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Fall into Darkness
Posted: 15 Jan 2007 01:05 PM |
((OOC – from this point on for the sake of clarity all posts related to the Atalan storyline will appear here))
Port Royale and Brandibuck lie devastated, their citizens toiling to recover while mourning their dead.
In Midor, Vidus Khain, self-styled White Bishop, continues his xenophobic raging.
Buckshire lies subdued, aware of the proximity of those responsible for the attack on the nearby town, and their own suffering but a few months back at their hands.
Ferein lies watchful, its troops as ever for the most part engaged in the endless life and death struggle along the Slyvian, aware only to well that the Atalan sword must fall somewhere, some time.
For three days now Vives has watched and waited, licking its wounds, as random bands of adventurers tour the lands warning farmers, merchants, shopkeepers and resting overnight in places thought likely to be open to attack.
All of them unknowing, all of them unaware, that three days ago….
The two dwarves worked tirelessly, their mining axes flashing in the lantern light and occasionally sparking as they belaboured the latest rich seam to be unearthed in their ancient halls.
A day back, word had come via the Aristi that the Atalan were abroad, that in Brandibuck folk had died at their hands. Here in the Halls and mines of the dwarven homeland, though, such things mattered little besides the never ending delving for metals both rich and mundane. Day after day, night after night, pickaxes and hammers continued the endless labours of mining and fashioning metals in the forges and smithies.
Fundor rested his pick head on the floor of the tunnel for a moment, stretching, but not for long. After all the rich vein which gleamed before him would not mine itself, nor transport itself to where he could hear the smelting fires roaring accompanied by the sound of the forges and the smithy hammers, distant but nevertheless audible, as they were throughout this place.
“Did ye hear that, lad?” Asked his companion, head cocked to pick up whatever had distracted him even above the all-pervading sounds of industry.
“Clearly thinking that his workmate had perhaps rested overlong in the feasting halls, Fundor once more leaned on his pick, aping the other’s posture and peering into the gloom further down the tunnel.
Barely audible perhaps but could it… yes, there, the sounds of rock falling over rock, of pebbles trickling down a wall. He reached out for, grasped, and held up the nearest lantern, looking for the source of the sound, and noted the dust and small stones falling from the ceiling a little further along the tunnel, one which was heavily and expertly shored up but nevertheless…
He pulled his mate back, at the same time turning to shout warning of the collapse, getting no further than ‘ROCK…” before the tunnel wall erupted, sending debris slamming against the wall opposite and a cloud of dust, ash and smoke along the tunnel. Fundor regained his feet unsteadily, mentally thanking Bregodim that he was still alive, and that furthermore, judging by the deeper shadow in the choking gloom of the tunnel, his mate was also.
Reaching out again he grasped an arm and pulled, meaning to head back towards fresher air and safety, then stood gaping at the arm which had come away in his hand to the accompaniment of a sickening thunk. Then the other shapes appeared, materialising through the dust created by their breach, yelling war cries in their harsh tongue, heavily armoured and clearly intent on death and destruction.
Fundor spun on his heels, dropping the arm, and ran, once more yelling warning, but this time of the true nature of the problem, “DUERGAR!”
Thus, deep below the hills and mountains, outside of the knowledge of the majority of the people of Vives, began the battle of the Halls. For three days it has raged, dwarf and duergar locked in a bitter battle beneath the ground.
For the first day it seemed that all was not lost, the dwarves rallied quickly, alerted by the warning, and held. Giving literally an inch here, retaking an inch there, but holding as the tunnels echoed with cries of pain, war chants in both dwarven and duergar, war axes gleaming in the dim light, blood falling to form pools in the dust of the floors.
The battle was bitterly ferocious, no quarter asked or given, no one yielding unless wounds simply became so dire as to mean a complete inability to fight. Those with minor lacerations fought on, even here and there a squat figure continued to fight one handed as limbs hung limply at their side…or were lost altogether. Into the night the battle continued and seeming like it would never end until at last the duergar drew back a ways and both sides drew breath, bound wounds and set watch for what all knew was a battle sure to continue in its ferocity.
Day two dawned in the world outside, a world which was waking to news of the attack on Port Royale while once more, still unbeknown to all the two sides stood once more locked in a mortal embrace.
Now there was trouble, the duergar had taken pains during the respite to blow more entries into the ancient halls and pressed on multiple fronts, their better known brethren fell back through the residences, abandoned the smithies and forges, and formed a wall of steel and flesh in the Great Hall of Bregodim itself, guarding the altars of their gods with their lives. Battle priests chanted in tongues known and unknown, mages unleashed searing bolts of arcane energy, but the dwarves once more, sturdy and ignorant of pain, held fast, a veritable wall such as that renowned in the song of their people. Here beneath the eyes of their deity, the dwarves dug deep and held back the invaders, who once more withdrew to lick their wounds. This time a longer pause, a deeper breath.
With the rising of the sun this morning, the great and ancient halls saw once more the clash of war axe on shield, heard the cries of pain, the deep chants of dwarven song. Once more came the duergar, and once more in greater numbers than before. The dwarves of Bregodim are a doughty folk, tempered like steel, but there numbers are few. Yet still, throughout this day as Vives waited and watched they have battled, they have fought as perhaps none have done before.
Yet at last they fell back, abandoning those bodies of their brethren beyond reaching, carrying those nearer at hand and in orderly fashion retreated to the Entrance of the Halls themselves, betrayed. For unknown to them as they took courage and gathered energy in the last fatal pause, the Atalan arrived, locked in evil alliance with the deep dwarves. To the clash of steel on steel was added the deep hum of bow and the hiss of feathered arrow, the Archmages joining the duergar casters in a fearsome display of arcane might.
And now, beaten, battered, yet still proud, the dwarves have abandoned their home, at least for now.
For the Halls of Bregodim have fallen under the rule of the darker brethren of the dwarven folk, and the Atalan beside them. Once more the industry of that great land pounds, but now to evil intent, while above, the world of Vives watches… and waits. |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 15 Jan 2007 01:05 PM |
| ((Bumped to main forum)) |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 15 Jan 2007 02:01 PM |
"Oo! Cake." Bognar reached deep into the trash bin, stretching out his grubby, dirty fingers for the half eaten stale cake at the bottom. His armour creaked as he leaned his whole weight on his abdomen, biting his tongue as he bent over. "Dagnabbit!" Suddenly, the bottom of the barrel came up to greet him, as he tumbled inside, toppling the barrel, covering himself in filth.
