A New Power

[thanateros]

A man, covered in a dark blue cloak with an unidentifiable gold insignia on the back stumbled out of some wreckage near a parapet that was smashed. The scent of burning cinders and death asails his nostrils. With a spear he shoves aside several pieces of debris. Several retreating attackers step too close and are met with throwing knives to their throats.

 

As the chaos swarms him between the fleeing army and broken defenders he gathers his composure. With his left hand he slowly draws back his hood to reveal a face containing years of experience. He is wearing a brown studded leather breastplate with a silver insignia etched into it. It is the shape of a serpent wrapped around a ship. Strapped across his chest is a belt housing throwing knives. At his side, sheathed, is a longsword, the handle is wrapped in black leather and the tang is the color of copper.

 

He notices a woman fly through the air and crash through a roof. As she starts to flee the scene he shadows her towards the palace, checking his flank for any bold attackers.

[Shadow of the Fallen]

The man paused for a moment.. Almost thunderstruck, dispite his rage, he had suddenly been snapped back into reality. What on earth had he been thinking?... His rage was not at this man, but at the empire, and seeing him had broken his line of thought.

 

"I.. uh.." He began, not yet sure of what it was he had been thinking of saying.. Instead of speaking, he did the only thing he could think of, bow respectfully. The words began to come forth from there. "I have come by word of an alliance. You may think me foolish for coming all this way to simply talk to you, for I could have enlisted in your army. But I cannot bear the monotone of such a life. Nor could I properly vent my rage as a simple rank and file soldier... I have heard that you too have had simmilar dealings with rage, and I have come too seek your assistance."

 

He then stood, restored to his usual brooding mood, "I have come forth then to fufill an unholy bond." He began to draw the long imperial hunting knife, saying, "I come to you dead, and make a solemn oath..." He drew the blade along the inside of his left forearm, leaving a line of blood down the inside, then wiping the blade in it, continuing as he did so, "upon my blood, I am sworn to the lord of the dead, the foes of my order shall fall by my hand. I have pledged a hundred souls to the Keeper once before, now I pledge a hundred more to damnation. My life is forfeit until the deal is done, I stand before you a dead man, souless and unworthy of the remaining amongst the living. I plan to earn back my life... I have come to seek your aid, and provide what I can. If you will not help me then I must consider you a foe, and I will kill you henceforth... Know this as you consider my words." He punctuated 'consider my words' by returning the knife to its scabbard forcefully.

 

The gaurds stood back a moment, stunned by the deadly seriousness of not only his words, but his oath. They looked to Quarian impatiently, not knowing whether to restrain Thrin or to just run like hell away from the insanity of it all. Thrin only stood stone still, the anger retruned to his eyes... It was the anger the alowed him to survive, to do these things... To kill like he had done.. Only one enemy had died by his hand, at this rate it would take him many years of combat if he were only by himself... He needed help, but he did not show it. He dared not.. There was too much tension to do anything but wait for that response...

 

OOC: Yay! Quarian fiannly posted!! Happy day!!

 

OOC/EDIT: Its always fun to watch people respond to your actions with words like "mortified". And I would like to note a few things that I didn't add because of the hurry I was in... The whole slicing-the-inside-of-his-arm thing was done without breaking eye contact with Quarian. Once you make an oath in blood like that you dont often forget (or so I would assume) and he didn't need to look to do it right. Another thing is that the adrenaline rush from such an action is usually more dominant than the pain from being cut like that, meaning he wasn't flinching while it happened.. No he's pretty much dead-locked on his deathwish for the empire... Maybe you'll find out soon!!

[Peregrine]

Aseir watched as his fire scattered the last organized resistance. His gamble had paid off well, and now the invaders had been turned back and forced into retreat. But now it was time to deny them any chance to regroup and counterattack.

 

He turned back to address his men, and the archers held their fire, waiting for the new orders they knew were coming. "The city is ours!" he yelled to them. "Now it is time to claim our prize! Begin the advance into the city!"

 

His formation shifted slightly, pikemen forming a solid wedge in front of the archers. The rain of arrows paused for a moment as the archers began to guide their horses, and the whole formation began to descend into the city. In front of them, the invading force was the exact opposite of their deadly order. As row after row of soldiers advanced towards them, the invading force began to run. The somewhat organized retreat turned into pure panic as the invading soldiers abandoned discipline for a chance to save their own lives.

[ObsidianKnight]

Armiena rushes through the streets, passing retreating guards on her way to the palace. On her way, she thought she saw a cloaked shadow following her, illuminated by a dropped torch. She places her hand on her sword, and turns.

