vampiri
Private
fear of the blood tends to create for the flesh
Posts: 6
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Post by vampiri on Jan 12, 2006 7:52:12 GMT -5
Vamp raised his head as he awoke from the blood rage that ran through his veins
"Zeke why is it that you refer to me as a friend"shouted vamp as he parried a human blow then forcefully thrusting his fangs into his neck
"come brothers joins on to Zeke's unit we will kill these humans together"
Vamp wondered why the commander seemed to be so pleasant to him as his presence was not that welcoming however Vamp did not care anymore wot ever he did however much he failed would not matter to him and he didn't care how much the war masters spoke of this if it was skilling they wanted then it was killing he would deliver as he thought of this his bludgeoned rage seemed to build up again
"charge brothers for the Vampyre race" Vamp mounted on his lyken and began his descent into the burning castle"
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Post by thecampheretic on Jan 12, 2006 12:18:26 GMT -5
Lelron strode across the wasteland, a skull shattered under his foot. He had spent a few minutes trying to trace a strange message which had reached him, but to no avail. It was from nearby – it would test even his power to send such a strong message over more than a couple of miles – but when he looked for its source there was nothing. He pondered, doubtless he could find its source but it would take time.
Then he felt it, another practicing magic and by its feel not the most pleasant either. This was most likely the source of his message. Smiling he felt again though the winds and sure enough though the roars of demon-blades and static hiss of other magics the occasional person rang true. Most were not magicians and would most likely never find their powers but a couple had and the one who’s spell had attracted his attention was moving quickly, to quickly to get an exact location on.
He concentrated on her, or at least he thought the other magician was a she, but she didn’t seem to be performing any spells and was vague. Closing his eyes he felt again, she was within Aesir! But still she was untraceable. He felt her presence stronger and was gaining hope when something flew past him disrupting his concentration. With a curse he opened his eyes and stopped the heart of a defender who was tracking him. It didn’t offer much comfort though.
With a sigh he decided to keep an eye out for this new mage and head towards the keep. He had spent time in its libraries only a few centuries before but there was no telling what new treasures it may have acquired.
The gates to the keep were still closed though it sounded as though there was chaos inside. He turned to a captain who was fighting behind him and, killing his foe with a look, said, “Ready your men,” he turned back to the gate to the keeps yard and paused for a moment. With a shrug he burnt the thing to ashes in short seconds, it was dull he knew but pyromancy was nice for a change.
He walked up though it and started looking for a way into the library.
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Post by Larke on Jan 12, 2006 16:24:57 GMT -5
“Congratulations Victus, your soul is free of that Demon.” The old man said stroking his beard, he motioned for Victus to follow him. Obliging he fell in next to the aged man as he passed through the gardens.
“And what of me now?” Victus asked, a sharp sickly smell filled his nostrils as they passed the first of the gardens.
“You may remain here, but I still need the likes of you on the mortal plane.” The old man smiled at him.
“What do you mean still need?” Victus asked, sniffing again he realised it was not flowers that filled his nostrils. It was death. The old mans simple eyes gazed at him hatefully, looking around him again Victus walked through a field of death. The gardens were pits of tormented souls swirling in a miasma of darkness, tended to by skeletal creatures.
Standing next to Victus was a man, clean shaven and shortly trimmed hair, although he couldn’t be sure Victus supposed he was looking at the maker of all things evil, Anguis.
“I still need the likes of you Victus, to lead my armies against my brother and his mortal warriors.” The gods voice was subtle, yet it carried so much anger and hatred within it.
“No. My time is done, I will not return as such an abomination.” Victus shouted. Anguis laughed at him.
“Fine, fine my traitorous friend, but after your unnaturally long life of evil deeds you cannot expect a happy fate.” Anguis said between his bouts of laughing. “My older brother Aeolus probably wants to have you, after all I had to fight him for your soul Victus. I don’t believe he will be pleased with you.” Anguis waved a hand.
Victus realised that the God standing before him had a point, how could he expect the Gods of order and light to forgive him after the countless atrocities he had committed?
“They wont.” Anguis snapped at him, obviously reading his thoughts. “They will condemn you to a prison of torture as they punish you for every last deed. You belong with my armies of Darkness Victus, You always have. Your soul is as black as Jet my friend, the light will only punish you Victus.”
“A punishment I deserve.”
“Don’t be a fool Victus, I’m offering you a chance to return to the mortal realm. Lead my Demonic army Victus. Forge a path of bloody retribution across the lands of man; make the Gods in heaven quake at your name Victus. And if you do this I shall return your wife and children to you, that’s what you want Victus isn’t it.”