Pushing the trash bin off himself, and brushing off the larger pieces of waste, he munched happily on the forgotten pastry, walking through the back alleys of lower Port Royale.
"Hm..." the dirty dwarf mused, wandering into the nearest tavern, a small hole in the wall called the Drunken Rat. "Think I need t'wash this down wit summin'."
Tossing up a handful of coins on the bar, he took a tray of ale steins off the bar, carrying it carefully to the nearest table. Thrusting himself onto the chair, he bid greeting to the two men already occupying the table - two men who, getting their first whiff of the homely dwarf, stumbled out the door, gasping for air. He shrugged, taking it all in stride, and slugging down the ale with reckless abandon. He let the atmosphere of the tavern wash over him, and he listened to the murmers of the other patrons. Two halflings sat in the corner, drinking from tiny flagons and talking rapidly.
"You hear what happened to the dwarves?"
"No, what?"
"I heard they got attacked! Dark-skinned dwarves and those Atalan Elves! Their home is in ruins!"
"Them too? Wow..."
Bognar didn't hear any more of the conversation. He was already out of the tavern, shuffling down the alleys, tightening various pieces of armour and grabbing at his axe and shield. He cursed rapidly and wildly, running for the first boat to the Southlands.
"Dagnabbit! I been away too dang long! Spendin' all m'dang time trainin' t'protect th'Halls, now I weren't there when they needed me! Hold on, m'kin, Bognar's comin'!" |
- [Rob], Balthor, Jake, and Thomas. |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 15 Jan 2007 02:53 PM |
| ((OOC - Please note the post means what it says. The Halls have fallen and are now inhabited by severe forms of nastiness. You have been warned)) |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 15 Jan 2007 03:27 PM |
Balthor's hammer rose and fell sluggishly on a makeshift anvil in his home. Pang. Pang. A poorly fashioned sword fell from the anvil to the ground, and Balthor shuffled to a couch, falling into it. He blinked sleep away from his eyes.
Waiting for the Sugar Man to come and claim him. Waiting for Jessup to come and do the same. Funding and fueling the rebuilding of Brandibuck and Port Royale, and the Atalan attacks. And most importantly, taking care of and paying attention to his son. Everything weighed so heavily on him.
His son slept peacefully on the bed, a long day of playing, dirty diapers, feeding, and playing with his father. Balthor offered a thin smile at the child's sense of peace, even among such madness. He pushed himself to a stand, pouring himself a cold drink, something to pick himself up.
Leaning against the bar, he couldn't stop thinking about everything. He felt stretched so thin; like the next straw would break him.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Balthor looked up sluggishly. Another guard, he mused, waiting for Balthor's next donations to bring back to the help. He wandered over slowly, foregoing all sense of security, pulling the door open. A dirty dwarven face looked back at him. Balthor slowly recognized him as Ragnar, one of the dwarves in his employ. He offered a slow nod, and mumbled a greeting.
The conversation was short, but to the point.
"'Ey, boss, we was wonderin'..."
"Wonderin' what?"
"..Well, if'n yer hearin' the news."
"What news?" Balthor perked up slightly, eyebrow raising.
"The Halls, boss. They was attacked by them damned Durzagon. Our kin was driven out."
Balthor's eyes widened. He nodded absently, and shut the door without another word. He could hear Ragnar's feet shuffling back down the hall. The old dwarf, blinking away weariness, letting this new information race through his head, heaved a heavy sigh. How could he help? He was already out a lot of money for Brandibuck, a hundred and fifty thousand! Just to beat Val. He had already promised his aid to Port Royale, and the order wasn't even half-filled. His son was to be with him for another two days... and there was always the threats on his own life and immortal soul.
"Rest... Rest be all I be needin'. That's it.. Jes' rest. Bruce... yer in charge... make sure everythin' gits done, tell th'guard I'll be takin' a nap an' they'll hafta c'mon back later." He spoke, not even remembering if his faithful familiar was in the room. No confirmation that he had recieved the order, Balthor climbed into bed, taking his sleeping son in his arms, and simply collapsed. |
- [Rob], Balthor, Jake, and Thomas. |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 15 Jan 2007 08:42 PM |
Talk was quieter in the Black Pearl since the attack. It was the sort of quiet that sounded like mutiny, terse and hot at times. I still couldn't see out of the eye nearest the cheek where the arrow grazed me. My left hand still didn't want to ball up into a fist, all tender and flab, and putting weight on my left foot made me feel like my bones were made of ale-soaked playing cards. The healer had told me that the poison was rare, deadly, and persistent. That the toxin had seeped into my brain and its effects would linger. That I should stay off my feet for a while. That's what I was doing. It was worse than being in prison. There, you had people to hate. Here, I was my own jailer.
The coins felt heavy in my bad hand, lain down in a neat pile on the counter. Pugwash kept the bourbon coming, head cool, eyes ready for any signs of danger to his profit. Word was that the Pearl was one of the few establishments that had been left unscathed by the attack. Too bad I'd been out for cigarettes.
There had to be something I could do to make myself feel better. I was, though it didn't often occur to me, a rich man. There were fair odds that whoever had made me rich had died in the attack or had more important things on their mind than what they might think I owe them.
Past the hangover, past the beginnings of a new day of drunkenness, an idea began to swim before my eyes.
*A handwritten note, large, bold, and crude, is slathered across the abandoned Tribune easel*
***************************
WANTED: ATALAN EARS
500 COINS PER LEFT EAR
REDEEM WITH GUY
REAR OFFICE, BLACK PEARL
PORT ROYALE
***************************
(( Please DO take me up on this if your character is of a mercenary bent. Just try and keep an accurate count - we can do this on the honor system. Please don't post to this thread about it though, so that The Ranger doesn't get mad at me for making clutter. )) |
True solace is finding none, which is to say, it is everywhere.
-Gretel Ehrlich |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 17 Jan 2007 10:46 AM |
It had not been too long a march but nevertheless it was a painful one for the survivors of Bregodim. At first, consideration had been given to the nearby mines in Midor mountains. But, while certain that the ogres and other occupants would not prove too much of an obstacle, the proximity of the Halls and their new occupants was all too painfully evident.