 

She scans the street, but only sees the results of the battle; discarded weaponry, a couple of bodies, and rubble across the streets. A couple rows of guards pass her up, and she turns back and sprints towards the palace.

 

She enters the courtyard (the gate was left open for the retreating guards), and sees a man speaking to Quarian. She stands, mortified, as he watches him cut his arm while speaking. Finally, he returns his knife to its scabbard.

[MDRud216]

Everything, everybody, all life was heading towards the fortress, Its high walls illuminated by the peasants city around it burning.

 

Quarian looked over his shoulder, and in the distance he sees the last of the what had seemed to be unstoppable force of invaders running like sheep from a wolf. A second army, what Quarian presumed to be Alenee's was marching proudly into the city, taking a route away from the flames, also he noated as he scanned the surrounding streets: every living thing, groups of retreating mercenaries, dogs or refugees were all running towards the fortress. The battle was over, yet all were gathering towards this Fortress like flies to a torch. Suddenly screams echoed out from every ally, Quarian looked back at the man in front of him, his show of willpower had impressed Quarian. Looking back Quarian saw the source of the screams, another force had hidden itself inside the city, and managed to stay organized in the ally-ways as their bretheren were slaughtered in the open batllefield. It was as a volcanic eruption, they apeared suddenly and from every street a sllid wave of soldiers broke into the town square around the wall, The final stage.

 

"This can wait," Quarian said to the man before turning to an archer on the wall, "signal fire, NOW!"

 

The archer retreived an arrow shaft from a smouldering brazier to his right, its end was wrapped in leather stips and gave off a thick black smoke. The man drew his bowstring and fired the shaft high into the air, leaving a column of black smoke just as the Invaders smashed into the gate of the fortress. All surviving people of the nights events were inside these walls. Quarian could only hope the signal had been seen, hurrying the new arrivals pace.

[Shadow of the Fallen]

Thrin grinned with malevolent satisfaction as he gazed over the walls at the chaos...

 

"Their tactics are impressive, better then what I had thought anyway..." He turned his back to Quarian, and now facing the door back into the keep (or the way he came) he told him, "I will return.." With that, he pushed past the smaller of the gaurds who had accompanied him this far, drawing the mans sword as he went. The same way a theif would cut a purse. Either the man didn't notice, or he didn't object, because he showed no reaction besides watching Thrin go.

 

Silently, Thrin was relived beyond words. Were it not for the adrenaline of it all, he would have fell down to his knees shaking violently and probably crying... It was madness.. but he had to be prepared to follow this to the end. There was no room for remorse, not after what had happened... He would never forgive the empire, it was time to exact vengeance.

 

Only after he had entered the tower did he realize that his arm was throbbing with pain. The cut was deep enough to draw blood, but didn't strike anything vital... He didn't even know how he had done it properly, it was almost like watching himself from the inside.. Not really controlling what he did but going on instinct... He credited it all to adrenaline and rushed down the stairs with his new weapon, which he planned on returning if the man was still alive later. He suddenly realized that he didn't know their names... Oh well, they would know him.

 

He continued down a path only vaugly memorized, he remembered quite clearly though the anger he'd felt as he twisted through this maze of rooms and halls. He felt the rage begin to boil again, to struggle for the surface. Thrin suppressed it, I'll need it in a moment, but not yet. Yet he couldn't suppress the memories.. What the empire had done to him was unfogivable... It sickened him to think that the empire used even the heart as a weapon against its enemies.

 

Along the way, he surprisingly encountered no objection to his leave. Actually, the soldiers didn't even seem to notice that there was a battle going on outside. This could not be stood for.

 

"Armies of the alliance!!" he shouted to all, "There is a battle below your feet!! The empire is advancing on the fortress!! Get ground level NOW! And that is an order!"

 

Most began to go about doing as he instructed, but one was bold enough to question, and has he approached, everyone else stopped and looked. The man was large and bulky, and clearly a leader in the pack. "Why should we listen to you? Your not a sergeant! Nor are you fit to give us orders!" The man made a point of getting his face real close to Thrin as he said this, trying to be intimidating. Thrin was only annoyed.

 

Worse, he was angered, he let the rage surface, boil and froth.. And then he let it go. "And who are you to question athority?! You are a paid mercinary, I can tell by your clothes, and as for a reason to do as I say," the hunting knife was already out of its scabbard, losened by the still damp blood, Thrin made his point by holding it between his and the man's faces, "this is going to be in your gut if you don't. I have no time for imbisiles like you. Do as I say, for my athority is my own, and I am governed by none."