Inside Victus raged as the God manipulated him with words, offering him the one desire he had. His head sunk low as he gave into Anguis, dropping to a knee he bowed before the Dark god.
“Yes my master. I will serve you.” Victus uttered. A cold hand was placed on his shoulder as Anguis began to laugh, swathes of energy coursed through Victus. His every instinct told him to pull away, but the warrior within him knew this power would make him stronger then before. Clasping his own hand around that of Anguis he kept it in place even as the God tried to pull back. Glaring at Anguis, Victus’ face turned into a cruel smile as the power flowing into him increased. The Demon God kicked out viciously sending Victus sprawling backwards; Anguis slumped to a knee panting heavily from the sudden drain of power.
There was a blinding light behind Victus’ eyes, one he could not turn away from or shield himself from. He withered in agony as it increased with a flash, he was instantly blinded by the coursing power within his body as it burned away his retinas. Although blinded Victus could still see as the skin on his arms cracked and peeled away revealing the muscles below, and even then they doubled in size. The muscle surrounding his skeleton exploded in a shower of gore, smaller scavenger demons were instantly attracted.
Glaring down at his body Victus was shocked when rather then seeing his skeletal frame, dark crimson armour now encased him. His wrists and hands were now the size of a man’s head; climbing to his feet he doubled the height of Anguis now. Gazing down on him with his newfound sight Victus could only see the powerful red aura surrounding the Demon God; everything else surrounding them was a shade of grey or black.
“Good Victus, very good. Now take command of my Demons and resume the destruction of man.” Anguis motioned behind Victus; his massive bulk creaked as demonic armour plates rubbed against each other whilst turning. A corridor leading upwards had appeared amongst the gouts of fire, he gave a slight bow to the god before setting off up the ramp that disappeared high above him.
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Post by madlarkin on Jan 12, 2006 18:19:02 GMT -5
Balphegor watched the thunderous scene of carnage below as the mighty dragons laid waste to the Legion's armies. It seemed the dark forces had managed to take down at least one of the creatures, as he noted a large, dismembered corpse lying far below.
As he swept above them on his powerful winged steed, a bright flash of ethereal luminescence bathed the skies the colour of blood, and for a brief moment the mighty warrior was distracted by the powerful glow. The sounds of battle slowly brought him from his reverie and drew his attention to the charging centaur pounding along towards one of the thunder dragons. Even from high above, Balphegor could hear the beast's terrible roar, which made the dragon's own cries seem insignificant in comparison.
Suddenly, the centaur leapt and began a furious attack on the dragon, causing it to roar in rage and agony at the terrifying damage being wrought to it. It seemed powerless to stop the raging beast before it, and Balphegor was in wonder of this strange display of power.
As he banked lower towards the epic confrontation, he noticed another of the thunder dragons turning and stomping to the aid of its wounded brethren. Balphegor snarled and dove towards the creature, doubtful of the fact that the centaur would be able to confront two of the mighty dragons simultaneously, even in this heightened state of power.
Whispering a few cursed words to the Demisaar, Balphegor swept low beneath the dragon as it pounded across the ground towards its comrade. Darting forth at a tremendously rapid speed, Balphegor quickly stood upon the back of the Demisaar as it flew beneath the long, craned neck of the dragon and swept his demonic scythe upwards in a flash.
A roar of pain bellowed forth from the thunder dragon as it faltered in its stride and reared up, the long, jagged slash in its neck evident for all to see. Balphegor laughed in triumph, his head cast back and arms spread wide. he was still standing atop the rapidly moving Demisaar, his own welfare forgotten as the Thirst filled him with rage and bloodlust.
Maintaining his balance as the Demisaar swept round for another attack, Balphegor spun the scythe around his hands and crouched low, his burning gaze set upon the raging form of the dragon. As the Demisaar passed over the top of the thunder dragon, Balphegor leapt into the air, somersaulting away from his steed and down towards the dragon before landing upon its scaled back.
Almost immediately the beast began to thrash and snap at him with its huge jaws, attempting to dislodge him and tear him apart angrily. Balphegor was not about to present himself as an easy target. Steadying himself as the dragon attempted to fling him into the air, he lifted his scythe with a cry and brought the cursed blade down into the creature's back, embedding the demonic weapon into the dragon's toughened, scaled flesh. He laughed triumphantly as another satisfying roar of pain was emiited from the beast's throat.
Balphegor tried to dislodge Garlash from the behemoth's flesh, but found the blade of the scythe stuck hard. Cursing the temperamental spirit trapped within the weapon, Balphegor soon found himself leaping backwards as an arc of lightning erupted from the dragon's open maw towards the blood sage.