So it was that the dwarves of Bregodim passed slowly over the mountains to the coast and found Ikarian Bay. There they have encamped temporarily, for temporary it must be, the only food what they mamanged to carry away from the Halls, medicines and supplies all short, it would not be long before the Bregodim dwarves were forced by circumstance to move on though none knew to where that might be. |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 17 Jan 2007 11:04 AM |
There has been no official confirmation or explanation; in fact no word from the White City at all.
Rumour is slowly spreading via travellers who have visited the Great Plains of the cloud towards the city being unusually thick.
And being lit from beneath with a livid, blood-red glow... |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 18 Jan 2007 04:00 AM |
Balthor stood on one of the larger rocks. A small congregation of dwarves stood in front of him, waiting to hear what he had to say. Many were injured, most were dirty, and all were in poor spirits. He spoke loudly, and spoke to each one of them.
"M'kin! Now is not th'time t'sit on our rumps after th'fall of our Halls!" The crowd grumbled, shifting slightly, some nodding agreement.
"At th'end of th'day, we'll sit t'gether wit ale an' bread, an' share our stories of th'fallen! Songs'll be sung of every hero t'die at th'Battle fer th'Halls!" The crowd stirred, many overcome with the memories of their friends and family that fell to the Durzagon, and the Atalan.
"But now ain't th'time t'strike back! We're hurt, m'kin, an' we need t'pull t'gether! Stick witcher brothers in yer time'a need!" By now, many heads were nodding along with Balthor's words.
"There are those who would lend us their aid, even though they need their own! Th'halflin's of Brandibuck!" This caused a stir, heads turning to whisper to dwarves nearby.
"They've opened their gates t'all of us! Workin' t'gether, th'kin an' th'right size'll build enough homes fer everyone, an' brew enough ale fer every belly!" This caused a few chuckles, some dwarves considering the humour in dwarves and halflings living together.
"In time we'll reclaim our Halls an' our home, but right now, we need a home, an' they need our help! What say ye!"
He stood there, awaiting their response. |
- [Rob], Balthor, Jake, and Thomas. |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 18 Jan 2007 04:29 PM |
“Newest reports gathered by the sentries tell that the Gwaerdhalme Scouts ave returned only with locations of bodies, but not a livin soul brought in with them,” Commander Bassir reported. “If’n ya want me ta send em out again, I can. But we are runnin a fools errand at this point ta think that the Greys left any alive after nightfall. Ya heard the screams as well as I as we marched. The rear guard, er what’s left of em are in this camp. We will ave ta make due with what we ave. I can count on one hand the officers o’ both Axe an Shield that made it out a the Halls an the canyons.” Bassir slumped back in his seat and returned his attention to the throwing axe sitting on his lap.
The eight remaining Eamon Elders from the former Halls of Bregodim exchanged glances around the hastily constructed table. The reports had all been the same over the last 4 days. No hard numbers of survivors, only guesses. The attacks had been violent and non-discriminate. While the majority of casualties had been Gwaerdhalme of the Axe and Shield, many women and children had either been lost during the assault of during the trek to the coastline. The uncertainty of their own numbers, coupled with reports of a rapidly dwindling food preserve had reduced many of the council meetings into nothing more than shouting matches.
Viewpoints differed, but for Coruva, he knew that each one realized the same thing as he. Inaction would leave them here with no food, no shelter, and at the mercy of future attacks should the Duergar and their elven companions track them through the mountains. The medical tents were already overflowing, and it would not be long until disease outweighed battle as the reaper of dwarven souls.
Laid out before the assembled eight was the possible destiny of a nation. Coruva believed no less. To the Vale, some had pondered. Others had spoken of a counter attack. And now word had circulated that Balthor Mountainhand spoke of an opening of Brandibuck. Though the halflings may not have the crop to support themselves, let alone seven thousand dwarves since the raid of their own land. But nothing could be done by sitting and debating.
It was agreed then to send four Heralds of Bregodim to what they hoped were still free cities and allies. One to Icy Vale, a second to Brandibuck, the third to Buckshire, and the fourth to seek council with the Heralds of Aristi. One must return with an open hand of aid. Until then, the scouting parties would continue their searches. To the very doors of the Halls if need be. They had been surprised once, and paid the price, they would not be again. Truths began to sink in as the shock drifted away and concrete plans began to be constructed. One being that each knew what may need to be done to ensure the lives of their kin. Kin is kin. In the end, little else matters.
Coruva returned to his tent after the council meeting and pulled a ragged leatherbound journal from his pack, along with two large stone tablets. Perhaps destiny refuses to wait and gives each one of us a push in the back when we stand still too long. Faith cannot diminish, even in the darkest hours. He opens the book to a familiar page, taps his finger over smudged text and stares at the faint outlines of a map late into the night. |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 18 Jan 2007 06:41 PM |
Silence from the White City. The still-thick smoke from the burning Midoran Farmlands had, by chance or fate, blown towards Midor to settle over the city. It was a dark, brooding cloud, and it hung over the city like an angry storm cloud. Like a storm cloud, lighting occasionally flashed a product of fires smoke and heat, and not any natural weather phenomenon.
And still, the city was silent. The people stayed indoors in an attempt to escape the chocking smoke, leaving the streets empty save for the normal red of the Righteous Swords. The temple grounds were especially silent. No word had come from the Conclave, or, more importantly, the White Bishop. No harsh words. No venomous heralding denouncing Midor's enemies and praising the power of Midoran. There was nothing.
Complete silence.
Then, as if in defiance of the oppressive silence, the massive temple doors opened. They opened slowly, impressively, but in the smoke the intricate silver and ivory sculptures looked dull. The smoke was blocking much of the sun. They doors banged loudly as they stopped and the temple bell begin to ring. One bell rang, a stark contrast to the silence, and a young boy ran from the temple.
He crossed the temple grounds, and the lone bell was joined by other bells, bells that had not been rung for year. More bells joined in the cacophony, a discordant blast of noise that barely resembled the normally beautiful chimes that summoned the faithful for worship.
The boy dashed across the plaza until; at last, he found the gatehouse. The captain of the guard was already hurrying out. "M'lord," shouted the boy, his breath ragged with effort and excitement. "M'lord! Here!" He waved a message packet as he darted towards the captain.
The captain waited for the boy to arrive. "M'lord," gasped the boy, "Message for you!"
The captain took the packet and broke the seal n the packet. He unfolded the paper he found inside and read in silence. He read it again, and a third time. Finally, he folded the paper and looked down at the boy. He coughed, silently damned the smoke, and said to the boy, "Go. Tell them the orders were received."