 

It seemed enough for the man, having a blood soaked blade held infront of his face. And he backed off at the words. "As you command then," he said, more out of fear then out of respect. It made no difference to Thrin, following orders is the same, however you go about it, and dead is dead. Respect would be gathered over time, right now his time was devoted to other things. He took off down the next hallway as he saw everyone going to spread the word and get down to the battlefeild.

 

Soon he was out in the courtyard, it had taken longer then he would have liked.. But was accomplished much faster then it had been the first time. At the sight of the men still retreating he began to shout again, charging for the open gate, "Turn around!! Push back! They're coming from the streets! Don't let them take the gate!" By now he was pushing through the crowd of soldiers, still belowing his commands and trying to get them back into order. At this rate, they would all be slaughtered with their backs turned as the enemy advanced. It would be like cutting through warm butter. Not if he could help it though, he wouldn't let the alliance just be destroyed like this, not when it could be his only salvation.

 

As he broke the rear flank he saw that a few of the soldiers had heard him and were forming ranks as the enemy came flooding in from the streets. He compared it to a typhoon storming past a small island. He shouted again, "Turn the hell around!! NOW!! Fight for your alliance!!" He saw a few more turn, but still a lot fell back into the walls, while the doors remained open the enemy would flood in like the avalanche they were. Thrin let the rage boil at this impending doom..

 

And then the first enemy rank hit his own.. Bloody combat ensued.

 

A lance flew past his head, only dodged by a hair, as he lashed out with his broadsword at the attacker. He felt more then saw the man to his right fall to a simmilar lancing. He drew his shortsword in his left hand and slammed it into the throat of the man he had only seconds ago missed. He broght his broadsword down in an arc on top of the lancer to his right. Two down, that makes three.

 

Another man came up with a sword, everything was moving so swiftly that it was hard to tell what kind. A parry with the shortsword did well, but Thrin felt the blade straining, he would need a new weapon soon. None the less, he brought the deadly broadsword upwards, swinging from right to left (making a '\' cut). The cleaved body fell haplessly to the ground. Another attacker was in his place almost instantly. Thrin was forced to dodge a heavy blow from a longsword. The razor edged blade nearly claimed a lock of his hair. A shortsword was landed carfully between the mans helmet and breastplate. The blade broke.

 

Almost instinctivly, Thrin ducked to avoid another blow from the man behind him. He tossed the hilt of the borken blade at the mans face, catching him off guard and making him stumble back a pace. Thrin made good use of the opportunity, retrieving another sword from a man that he had felled a moment ago. With an uppercut, he in turn felled the man who had stumbled. Both of the swords glistened with blood.

 

Yet another attacker moved to fill the gap. His blade was swift and skillful. Thrin parried a quick trust and returned it with an overhand blow. That too, was parried. This man has skill.. This should prove interesting. The two men began exchanging blows and parries as the chaos around them continued. Thrin found that the two swords he had were well balanced together. He also noticed his opponent was young, younger then Thrin even. But he was vicious.. Like an animal almost. His blows became more varied and increased in speed as his inability to cleanly hit Thrin became apparent. Thrin was almost out of himself, the adrenaline governing his movements while his mind took note of the little things. The quality of the blade, the officers' insigna, the stain on his right sleeve, the blood on his left... Everything. Including the gap in his defence.

 

OOC/EDIT: I had to make a few adjustments to suit the actual situation, the empire has been destroyed and those oaths would be usless and unfufillable... so, I have made an attempt to change the direction of Thrin's anger where I could and to make refrences to the Empire more politically correct. If you find spots I missed in my last two posts (this one and the one above) then don't worry about it, just know that his anger is to his "enemies" since I no longer have a proper direction to point it at.... And to remove that anger would half destroy the charecter. Anyway, I did this in a rush if you can't tell, and I needed to make sure things were clarified.. Sorry for all the trouble.. its all my fault... lates.

[MDRud216]

Quarian looked down through the portcullis to see the young man who had confronted him, "Move! out of the way, fall back now...." Quarian yelled. The defenders fell back quickly and seemed to agree with his order. Quarian nodded to the soldier ducked behind the walls crenellations. He pulled the heavy lever next to him, using all of his strength and more as he heaved on it. At last it clicked into place and a metallic clanking reverberated from inside the wall. Wooden slabs were sliding into place to close the gate, crushing all of those unfortunate enough to be trapped between the defenders and their own army surging forth. The gate was closed but their saviors were on the outskirts of the city, only just entering the palaside wall, Quarain only hoped they would arrive in time.

 

A comotion started behind him as 5 young men, unarmored and very frightened emerged from the door onto the battlements, together they managed to hold up a frothing cauldron at least as heavy as two of themselves, they would wince when the boiling water inside flowed over the side and onto their hands, but they did not let go. "We won't let you down, Quarian" one said as they braced the huge cauldron of boiling water against the wall.

