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Attack
Posted: 21 Aug 2006 04:35 PM |
The old ranger stretched and lowered his feet from the stool near the fire, knocking out his pipe and stretching.
He stared into the flames of the crackling log fire, cocking his head with a smiles as the faint sound of Shinesa’s singing came from deeper in the lodge.
The smiles faded to be replaced by a frown of concentration as he turned his head towards the door to the forest. Surely not….
But as he concentrated on tuning out the sounds within the Oakhouse he heard them again, sounds of battle nearby, voices calling out urgent commands in the Elven tongue; cries of pain.
He jumped to his feet and shambled towards the door, drawing his weapons en route. pulling the door open he drew on al his years of experience in the wild, concealing himself from view and hurrying towards the noise, clearer now he was outside.
His jaw dropped as he caught sight of a solitary archer, fighting off the hulking form of a fire elemental as it battered her, searing her skin and setting fire to the cloth and leather trappings on her armour. Around the battle lay five motionless forms, horribly disfigured, burned and quite obviously dead. The last archer gave a final gasp of pain, her features no longer distinguishable, her hair ablaze, and sank to the ground as dead as her colleagues.
The elemental turned and rapidly moved off towards Gladden, followed closely but warily by Strand, after all it was only days ago that the defection of Tel’Elena’s archmage had been announced, who knew knew what was going on?
He stepped gingerly into the stream and pushed his way carefully through the weed into Gladden… no sign of the elemental, no sign of anything. But then he heard the soft sound of a sigh, followed by another voice, crowing, exultant.
“DAT WUSS GUD”
Then the first voice again, “..let’s go.”
“Dat makez all dem elfies runz home,” said the second, followed once more by a sigh from the first.
So… whoever had attacked the archers, females by the sound of it, had taken pains to ensure they wouldn’t be seen. This was no simple understanding, they had planned it.
He watched as damp footprints left the stream, one set smaller – human sized – the other heavier, booted and armour-clad most likely, ad judging by the imprint a good deal heavier. Taking pains to remain a short distance behind he followed them up into the hills, aided by the still damp prints and the occasional laboured breath or clink of metal on metal.
A short way ahead stood a troll, a berserker, which suddenly cocked it’s head and lashed out. It’s victim came into view, a large metal clad view, hacking at the troll with a fiery sword, closely followed by another woman, smaller and lightly clad, her features covered by a skin of stone, who joined the battle with a similar weapon.
Strand froze, watching the battle until the troll finally fell and the two figures stood over the corpse, breathing heavily.
“Dat troll seez da Ophelia?” Asked the smaller figure.
“Yes,” replied the other from beneath her helm.
“Muss haff dem gud eyez,” said the first, “Dana not no’s bout diss path.”
Strand followed once more as they moved off into the farmlands, then turned towards M’Gok Tukar.
Just inside the entrance they paused once more, Strand watching as the smaller woman pulled off a mask, memorising the shape of her features beneath the skin of stone.
“Wuntz tell da chiefie?” She asked her larger companion.
“I don’t care,” said the other woman.
The first woman then held out a blade, offering it to the armour-clad form.
“Keep it,” said the latter
“No’s wuntz?” Her companion asked, “Is da gud swordie.”
The helmed head shook, the reply accompanied by a sigh, “No. I need some time alone.
”A har guhh', A gkur 'u rhaknot nu kon ak nroho hakt gahh nro ahnr' zhohanhog, pn A hart nu hon nro ohoroknhah po nro ukh' nrakk nro' gha.” Said the lightly clad woman, lapsing, somewhat to Strand’s surprise, into Orcish.
“I need to go,” said the other disconsolately, shaking her head.
As she walked back towards him, Strand decided he had seen and heard enough and crept off towards home, his head spinning. A woman, apparently human by her build, who spoke Common like an orc kin and also their own tongue. No less strangely accompanied by what looked to be an orc kin female, yet one who spoke with an almost cultured accent.
Nevertheless, there was no doubt in his mind that it was they who had attacked the Elves… and he had names. Ophelia was the unlikely name of the orc-kin while the other had called herself Dana.
The mist hung almost mournfully in the trees of Mystic Wood as the sad caravan made its way up the stairs carved from the cliff face and made its way onto the platform of Ferein’s Entrance.
The Holy Warrior smiled in recognition of the burly ranger’s frame and began to call out a friendly greeting but the words died before leaving his mouth as he noted the mules behind Strand, each carrying a carefully shrouded body.
The ranger looked at the tall elf, his eyes reddened and expression wrinkled in sadness.
“I think ye’d best send word to the lass, she’ll want to know, ye’ll all want to know.” |
ELVES! |
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Re: Attack
Posted: 21 Aug 2006 11:00 PM |
On The Run.
Ophelia runs though a thick wooded area breathing heavily her armor being repeatedly whapped by low lying tree branches. Her helmet is off and her face and cheeks are beginning to show many small cuts from these branches. The blood that is beginning to flow has been smeared by the tears running down her face. She has put many miles between her and the scene of the murders. Her lungs burning like those she watched set ablaze by the fire elemental.
She isn’t watching where she is going. Her mind stuck on the visions of those elves set ablaze screaming. Their faces filled with agony as she hides behind a tree, watching everything unfold. She has played what has happen now over and over again in her head. The memories coming in snapshots that coincide with each loud thump of her feet. Each thump bringing another gruesome picture of the elves being brutally slain. A quick snapshot of energy missiles ripping a poor elf woman to shreds. A snapshot of an elf’s head being set ablaze as it’s crushed by the fire elemental. All the pictures where horrific, but one kept coming back.
The beginning, the picture of that elf woman’s face as the elemental approached. An invisible Ophelia already standing so close she could hear her breath freeze and see her wide eyes looking up at the elemental. Ophelia standing there sword drawn high freezing in her position as the elemental set the elf woman ablaze. The woman then falling into Ophelia’s legs. Her eyes seeming to meet Ophelia’s invisible ones. Then the worst image of the whole horrible ordeal. The elf’s eyes. Eyes blanketed with fear from knowing death was soon. Then the snapshot of Ophelia slowly moving backwards. Her mouth frozen open as she takes shelter behind the nearest tree.
It was all over in a matter of seconds. But to Ophelia, those seconds lasted hours. The visions of the snapshots just keep coming over and over again. Ophelia’s legs have grown tired. Soon they give out and she collapses to the ground. She lies their. Balled up in the fetal position. Her hands slowly grasp at leaves. She closes her eyes and drops them onto her face. She slowly repeats this a couple of times. Then pushes them into her face as she sobs.
She lays there for a very long time. Her sobs lessening. Her mind turning more inward. Behind the endless snapshots she begins to think how this has happen. Why she was so eager to please Dana. Why she feared if she had said no Dana wouldn’t like her anymore. She thought about the feeling of such disappointment when the chief of M’Goth Tukar gave his blessing on what was going to be done. How if she turned back she might be laughed at and thought weak and lesser of an Orclun. She lays there and the pain that has been twisting her being slowly turns to anger. Anger at her weakness as an Orclun. Anger at how she cannot stand up to Dana or anyone else for that matter. Anger at how she froze in battle and watched as the elves where butchered. Anger that she couldn’t strike at the elves like a good Orclun should. That she pulled back and just watched. Anger at the pity for the elf woman and the suffocating guilt she now feels. Anger that she was the only one who could have stopped it and she didn’t.
((to be continued..hopefully)) |
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