as Lord Pietrov commands until I say otherwise.”  The golems bowed and waited, silent guardians.  The Fey continued, “One more thing… my finest warriors for your line.”  With that, more Unseeley stepped through the gateway.  One, two, thirteen, by my count.  They all wore jet black armor and carried a variety of weapons.  If I were to choose a word to describe them, it would be “fierce.”  In any case, the thirteen presented themselves to Pietrov and bowed, but not too low.

“Pietrov, seeming a little surprised, graciously accepted this offer.  Shaking each of the thirteen’s hand, he ordered that the compiled weapons be distributed in appropriate places.  He moved close the the lead Fey and offered a hand.  “Ju ‘ave the best of me, Fey.  Vat do I call ju?”  The Fey named himself Fa’Leeki and took the offered hand, muttering something about a “gift freely given”.  The light of recognition lit Pietrov’s face and the deal was struck.

“The surprise had not been completed, as the Fey once more dipped through the archway.  This time he returned with a varied assortment of individuals.  He presented them to Lord Pietrov as members of the Faithful and champions of Eirinn.  There was Laeria, Moira, Dame Maelona, Squire Cameron, Ahk’uli, Arsenic, and a Sylvan called Wellin.  I was astounded to see these people present and it gave me great confidence to know that the Faithful had my back.

“Lord Pietrov quietly conferred with Talendra and announced that a new council was required in light of these new changes.  He invited the Faithful members and this Fa’Leeki to join and they planned well into the night.  During that time, we underwent several small attacks by skeletons, but they were of no import.

“After the council, Pietrov ordered movement.  It was around midnight and I knew that we had enough time to reach the walls of Marce.  We hastily prepared and made to move.  At last, we were under way to our final destination.  The End War was upon us and we would do this thing!  We would win!

continued in Part 7b

 on: July 02, 2014, 02:20:30 PM 
Started by Dan Cook - Last post by Dan Cook
Shadows and light danced upon the circular walls of the tower as a small group of Fendari gathered around a great fire. In the smoke above the blaze glimpses of a city under siege briefly played out and faded away. Behind the small assemblage the scarred form of Khanaropf sat unmoving, staring intently into the fire.

An armored fendari paced back and forth uneasily before the fire. “Is this wise? Are we truly going to draw such ire and attention to ourselves solely on the word that Merthyr and their ilk will strike at the Sovereign? Can the Arcane actually be trusted? It’s more likely they simply told our preening ambassador what he wished to hear to to hasten his leaving.”

The well-dressed ambassador D’Vinn smiled through the barbs tossed his way. “I don’t doubt they are happy to be rid of me, but if nothing else I fully believe their Queen is sincere in her intention to aid her allies in any way she can. The Sovereign has made many enemies and Merthyr is certainly among them.”


Khanaropf’s command cut through the argument and crackle of flame alike. “Our forces are nearly in position with the emblems I have provided them. By now Akeem is too far into his ritual to attempt any counter on my magics. Once I have unraveled the enchantments he has cast to defend the city the trustworthiness of the Merthyr and the Arcane will be irrelevant. If they fail to strike, I will.”

The fighting at Marce was brutal and chaotic. Barbarians, orcs, dwarfs, and men the of the rebellion threw themselves at the wall desperately seeking a weakness in the undead defense. All around the walls of Marce, at each point of the compass rose, Khanaropf’s forces made their presence known. Ghiszat warriors in shining mail stood nearly shoulder to shoulder to form a formidable ring of steel. Behind the ranks of ghiszat, fire, air, and water elementals stood together with fendari soldiers whose weapons flashed with lightning, flame or ice. In the center of each of these bands earth elementals, overseen by fendari mages, bore great stone plinths covered in sigils and runes. Watching over each of these plinths from the air were great gemstone guardians fashioned in the likeness of fearsome drakes.

As Khanaropf’s forces reached their apparent destination the earth elementals set down the plinths and began to carve patterns of curving, intersecting lines into the ground. The mages accompanying the elementals walked around the plinths inspecting the work of their elementals and occasionally adding their own runes to the increasingly complex pattern taking shape in the ground around the plinth. When they judged their work complete the fendari mages gathered around the plinth and began chanting in unison. As the chant continued the sigils upon the plinths began to glow with eldritch power.