The order had come from High Paladin Uvanale, but the captain knew who had caused it to be given. Gone was the time for speeches. Gone was the time for outrage. Gone was the time for peace. The bells continued to ring, calling the Midoran faithful, not for worship, but for war.
The captain barked orders to his men. Report to duty, at once, for soon, Midor will ride to war. Ferein would pay for its heartless aggression.
It was, after all, the will of Midoran. |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 19 Jan 2007 12:16 PM |
As the Midoran forces begin to mobilise on the Great Plains, as the dwarves debate their future in Ikarian Bay, as Ferein continues in ignorance f Midor's actions...
The Atalan strike again.
Yet another community obliterated, consumables, supplies, anything useful has been taken, anything not portable or likely to be of use destroyed. This time the pall of smoke climbs above the Divider Chain as the small hamlet of Gladden burns. |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 19 Jan 2007 08:11 PM |
*Letters are sent to Balthor, Alton, Valtherion, Salt, The Illumine Alliance Office, the Oinstoin residence, and the P&J building in PR. Each of them contain various pleasantries, and with the exception of Alton's (wherein a few vital words are changed), they all contain a particular passage.*
...With the unfettered attacks of the Atalan across all of Vives, we find ourselves in the horrific, absurd situation of wondering which of the few undecimated targets will be next. Midor and Ferein, even with war looming, can arguably fend for themselves. Buckshire exists on the very edge of Atalan territory and has no more than a few town guardsman and rangers comprising its defenses, second only to Gladden in its weakness.
The artificers of Tockticken, for a great sum of coins, are willing to drastically change the odds. For one million coins, they will supply Buckshire with an adamantine golem. For two million coins, they will supply Buckshire with three. The constructs would be delivered within one week of payment. Their commands will consist of aiding Buckshire proper (as well as the Trading Post) against any hostile invader - and any changes to these commands would have to be issued by the Tockticken engineers themselves.
Any who have seen the golems firsthand will agree that even a single construct could change the tide of battle. Take a collection amongst those you trust. Between us all, there is money enough to protect the last unscathed town of the North. Time is of the essence. Please give anything you can - to Highhill (with whom I am keeping council) if you do not trust my intentions. As it stands, Buckshire is waiting to be wiped out...
*a notice to similar effect has been attached to the Trading Post guildhouse itself.* |
True solace is finding none, which is to say, it is everywhere.
-Gretel Ehrlich |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 20 Jan 2007 08:09 AM |
Jered Collet raised his head groggily, trying to pull himself to his feet, a task not helped by the arrow in his leg.
Nevertheless, he eventually managed to get himself upright and looked around. Shaking his head to clear it and desperately looking around through eyes that were stung by the thick, cloying smoke.
No, he hadn't dreamt or imagined it, the village was still full of bodies, civilian and military, though more now than there had been when he and his detachment had arrived to relieve the guard that should have been in place here.
The priestess still lay where she had fallen while questioning the halfling and the two humans standing over the bodies of those two elves. The White Bishop was right, everything outside Midor and ignorant of the light was not to be trusted. Three people who should have known better helping the heathen attack Paws. They had all died it was true, but as the priestess said, doubtless they were just assisting the elves to save their own skins.
Their entire story had been a transparent lie, they had been caught red handed and doubtless would have enjoyed their time with the inquisitors being educated but then the elves had struck again, doubtless some rear party, and the relief detachment had been destroyed, the elves using the opportunity to escape with their heretic helpers and the bodies, hoping to hide the evidence.
But he, Jered Collet, Righteous Enforcer of the One True God, had survived and, painful though it may be, would make his way back to the city to report the truth about these so-called 'atalan' who fought, as the White Bishop said, alongside other elves. For the bodies might be gone now, but he had seen them with his own eyes, and they looked just like any other elf to him. |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 20 Jan 2007 09:35 AM |
IMPORTANT OOC NOTE
AS, BY NOW, MOST IF NOT ALL PLAYERS ARE AWARE MIDOR HAS DECLARED WAR ON FEREIN. THIS DOES NOT, REPEAT NOT PROVIDE PC ELVES, OR FOR THAT MATTER PC MIDORANS (IF THERE IS STILL SUCH A THING) THE RIGHT TO CONSIDER IT OPEN SEASON ON THE OTHER COMMUNTY'S RACE.
NO PC, REPEAT NO PC, IS AS YET EVEN AWARE OF WHAT FEREIN'S RESPONSE MIGHT BE AND ANY ELF OR OTHER PERSON FOUND BY A DM ATTACKING MIDORAN NPCs IG WILL BE DEALT WITH HARSHLY. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
FOR EMPHASIS I WOULD DRAW YOUR ATTENTION TO THE FOLLOWING FROM THE 'MUST READ GUIDELINES' - REMEMBER EVERY PLAYER HERE IS ASSUMED TO HAVE READ AND UNDERSTOOD THEM, NO EXCUSES:
Although this has been mentioned before, worth expanding upon:
Likewise do not take advantage of the fact you believe there is no DM present to do something you would not do if there was. Always treat this world the same.
If you ever want to attack, kill or carry out any detrimental action against a named NPC, please contact a DM first. As obviously without DM involvement, reactions cannot occur that should. And generally we do not like to see a named NPC killed without a means of restoring them, as it necessitates a permanent change to the world. Sometime this is warranted, but rarely and never just on a whim.
Likewise, if you ever want to attack a guard patrolling outside of Midor, or assassinate an elven guard in Ferein or the like, contact a DM first. Otherwise it will simply be deemed to never have happened.
AND
Permadeath
Permadeath in Vives, like PvP, is envisaged by the DM team as something which is a last resort, consensual and should never be forced upon a player.
However, situations do arise in-game wherein characters act without due thought to consequences and permadeath is the only viable outcome. The DM Team do not want to force it upon anyone, nor at the same time do we want to be forced into a situation where it becomes necessary. In order to preserve the integrity and credibility of the world, though, the option will be exercised if it is deemed necessary.
Attacking and killing guards of places such as Ferein, Midor, or anywhere else that has a code of morality or laws are examples. Execution for a murder or other serious crime is a very real possibility: if you don't want your character to stand a chance of suffering that fate then think very carefully before doing it. |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 20 Jan 2007 09:46 AM |
In addition to the above, the faction system in Vives has been adjusted so that any NPC with the faction Midor will attack an Elf ON SIGHT.