He landed awkwardly on the ever shifting surface of the beast's scaly flesh, and before he could right himself found another blast of powerful lightning energy arcing towards him. This time he leapt forward, diving onto his front and grasping the shaft of his embedded scythe, using it as a handhold to stay atop the thrashing form of the mighty beast.
Once again, Balphegor cursed darkly. This had not been his depiction of a tremendous victory over the powerful creature. Gripping the shaft of Garlash with one hand, Balphegor reached to his belt and drew one of his long, curved daggers. Raising it high, he drove it into the dragon's back with as much force as he could muster, in order to penetrate the hardened scales of the beast.
Using this new handhold to steady himself, the blood sage drew his other dagger, the twin of the first, and dug this into the flesh alongside its counterpart. Growling furiously now, Balphegor began to drag himself across the dragon's back, using the daggers as climbing picks to crawl towards the dragon's head.
The thunder dragon seemed to notice this and started to thrash about even more, casting desperate bolts of energy back towards him. these soon stopped when the powerful behemoth realised it was doing more damage to itself than the unwanted passenger upon its back, and with a roar of frustration, the dragon took to the air, strong, membranous wings bearing it high above the battleground below.
Balphegor hung on tightly as the dragon rolled in mid-air, attempting to dismount him and drop him to his death. "You shall not deny me, beast," he growled as he clambered atop the horned head of the dragon. As he lay there atop the huge skull of the beast, glaring up into its sapphire coloured eyes as it continued to fly upside down, Balphegor uttered a curse of hatred and revulsion the likes of which had not been uttered since the days of the long lost Nepherim blood boiler tribes.
The thunder dragon seemed to reel from the dark incantation, recoiling as if slapped by an enormous hand. Its speed and defence also dropped, and Balphegor took full advantage of the opportunity. Roaring in hatred, he plunged one of his long, curved daggers into the large eyeball of the dragon, pushing with all his might and burying his arm up to his shoulder in the beast's right eye socket.
A hideous roar, this time one of pure agony, was emitted from the thunder dragon, and with a lurch the mighty creature began to plummet towards the ground, far below. Balphegor pulled his arm from within the dragon's cranium, his limb slick with dark, sticky ichor and brain tissue, and hung limp, one handed, from the dagger still embedded within the creature's toughened flesh.
The world swirled around him as the dragon fell, spiralling through the air. The wind screamed all around Balphegor as the burning, body strewn ground of the city of Aesir loomed up to greet him. Balphegor closed his eyes, visualising the distance between himself and the ground. And pulled his dagger from atop the dragon's skull. The blood sage fell through the air rapidly, tucking his body into a ball and rolling.
The ground had just begun to seem a little too close for comfort when he landed with a thud atop his trusty Demisaar, which sreeched in disapproval at his heavy landing. "There was a change of plan," he explained to the winged beast as he watched the vast bulk of the thunder dragon plummet towards the city. With an almighty crash, the dragon drove directly into a large tower which dominated the centre of Aesir.
With a wicked grin, Balphegor watched the structure collapse, bringing down huge chunks of rock to crash within the ranks of massed men below. He sat back as the Demisaar dove low towards the ruins, depositing the blood sage on the cracked ground next to the broken and bloody body of the thunder dragon. "Huh," he grunted, spitting a gob of phlegm onto the thing's dead flesh, "invincible? Give me a worthy adversary!" Balphegor stepped forward and wrenched the embedded form of Garlash free from the dead creature, sheathing it on his back.
Reaching into the pouch on his belt, Balphegor then pulled out a pair of what seemed to be small rocks. Striking them together a few times, he raised the devices and cast them towards the ranks of fleeing men, who by now had all but given up the city of Aesir. Balphegor wondered if any of the mortals had managed to escape the city alive.
The rocks exploded with a large detonation, erupting in a gigantic gout of flame which leapt towards the sky. It was his signal to his warriors; the indication of the beginning of the Feast.
As the structures around him continued to crumble and collapse with the onslaught of the Legion's warriors, Balphegor spread his arms wide and began to laugh, casting his head back and basking in the warmth of the victory flames. The sweet flesh of the mortals would taste ever sweeter with the spice of victory.
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anarchyangel
Corporal
Being Bloodthirsty is like filling your mouth with salt...