As plinths arranged around the walls of Marce began to glow they attracted the unwelcome eye of the city’s fell defenders. The bats that darkened the sky around the city swarmed towards the ghiszat and fendari defending the plinths. The fell spirits of wraiths and spectres flitted through the din of battle to harry the defenders. From the walls skeletal figures in tattered robes hurled spell after spell towards the plinths in attempts to disrupt whatever ritual was taking place. Fendari, ghiszat and elementals all threw themselves in the path of the magical assault sacrificing themselves to preserve the integrity of their master’s ritual. One of the gemstone drakes dove out of the sky towards the unliving mages upon the wall crushing those it could and flinging others from the wall. As it made to return to its aerial vigil great iron chains were flung around it - one after another. A large skeletal knight with spurs of bone piercing through its ragged armor raised a great sword above its head and landed blow after blow upon the tethered construct until it shattered beneath the sustained attack.

After almost two hours of near-constant fighting the ring of defenders around the stone plinths was growing thin, and soon the ranks of the fallen outnumbered those still standing. The runes and sigils of the plinth were now glowing with an intensity that made them difficult to look at. Finally, at each of the stone plinths around Marce, one of the fendari ritual casters raised a thin staff of obsidian above his head and shattered it upon the plinth. Immediately, each plinth gave forth a pulse of eldritch energy that washed over the battlefield, city, and warriors of all sides. For a moment there was a lull in the fighting as everyone waiting for something to happen. However, with no obvious effect to be seen the fighting picked once more. Despite the seeming lack of effect the surviving fendari and ghiszat gave a ragged cheer and began to move away from the now cracked and crumbling plinths to a more defensive position.

In the tower Ambassador D’Vinn paced restlessly before the slowly dwindling fire. He seemed about to speak when the fire suddenly roared to new life and changed in hue to a bright azure blue. ‘Does this mean…” the ambassador began before Khanaropf cut him off with a gesture. “Look in the flames, the Lich’s magical defenses over Marce are shattered.” The fendari in the room watched in the flame as a small group of little more than two dozen Arcane appeared before the step of a great, stone temple.

As Khanaropf watched the battle between Arcane and Undead unfold in the flames he spoke, “Ambassodor, see that word is sent to the Kalarian Council. We must speak on the matter of the scroll and it must be soon. Much yet remains to be done before the Lich is brought low.”

 on: June 30, 2014, 01:03:10 PM 
Started by Dan Cook - Last post by Dan Cook
Golden rays filtered through the oculus of the domed chamber shedding morning light on the silhouettes of the gathered thirty men and women. In the center of the room, illuminated by the now rising sun and the azure glowing orb before them sat five others - young woman in white and silver, an older man with silvered hair and a golden tattoo running from his temple to cheek, an elf with marbled white and black skin, and a pair of arcane – one wise and aged, wearing similar garb to the young woman, the other in a red tabard with a white lotus emblazoned across the chest.
The woman spoke first as the sunlight spread across the orb before them, “What do you see Apollodorus?”
“Nothing yet my Queen, the Sovereign’s power still stands and blocks my sight.” The older of the Arcane responded as his hands moved slowly across the orb, his eyes becoming white as the driven snow.
“I have seen in the throne room of New Eit and Port O’Sonya – both thrones are vacant, even now he must gather his power at Marce for his great ritual.”
The younger arcane leaned toward the orb, his red stripes flaring as he spoke.  “I don’t trust Khanaropf.  He’s setting us up.  This was foolish, I should just get my men down there and help take the gates with the barbarians.”
At this the stone elf leaned forward, his fingers perched together like a steeple.  “General Alexius, our people would be fools to trust Khanaropf indeed but the great mage’s vengeance against the enemy that so sundered his body outweighs his lust to destroy the Arcane.  In this your people and his have a common foe and common goal.”
The older man with silvered hair nodded at the wisdom of the stone elf, “He’s right you know.  That said, never thought I’d see Arcane and Fendari working together.” He offers a light chuckle that is not returned by Alexius and unnoticed by Apollodorus. “Besides, even if Lord Apollodorus cannot pinpoint the location for the teleportation we have other options.  My embassy in Marce has been feeding me information for years now and the spymaster there was able to get off a message arrow from outside of the city after the orcs began their assault.  All the remaining Enforcers of the Grim Legion, all two hundred, have been recalled to that great temple to himself Akeem erected.”