Do not assume if you use stealth or any other means of concealing yourself that you will not be seen. For now, if you are playing an elven PC, consider the Great Plains a danger area. |
ELVES! |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 20 Jan 2007 09:05 PM |
As always, order has been restored with unrivalled efficiency, Paws already well on its way to recovery thanks to the efforts of the Righteous Swords.
Midoran's Will Be Done.
~*~
The Aristi have departed from Brandibuck and been redeployed to Icy Vale in anticipation of further attacks.
~*~
In the Great Plains an ominous brooding presence can be felt watching from afar, enemies of Midoran feeling a sense of disquiet just from standing within visual range of the Midoran camp. The Righteous Swords are blessed indeed and appear unaffected by the wild magic on the Great Plains, praise be to Midoran. |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 20 Jan 2007 09:47 PM |
Marcelle had lost track of how many dozens of maps, diagrams and reports she'd sent off to Command in the past few weeks. Ever since Trent Kelten and Madeline Sanner had been promoted to Major, they'd made progress in leaps and bounds, coming close to improving their situation from a struggle for survival to becoming self-sufficient.
It was not to be.
She'd sent the latest reports to Command via the River and Circus communication towers, had prompted the right ones to inform Ferein immediately, and perhaps there'd been someone listening in Buckshire when she'd suggested finding more immediate short term defences. Icy Vale was next on the list; they had to be warned not only of the Atalan but also the Midorans, who'd already tried to invade once before.
A letter to Captain Sauvan was first, followed by a chat with Moirin and then Miggins. From the looks of the Aristi starting to set up there, though, they already knew.
After that, there was only one person left to warn, one person who might be powerful or influential enough to prevent disaster:
Aurora. |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 21 Jan 2007 12:28 AM |
In addition to the above, the faction system in Vives has been adjusted so that any NPC with the faction Midor will attack an Elf ON SIGHT.
Do not assume if you use stealth or any other means of concealing yourself that you will not be seen. For now, if you are playing an elven PC, consider the Great Plains a danger area.
{( A warning to all the Elven PC's of Vives:
Stepping foot on the Great Plains leads to inescapable, instant DEATH.
Apparently, there is no difference between being "Attacked on Sight" by an NPC and being "Killed once an area is entered" by a nameless entity. )}
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WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 21 Jan 2007 03:30 AM |
A vandal has struck in the night. Upon the outer walls of Aquinas Palace
the following is painted in bold crimson letters:
HOPE IS FLEET, THE COST IS HIGH,
THE WAGES ARE WELL KNOWN.
YOUR WIZENED QUEEN CALLS OUT TO YOU:
"GO SEEK YOUR HOPE ALONE."
The remnant of the crimson paint appears to have been distributed
amongst the fountains of the Plaza, by now stained red with the water. |
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Re: Fall into Darkness
Posted: 21 Jan 2007 05:17 PM |
The cliffs of the Ikarian Bay redefined treacherous.
Rosen had traded protection from the area's fauna for the greater dexterity of her bare hands. Two stout ropes wound about her waist; each end of both were wrapped soundly around a locked strongbox. Each strongbox held within it enough money to raise a large family from desitituion to opulence. The weight was enough to rip through her clothes, into her skin, twisting. The torrential rain hammered down on every exposed bit of flesh, numbing her desperately clinging, straining, agonized fingers. Her arms quivered in fatigue while the toes of her boots sought purchase in a maniacal frenzy.
She was close - a fortune had been collected from the least likely of philathropists, and yet a swim under the frigid waters remained before the wonders of Tockticken would be hers for the buying. Four dozen waterskins were piled in her backpack, ready to act as buoyant bladders against the weight of gold. If her lungs could hold out---
--Her foot slipped, two fingernails ripping from her hand as she swung to one side. The backswing found her scrambling, then plastered to the cliff's edge, shaking with adrenaline. Tears and mucous streamed down her face. She found that she was laughing. There was a thunderclap from somewhere close behind her and the soaked hairs on her forearms stood on end in answer. Everything was uncertain. Great danger braved for the sake of a weapon wielded by unknown hands. It was more beautiful than anything she could have imagined. |
True solace is finding none, which is to say, it is everywhere.
-Gretel Ehrlich |
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Fall into Darkness: Paws
Posted: 21 Jan 2007 07:14 PM |
Emma had ran the entire distance from Icy Vale to Paws, her eyes blurred with moisture sent by neither God nor Nature. She did not bother to wipe them as she approached the Red Swords guarding the village. Tears were not a source of embarrassment to the woman, merely an adjunct to an emotion. In this case, that emotion was panic.
*****************************************************************************
A day earlier, she'd come upon the devastation of Gladden, had walked over to one of the last standing outbuildings, leaned her back against it, and allowed her knees to buckle, the unprotected vertebrae of her back making a painful trip down the ripples of the whitewashed siding. She'd wept, perhaps for an hour, perhaps longer. Unlike Brandibuck, the Midor Farmlands, and Port Royale, Gladden had ceased to exist. All the people, their history, their hopes, and their dreams, were gone. Even when Tarik's minions had attacked Paws, they had spared the children. They'd left the seed of the future, while despoiling the present.
The Atalan had no such compunctions. They'd killed everyone, and taken everything. While humanity were like cattle, or perhaps deer, to Tarik's followers, intelligent life in general were like vermin to the Atalan: worthy only of death. When her sobs had subsided to a point where tears no longer flowed and only an involuntary reflex of her throat muscles remained, causing rhythmic gasps for air, Emma slowly rose to her feet. She tried to intellectualize her reaction, to understand why Gladden had hit her so hard, while she had managed to keep her composure in Port Royale, Brandibuck, and the Midor farmlands, and kept her wits throughout the Sugar Man business.
All she could think was that Gladden bore many similarities to Paws, and that what happened there had echoes of the horrors visited on her home and her people. Absently reaching an arm behind her and rubbing her bleeding spine, Emma walked as slowly as seemed natural to Icy Vale and then on to Asashi.
*****************************************************************************
A day later, in the Icy Vale Inn, Valethrion had given her the news. Paws had been attacked, he said, he had been there, and total carnage was left in the wake of the assault.
Then, she ran.