 

The steaming liquid dumped over the side of the wall, and screams were heard below before the cauldron itself fell into the ranks.

 

Then Quarian saw it, pushing through the ranks were men of another class, they carried latters toward the wall.

 

"take them out!" Quarian yelled as the archers began to fire furiously and to no avail.

[Peregrine]

A slash of Aseir's ceremonial katana removed the head of the last enemy within reach, and he found himself in the eye of the storm. Panic had driven a group of the invaders into a suicidal charge at his formation. They had lost of course, but they had not died alone. Almost a hundred of his men were dead, and many of the others were fighting wounded. And perhaps even worse, their advance had been slowed, its momentum broken. Their only hope was to overcome their lack of numbers with the shock of their attack, and if the enemy managed to buy enough time to regroup....

 

His attention no longer occupied by fighting, Aseir scanned the battle for his next target. Only a few invaders remained between his formation and the group attacking the mercenary fortress. And the fortress was almost in range of his longbows. A point of his sword shifted his men back into wedge formation, and Aseir descended back into Hell.

[Shadow of the Fallen]

It was a sudden dissapointment to Thrin as he watched the heavy doors close infront of him. He had just barely made it inside as they slamed shut. He was satisfied though, with the screams he heard coming from out side the wall. He was sure that the young officer he had been dueling with was among the dieing. At least that was interesting, and almost funny now.

 

His count on his oath had reached ten, it had been even funnier watching the attackers charge the door as the defenders fell back. And as Thrin had hacked them down from behind. He almost hated the "dishonor" of such a thing, but quickly reminded himself that death had no honor, and a dead man had none, as such... And Thrin was the walking dead.

 

He studied the men as they began to organize. The archers above raining down volleys of arrows upon thier foes. The soldiers on the ground forming ranks and barricading doors.

 

An idea struck him, perhaps he should go up on the battlements and rain down a few arrows of his own.. he never was excellent with a bow, but he could work on that. It was always best to be well rounded.

 

As he made his way up the battlements he heard the shout to down the ladders, and began to move faster. He stoped only once to ask where he could receive a bow. But the soldier he asked didn't know, so he continued on, at least he could see what was going on up there.

 

He reached the top as the first of the ladders touched down, conveinently infront of him. He walked up slowly, as if on a casual stroll amidst the scrambaling defenders. With a single swift movement he cut through the rope that held the ladder to the rampart and gave it a solid shove. To his delight, the ladder fell back down with a resounding thud. He decided it would be a productive, if not fun, idea to set about dismantling the ladders.

 

An arrow passing through the hood of his cloak made him think twice about where he was and how he was acting. Like an idiot of course. he smiled at the prospect, the first time he had genuinly smiled in a while, and then he turned back to the task at hand. His face returned to its usual grim state. Amazing how off gaurd you can get after a little bit of satisfaction... Childish even... He toppled another ladder, watching as two men fell with it, broken with the force when they struck the ground. Then again, it has its advantages. The count is at twelve.

[thanateros]

As defenders wailed from the parapets and fortress causeways he shifted his attention to invaders pouring over the walls like water breaking violently on a coastal cliff. Spear in hand he runs towards the battlements and joins the effort to hold back the determined foes.

 

A ladder clanks harshly near to where he stands. Running over he greets the first unfortunate invader with a mighty thrust of his spear through the man's torso. Pulling it back in a sharp movement he kicks the stunned man off the ladder. As the second invader ascends to the top of the ladder he drives the spear into the climber's shoulder, who drops his weapon.

 

While he waits for the next piece of fodder to stick its head over the wall he sees that several invaders have made the climb and are fighting on the wall with the defenders. As a mercenary is cut down he lands a throwing knife in the invader's eye, who stoops to his knees and grabs his face, screaming in agony. Poising his spear in a thrusting stance he selects an open target and charges, discharging an impressive battle cry sure to get the attention of anyone in the immediate vacinity.

 

His aim lands right in the neck of an invader, but to his flank an attacker charges with a sword swung over his head. One of the defending mercs clips his legs just as he is about to fell his sword on the cloaked man. Looking at his spear he noticed that the shaft splintered when it hit the gouged invader's armor. Disregarding it he immediately unsheaths his sword and joins the effort to withold the invaders who crept over the wall.

 

Looking out unto the mounted charge he suspects they aren't fairing much better than those within the city walls. Then he reflects, "How did I get..." His thoughts trail off as he focuses entirely on the task at hand.