The Queen, at this, turned to face her lord and placed a hand on his arm. “Two hundred Lord Arulis?  Two hundred death knights in one place is bad enough but the Enforcers of the Grim Legion?”  She looked up again and back at the men and women surrounding her, “Can we not send more aid?  Is there not more we can do?”
“If we do not assault these Enforcers, our Sutherland allies will surely die before they reach the Bat Lord. Calivar made an agreement with the Faithful and –“
As the elder Lord was about to continue, Apollodorus threw a hand up for silence and a crackle of energy began to stir the air.  “It is time.”
The gathered thirty, as one, stepped forward in the circle around the gathered Lords.  The young Arcane stood with the elder Lord, each bowed to the Queen and stepped back on either side of the table with their men.
The great mage began to chant.  The Queen stood, “You thirty represent the hope and faith of the Kingdom of Merthyr.  May the might of Kalaria and the Plane of Life bless you on your journey.”  As she waved her hand in a circular motion across the room a golden shimmer passed from her hand and across the gathered men and women.
Apollodorus’ chants grew louder, in perfect resonance with the crackling of magical energy until finally the gathered arcane – all thirty - raised their voices and joined in the chorus.  An explosion of light followed by silence.

While silence reigned in Elmyrr, a cacophony of sounds bombarded the thirty when they arrived. In the distance the grinding of siege engines could be heard, the cries of the dying, the guttural growls of orcs pushing each other on into battle but ahead of him was exactly as he expected.

A massive stone temple, eight columns across the front and many more marching on behind them – each at least six feet in diameter and supporting a pedimented roof some fifty feet above.  As striking as the building was it only warranted a moment’s attention as on the massive steps leading up to the plinth were occupied by four hundred glowing red eyes staring back at him and his men. Monstrous skeletal undead wearing armor adorned with spikes, wearing various tattered Sutherland heraldry except one – even larger and standing atop the steps at the portico behind his men wearing the colors of Orbonne – Marquis Augustus.

Arulis turned to Alexius and nodded.  Without a word the two men charged forward and the death knights began to flood down the steps, grouping together in squads of four.  While the two charged, Alexius began a chant of his own that all thirty Arcane to his flanks spoke echoed, “With Arcane might I call down an elemental strike of acid!” The first two lines of Enforcers melted and sizzled under the onslaught as the ranks behind desperately tried to recover but the Arcane were too quick as half began their chant again and the other half – blades flashing with golden energy continued their move forward to the first step – each blade releasing a burst of power turning the remaining death knights to dust.  Arulis was the first to reach the second step and was greeting by a half dozen blades.  His white shield flashed in the morning sun and parried the most devastating attacks as the ranks of Arcane behind him continued their elemental assault.  The third step Alexius reached first, having shifted from his acidic assault and now, now used elemental blasts and his pair of maces to tear through his foes.

The fourth step.  The fifth.  The acidic bombardment slowed.  The sixth.  Half the arcane had fallen.  The seventh.  The eighth.  Arulis could see the great pedestal and grotesque statue of Akeem through the columns beyond.  Almost there.

He turned back, just for a moment, to see the carnage behind him and realized – he was alone.  The steps dripped with blood, acid, and the colors of fallen heroes – old and new.
Alexius slid off the blade of a fire-blasted Enforcer in green and black and the death knight gave Arulis a wide berth as it circled him and ascended to the top of the steps.
Arulis’ eyes followed the creature to see him reunite with the remaining dozen death knights when, from the shadows of the temple the largest of them emerged and stepped in his path - Marquis Augustus.  “You’ve fought well today, but there is no victory for you here.  Submit and I will permit you to join my ranks.”
His wounds bled, his eyes stung, and his body ached as he set his shield and raised his blade in salute and simply said with his last breath "For the Queen".

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