The Righteous Sword that greeted her did not have a familiar face, nor did his compatriots and the red clad woman that they answered to. Emma had always been cordial, if somewhat formally aloof, with the members of the garrison that had arrived after the blood moon attack. She knew the names of some, had spoken to them—not that they ever spoke back—of the weather, of famous bard's tales, of her mother's venison stew: neutral subjects that avoided religion and politics. Like most of the people of Paws, Emma had welcomed their presence. It made the shellshocked residents of the hamlet feel safe, and the woman knew most of them would need to feel that safety for the rest of their lives, if they were to be able to even close their eyes at night.
After giving the small, crying, dishevelled woman a cursory review, and casting a severe set of blue eyes in the direction of the red-clad lady, the Righteous Sword let her pass, enjoining her gruffly to "be careful."
Doors were ripped from hinges, Menmuir was not at his kiosk, the oxen were all gone, and the town was deserted. The smell of burnt wood and flesh assaulted her nostrils; the blackened walls of some buildings spoke of an assault, but of an assault repelled.
As a lump formed in Emma's throat, a lump impossible to swallow around, she ran toward her family's homestead between Paws and the Shining Valley. |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: M'Gok Tukar
Posted: 22 Jan 2007 10:19 AM |
Caddo squatted sitting on his heels next to the well at the Buckshire Trading Post, guzzling fresh water. His shoulders are nearly as wide as the wellhead, and his belly nearly as round. Though dull-witted he is considered very handsome and desirable among the orclun, and he is a crafty politician as well. He travels Vives in search of gifts for the other big-men at M'gok Tukar, trading the crafts of himself and his wives for items the orclun of his home rarely see.
Today he exchanges copper sheets and ingots and shields made from tough hides for the goods found at the Trading Post.
He was slowly and deliberately bartering with a dwarven arms-merchant when the exile approached him.
It is Ophelia, he thought, whom Borogask cast out of M'Gok Tukar. A few moments later he said precisely this.
"That it is," Ophelia responded. "It has been a long time... Mister Caddo."
"It has been this, yus."
"How are things in M'Gok Tukar?" She asked.
Caddo addressed her in Orcish. "Gro hororpoh M'Gok Tukar, roh?"
She remembers the Pride of Tukar?
He told her, "Nro rok rru khir oot-pohur M'Gok Tukar haho hahh tohat!"
The men who grow food below M'Gok Tukar are all dead.
He continued in orcish. "They never give food to the orclun anyway."
Awkwardly, Ophelia articulated in orcish that yes, the elves attack everywhere... and that Midor marches to war.
"Think Midor will come for M'Gok Tukar, 'Phelia?"
The exile, magnificently armored in sophisticated plate, slowly shrugged her shoulders. "M'Gok is out of the way, Caddo. No reason for them to attack. Not important enough."
Caddo scratched his great belly.
"They fight the Ferein elves," Ophelia said.
Caddo smiled. "Hate the elf more than he hate the orclun, Midoran."
The exile from M'Gok Tukar nodded slowly. "Elf is more of a threat to Midor. Midor feels threatened by elven power."
"Then we see if the elf can defend Ferein. If not we find the ones that Midoran leaves alive and we cut their throats."
Ophelia smirked at him.
He continued smiling widely, "...and if Midoran is driven back then we find his soldiers and cut their throats."
"Midor or Ferein should not be feared by M'Gok Tukar. A new enemy the Pride of Tukar should fear," Ophelia told him, using the nearest orcish equivalent for fear, ohah, which means both to watch and in other usage to take up shields for battle. "The ground elf. The Atalan."
Ophelia told Caddo that the Atalan came from the ground and moved in shadows. They fought alongside dragons that came up from the deep. There was nothing more powerful than this opponent, she told him.
"Is not the Ferein elves who make waste of the farmland below M'Gok Tukar?" Caddo asked.
Ophelia shook her head.
"He sees arrow, Caddo. Is for this Midoran will make war..."
"I was here when the ground elves attacked Port," Ophelia said. "They are much stronger than either Ferein or Midor."
Caddo smiled bemusedly. "Elves that come from the ground..." He rubbed his wide-set jaw.
Ophelia nodded. He had it right. "Dark elves come to destroy all."
"Who will she fight for, 'Phelia?"
"I fight to fight," came her pained response, her tongue loosening to the unfamiliar orcish. "I have no home. I have no kin. I fight because it is the only think I know...in hopes to die in battle."
"Strong fighter, 'Phelia. he think she will not die, Caddo. She is too strong to die. Think she live a long time, Caddo." He offered her a smile. She made him proud to be orclun, even having shamed his race by being captured by the elves.
"Caddo has not seen what we face," Ophelia said. "And... I am tired of Hell, and the mistakes I have made." Emotionless.
"This is true," Caddo said. "Men who live here, in the north. They run to hide from the ground elf? Or they stand and fight?"
"Many have been killed in the first attack. Now they prepare for the next. They are raising an army to protect them in their walls. They go to buy golems from the gnomes, to help protect them."
Caddo smiled. "They are smart ones, here. They have a gnome to lead them. They are lucky for having Ophelia to fight for them, too."
"If Caddo is smart, he will go back to M'Gok Tukar and tell the chief he will have to choose sides sooner or later, because the ground elf will come."
Caddo nodded and looked at Ophelia craftily. "What should he tell Chief Borogask, eh? She tells Caddo."
"If... if the Chief wants... I would..."
Caddo watched as her shame overtook her instincts to protect the Pride of Tukar.
She chose a different tack. "Tell him Midor and Ferein do not matter. The ground elf should be watched. Take up shields. Gather the snow orc, the mountain giant who are ruled by King Karkus, any who will help. Now is a time for M'Gok Tukar to gather its allies."
She finished. She was done speaking.
"Nrag ag kuut zukzah," Caddo said.
This is good council.
"He will say this to Borogask, Caddo."
"We are in dark times, Caddo. We need to fight together or perish apart."
Caddo nodded. He would tell Borogask these things. But he would claim these insights and this council as his own. Ophelia was banished from M'Gok Tukar, cast out from the tribe. She could not challenge him when the big-men of the orclun met to discuss this affair.
"An rhag nu-goo 'u hakhaak, Caddo."
It was nice to see you again.
"Good to see 'Phelia is still living," Caddo said in reply. "Do not worry. He will not tell Borogask that he has seen her."
They bid one another farewell.