Posts: 44
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Post by anarchyangel on Jan 12, 2006 21:32:14 GMT -5
Bane intercepted a sweeping attack of the dragon’s spiked tail with his sword, the force of the hit pushing him onto his hind legs but also causing his blade to cut through blue scales and draw blood. Hot, throbbing blood. The dragon started to slash a claw at him as it snarled in pain and he hacked down on the tail once more, chopping easily through bone and severing the appendage in a burst of dark, crimson blood.
The dragon screamed and Bane leapt aside from its oncoming talon, howling in glee himself as the life fluids splashed over his hands and breastplate. The dark liquid washed over the ground they fought on and the dragon suddenly smelled faintly of the sensation of fear. It roared, the scent quickly disappearing as it snapped down at its attacker with lethal jaws.
Bane sidestepped with a growl and swung Ironcutter towards the creature’s face as its teeth missed him by inches. A shallow gash was opened above the dragon’s golden eye and blood instantly flooded down, clouding the catlike orb. The dragon pulled its head back at the change of vision, flicking its head side to side in an effort to get the blood out.
Bane felt the dragon’s heart race in that fleeting second as it reared up. He felt the blood rushing out of its wounds and the searing inside its veins and arteries. He wanted to drain the monster dry terribly at that instant; spill all of its dark gore down his throat and then go off to seek more.
Seeing his opportunity to fulfill his sudden urges, Bane lunged forward, slashing upwards with his jagged sword and shearing through the already damaged scales of the creature’s breast. Chunks of scale tissue fell to the ground and the creature shrieked; the will to fight suddenly vanishing from its mind as pain tore through its body. Bane could smell the normally unscented reek of fear coming off the monster in full now. It was like a sweet stench of decay. And he could also smell rushing blood.
That blood burst out of the newest injury in an explosion of red, splashing onto Bane’s body and across his savage, smiling face. Gasping as the powerful blood entered his mouth, he hacked over and over again into the wound; the dragon flailing its claws weakly and inhaling a labored breath. Its wings started to unfold and the Superbaal howled menacingly as he realized his victim intended to leave him unsatisfied.
He would have to finish the creature off now.
Bane bellowed a war cry and he raised Ironcutter with both hands to do the task. Before he stabbed forward however, the dragon exhaled; barely twenty feet above him. A thunderclap filled his mind and ears and he was swallowed by the awesome, full power of the electric attack; drawn on from the deepest reserves of the dragon’s waning strength. For the first time he could ever remember in his full frenzy, Bane felt true agony. Around him, everything disintegrated.
Somewhere in front of him, through the whirlwind of pain and destruction; he felt the mighty heart slow drastically. Determined not to lose his victim to its own devices, he threw aside the agony that stabbed at his every nerve and he lunged out of the ongoing stream of lightning. The dragon halted its attack, seeing Bane come out of it and it panted as its eyes dilated; it feebly tried to back away but the wall was behind it now.
“You hurt me beast, a rare thing.” Bane hissed as he staggered forward, his body actually starting to slow down as the frenzy began to wane; many hours earlier than it ever should. His fear aura was already gone. “I am going to make you suffer greatly before you die.” He promised.
The dragons eyes opened wide and it spread its wings weakly as if hoping to fly away, but Bane would have none of it. Drawing on the remnants of his frenzy, he charged forward and leapt; shearing through the thick membrane of one wing and causing blood to rain down on him. The dragon was too exhausted to do more than fall sideways and release a shaky cry of pain; its eyes glazing as the shock of blood loss and defeat to a creature so much smaller than it sank in. So much smaller…
Bane strode forward to the dragon’s barely breathing side, and with a sneer he plunged Ironcutter deep into its guts; dragging the blade slowly sideways and letting the intestines rupture and spill out around him in wet coils. His eyes narrowed as the beast shuddered in agony; the acids and chemical used in its breath weapon flooding into its body. The blood would be tainted by those chemicals now; useless to the tiring centaur.
Even Ironcutter couldn’t help him. It kept trying to replenish his fading frenzy and exhaustion but he knew it wouldn’t be able to keep him from collapsing soon. Probably to be killed as he lay unconscious. Oh yes, he would make this dragon suffer for the fate it had handed to him.
Moving to the monsters face and making sure no humans were close by to try and stop him; Bane used his bare hand to wrench out the dragon’s one clear eye. It mewled and strained to writhe away as ropes of blood streamed down its scaly cheek like red tears. The centaur felt no pity however. Instead, he ripped the other eye out as well.
Feeling the dim grey of unconsciousness closing in and the disappearance of every trace of blue flame and godly sensation; Bane finally came to the ruin of the dragon’s chest. Somehow, he could still hear its heart slowly beat; like the last thuds of a war drum. Pulling upon his little remaining strength, he raised the heavy Ironcutter and lunged forwards; sinking its full length into the chest cavity of the creature. The war drum stopped.