And Caddo did carry this council, most precious among his gifts for the chief and the other big men, to the ears of M'Gok Tukar. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: M'Gok Tukar
Posted: 22 Jan 2007 12:11 PM |
The messages received by the dwarven heralds were brief and to the point. While none refused aid, each was truthful in their response. Each village, city, or nation had been affected by the recent attacks and rumors of war. So many had been made homeless and what little aid that could be given was quickly being used. None were willing to overextend their own supplies with the trade routes already disrupted. In short, the dwarven plight was aknowledged, but at this time there was little to be done. Small wagontrains and boat shipments of aid supplies made their way from the dwarven allies, enough to stave off the hunger for the time.
Refugees begain to trickle out of the encampment at Ikarion in all directions. While no one location could house them all, the council agreed that to stay indefinitely in one location as a whole would be suicide. They left with what they could carry on their backs or with the aid of the few pack animals that had survived the siege. Some to Buckshire, others to the Vale. More still to the the fields and farmlands near Brandibuck and the port city.
The encampment at Ikarion begain to slowly shift from a shelter for refugess to a military encampment. Makeshift forges burned brightly late into the night. Scouts once searching the hills for survivors now watched over the mining groups as they brought in their caches of ore. Rumors even spoke of secret meetings between the green clad elves and the Gwaerdhalme. Others spoke of a meeting between the clergy and a figure bearing the mark of Aristi.
Early one morning a young dwarven child tending to a small herd of rothe glanced up as the sun begain to burn through the mist that covered the bay. A human figure clad in white appeared over a ridge leading from the dwarven encampment. Behind him, marching single file were the unmistakable figures of 30 dwarves clad in full battle armor. The human passed by the child and looked down with a benevolant smile. "Mark this day well child. For you see the birth of what may be your destiny. Watch and remember the first march of the Erdeand." Each dwarf passed by in turn and placed his hand upon the childs head only to dissapear into the silver mist. |
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Re: Fall into Darkness: The Defence of Ferein
Posted: 22 Jan 2007 04:04 PM |
Slyvian Trail – dusk
The patrol moved swiftly, silently, not yet at full alertness but nevertheless becoming more so by the second as they left the safety of the Mystic Wood and travelled to their assigned positions.
All was quiet but then that was not unusual here in the no-man’s land between Ferein and the people of Tarik in their Deep Forest abode. Without audible order they fanned out, each taking up an assigned position, born of years of training, practice and experience. Eyes scanned every bush, tree, patch of deeper grass. Ears alert for the slightest sound out of the ordinary.
The attack, when it came was unexpected in that it came from the summit of the slope, not the direction of the forest, arrows hissing down towards them followed by bursts of energy as mages joined the assault. Even so, the surprise was minimal as targets were spotted and those of Ferein began to return fire. Others joined them swiftly, files from other patrols elsewhere on the trail attracted by the muted sounds of battle. Others tried but were soon separated by the forces that boiled out of the cavern on the hill and pushed the defenders gradually back down the trial by sheer weight of numbers. The Atalan had come to Ferein, and as the Elves continued to retreat towards their home, horns were raised to mouths to sound warning.
Mystic Wood - a little later
Reinforcement came quickly, rushing down the steeply carved path and into Mystic Wood, to join the archers and druids who now fought the Atalan among the trees. Again, numbers told and the Elves fell back towards Ferein as the Atalan split, one group heading into Latonei.
Forest of Latonei - dusk
Strand stirred the pot, grunting in satisfaction as the aroma of the thick stew reached his nostrils, one or two of the Elves nearby regarding the contents of the pot dubiously, as well as wondering how he managed to smell anything other than the noisome fumes from the pipe clenched between his teeth.
Oblivious, he dipped the ladle deep and held out to them, “Would you care to try?” Then concealed his amusement at the hurried, but polite answers from his close neighbours. “Be ready soon, I’d best fetch Shinesa.”
He paused, noting that the attention of the Elves was no longer on him but the forest around them, and that a hand was held up calling for silence
It was then that he heard the faint sound of horns in the distance, off to the south-west. The Elven patrol leader snapped hurried but calm commands to his people, the Elven spoken to fast for Strand to follow but he watched as several ran off to the Mystic Wood.
“Strand!” Called another, “The Oakhouse, stay with Shinesa I will send people to help you.” As he began to lumber towards his home the forest erupted with sounds of battle, arrows screaming through the trees, trees erupting into flame, then, as he reached the door, the sound once more of a horn lifted to call out a warning to those nearby.
Meanwhile… Ferein, Tel’Ilmela Council Chamber
The atmosphere was… subdued to say the least, but then given recent events that would hardly be surprising.
Princess Sairalindë Nénharma , lifted her chin and regarded the other three occupants of the chamber. “So,” she intoned, “we are at war, through no doing of our own. What, then, should we do?”
The others sat, like her, sombre expressions on their faces, and like her turned to the youngest of their number who seemed to take some time to realise she was the focus of their attention.
“Well…” began Elvalia, “unlike the last time this happened I’m afraid I don’t have a miraculous escape or master plan at hand. We can of course deny our involvement but then anyone with any sense knows we have none anyway. What counts here is what the Midorans believe… and we all know the answer to that.”
She fell silent for a few moments before continuing, “I would suggest though that we issue something to make clear our dismay that they could consider we are part of it, and at the same time something making it clear to our own people to stay clear of the Plains… the last thing we want is some Elf to try taking matters into their own hands and give Midor further reason.
Other than that… all we can do is wait. Our defences are ready, as always. If they really wish to make an attempt they will not find it easy.”
The Princess nodded, “A proclamation then, I agree… can we win?”
The younger Elf’s green eyes flickered from one face to the other before answering, “I don’t know, there is no way I could. But we will fight for every inch, you can be sure of that, your highness.”
The silence that followed her words was almost oppressive, each new the size of Midor’s forces in comparison to their own, knew also that they were already engaged in a seemingly endless war, engaged in helping the hin of Brandibuck. Realism dictated that a victory was unlikely.
“Brandibuck then… how go things there?” The Princess asked, “Can we recall any of our people?”
Again it was Elvalia who replied, “The injured recover well, and clearing up continues prior to starting the rebuilding of the village. But we should stay; every Elf should stay. If nothing else it would show we are not afraid. Besides… I gave my word; they will remain until the halflings no longer wish them to be there. It is their choice, not ours.”
Again, the response was digested in silence, each woman keeping her thoughts to herself.
“What of assistance, is there no one who would stand with us? Who would aid us?” Sairalindë asked.
“A few no doubt, not many,” sighed Elvalia, “most have their own cares especially at the moment. The Aristi, even if we were to ask them, are too few in number and are almost fully involved with relief in Port Royale and Icy Vale. The halflings… battered though they will no doubt survive. There is one ray of hope, however.”
This was clearly news to the others as evidenced by the mildly surprised, sudden interest in their expressions.
“As we know, the dwarves suffered badly at Bregodim, and have been recovering at Ikarian Bay. I understand from their representatives that they have decided for now to disperse and find shelter and aid where they can. All that is save their military. That… that has been offered to us should we be willing to accept and they will stand with us against the Atalan if necessary… and against Midor.”
She looked at the other three women, her expression slightly sheepish, “I… I have already accepted on behalf of Ferein, their troops will arrive in a few days.”
Again a silence, but it was with some element of surprise as always that she realised these people trusted her, that they would accept her thoughts and decisions, even such a strange one as this.
“Good,” said Sairalindë at last, “I’m sure their abilities will be useful. Meanwhile we should give thought to the wording of this procl…”
She broke off at the sound of urgent voices from outside the door, followed by a hurried, and by normal standards, overloud knocking on the door. As it was opened by a palace guard to admit Eowarar, each woman got to their feet, keenly aware of the horns which could be heard in the distance…
Meanwhile… Ferein Entrance
Latonei burned, the Oakhouse in flames, its defenders either dead or scattered who knew where, flushed perhaps with their success the Atalan attempted to push into Ferein itself. The fight for the stone stair had been horrific and bitter, but at last numbers once more told and the Atalan began to emerge onto the platform and the walkway itself, there again the horns of Ferein sounded, files of reinforcements rushed from the city, from Ecw Nyeana, from the Grove and the Temple. While the initial attack may have been unexpected, Ferein was stirring.
Eden
She had run from Tel’Ilmela seeming as fast as never before, accompanied by Nariel and Arien, who had each departed for their prospective responsibilities as they were reached, Arien to rouse the mages of Tel’Elena and Nariel to gether the healers and fighters of the Grove. At every step, it seemed to Elvalia, she had needed to stop and pass orders to yet another group of Elves, to send some to safety, others to their posts or to rouse still more. At last, though, she was alone and burst through the door of her home, shedding the flowing robe she had inwardly cursed with every step as she had run.
Gathering quivers, bow, donning and fastening her armour, fastening her belt with rapiers about her waist, she spoke rapidly to Elmirie, “Take the children to Tel’Ilmela, find Eowarar and the Princess and lock yourselves in the Council Chamber, she smiled briefly, just in case. The Atalan are attacking and I need to know you are safe.”
Elmirie nodded and set about quickly gathering the children and what she needed, “And you?” She asked.
Elvalia regarded her briefly then embraced each of the children quickly before making for the door. “I will be fine,” she called back over her shoulder, “this is what I do remember?”
Ferein Entrance
The battle raged on, Ferein’s forces growing larger by the second but the width of the walkway meaning that where the two sides were in contact numbers were equal. Arrows screamed and hissed from each side and from the towers where the Holy Warriors picked off targets with unerring accuracy.
Yet still the Atalan pushed forward, the Elves falling back before them gradually, seemingly unable to stop the momentum of their advance, Elves or Atalan would fall and others step up to take their place in the bloodbath, the air crackling with energy as mages from both sides added their skills to the fray.
But still the movement continued, still the Elves moved back.
“STAND!”
The voice when it came caused many to look with surprise at the short, slight helmed figure that had appeared among their numbers.
“WE STAND HERE AND FIGHT! THERE IS NO WHERE ELSE TO GO AND THIS IS OUR HOME, NOW FIGHT!”
The new arrival lifted her bow and added her own fire to that of the others, the Elves stood and foot, their backward movement halted. More arrived, to be joined by those gathered by Nariel and Arien, druid and mage alike summoning their powers to heal, protect and destroy.
Yet while the Elves refused to retreat, it seemed the Atalan also had decided to remain and impasse was reached, each side slaughtering the other with no thought of retreat.
Nariel and Arien, shielded behind their own powers, approached the smaller figure and pulled her back to shelter behind shields held by other warriors. “Elvalia,” said Nariel, her voice even here, soft, unhurried, “this cannot go on, we must do something.”
Pulling the helm from her head and pushing aside the sweaty locks of blonde hair, Elvalia nodded, “I know, it is a slaughter, can you protect me for say a minute or two? I have an idea.”
High Druid and Archmage nodded and she stood clear of the shields once more as they began to weave their protective arts around her.
“BACK!” She shouted, “ELVES OF FEREIN, BEHIND ME!”
As the figures ran past her and she became the target of the Atalan she lifted her bow, and loosed three arrows, each imbued with as much power as she could muster, each aimed at the Atalan at the forefront of the attack.
“NOW RUN!” She yelled as the arrows slowly arced through their flightpath, giving herself and the Elves who fought with her room.
The Atalan seemed surprised by the sudden retreat and hesitated, then one after another the arrows hit before their feet and exploded, each loosing a massive fireball engulfing Atalan and Walkway alike. Limbs and timber flew into the air accompanied by an enormous crash as a large section of the walkway fell burning into the canyon deep below.
As the sounds of the falling timber died away silence fell over the entrance to Ferein. The Atalan, realising that they were thwarted, fired a few desultory shots and retreated, leaving their dead and departing rapidly when they had come.
The Elves, having been knocked from their feet by the blast, hauled themselves to their feet and surveyed the damage. The walkway was for a large part of its length, simply non-existent. Far below could be seen the still burning pieces on the canyon floor, and beside them, dead Atalan, seeming no larger than ants.
As they gathered their breath, attended to wounds, offered up prayers of thanks, the quiet was broken by laughter.
All within hearing turned towards the small blonde figure who stared down into the depths and had broken the silence. Taken unawares that the sound should be coming from her when usually a smile was rare enough.
Now though she merely laughed, wiping her face to clean the soot and dirt of battle from her eyes.
Nariel laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Elvalia? Are you alright?”
“Aala,” she answered through her laughter, “but it just occurred to me that we might have solved two problems.”
A quick glance at the bemused faces around her was enough to send her into a fresh bout of laughter.
As she at last calmed herself she turned back to the yawning chasm behind her.
“Don’t you see?” She said, “They had to give up, they can’t reach us. No one can. We have just cut ourselves off from the world except by sea.” |
ELVES! |
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