And as Bane slouched forward against the beast’s still warm corpse, he felt little elation that he had killed such a mighty foe of the legion. He had killed many humans in this war; causing much damage and fear among the civilians and enemies of his host. But part of him wondered as the blackness came for him; was it worth it? Was it worth dying so soon just to further the goals of a legion, rather than furthering his own goals?
Did he ever have any goals beyond killing anyways?
He did not have the answers to those last burning questions as the darkness consumed him.
*** there is one thunder dragon left now. Please, everyone leave Bane where he is, I've got a plot based on his fall.
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Post by Jerok on Jan 12, 2006 21:40:33 GMT -5
Largo had left the girl with his second in Command back at the camp, after he had ordered his Seige Company back. They had nothing left to do in this fight. He had laid strict orders that she would not be touched in any way, leaving an open ended threat so that his minions could only dream of what he would do to them. He now rode back to the city, or, more precisly, to the final dragons outside it. At one hundred metres, he lept off Gnarloc, leaving the beast to later come to him. He began to stalk one of the Dragons....
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Post by dogaro on Jan 13, 2006 20:58:12 GMT -5
Each blow the dragons in the world above took racked through Dinaris soul. The blades as they struck the beasts caused the sensation of pain to race through dinari's body, giving him a thrill. The creatures cried out to their kin in the ancient language that only dragons share, and Dinari heard these cries, being their draconic kin. He spoke to them through his dreams telling them of the solace he could not give. His soul mingled with their dieing spirits and he embraced them, drawing them within him, sheltering their beautiful spirits from the death in these lands, carrying them and offering them to the gods of his lands.
In the process of this, the release of spirits, Dinari's magical aura extended, blanketing the city and giving new strength to the evil legion, while dimming the souls of men. The River boiled, turning a bright red, and casting a bloody red glow through the city. those above it's surface could see, if they looked within its surface, the forms of the dragons as they died, traveling east through the water where they would find their way north and then to the far eastern lands and to lifeless plain of his gods.
He could feel the powerful magician, and knew that he would search, but not yet, he would have to wait. He also felt a small force which had been taken from the city, that would prove to be interesting. He decided to follow this power. Rising from the bottom of the river he noticed that his flesh had become whole. He felt the presence of his goddess, the water was her domain and she had blessed him, ending his pain. He stretched his wings and propelled himself through the water, out of the city. Then he rose into the air, going to the small human power beyond the city walls.
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Post by thecampheretic on Jan 14, 2006 5:12:12 GMT -5
The door fell to dust before him and Lelron walked into the keep. There was nobody around, apparently the soldiers had evacuated, or were all up on the walls. He didn’t care.
He walked along trying to appear as human as he could. He hadn’t had much time to acclimatize to his daemonic side and though his magic was massively more powerful he knew it had changed him. He paused making himself more solid, his flesh and aura had fused during the battle with the daemon and he had lost some of his actuality.
He continued down the low corridor until he reached a heavy iron-studded door. It opened at a touch of his hand and he stepped into the library. When he stood in the middle he spread himself again, filling the entire room like a black haze. For a moment he stood taking in every tome. The shelves contained nothing he had not already read, on a lectern in the corner, however, something took his interest.
In a moment he was almost whole again and stood before the tome. It looked remarkably inoffensive, bound in simple cloth and written in ink he would not have given it a second glance, except for its title: ‘Invocation’s of the Blackened Saint’. He had heard of the work referenced in other tomes but never seen a copy. Hastily he tucked it under his arm and left the library. As an afterthought he pulled a torch from its wall scone and threw it in behind him.
He set off deeper into the keep.
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anarchyangel
Corporal
Being Bloodthirsty is like filling your mouth with salt...
Posts: 44
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Post by anarchyangel on Jan 14, 2006 10:57:19 GMT -5
In the glowing red river that passed through Aesir, a miniscule eddy appeared; swirling tight and fast. A series of malign, blue runes rose from above the growing whirlpool of water and pale light suddenly shot upwards; a massive, black hand clawing forth from the vortex. Following the hand was a form drawn from the darkest of nightmares as it pulled itself into reality and the portal behind it disappeared.
Its tall, athletic body was made of glistening black muscle tissue and the movements of tendon and bone were easily seen by any who looked upon the creature as it stood waist-deep in the water. Its bestial face was misshapen with antlers meshed by strands of swampy vegetation and it reeked of death and decay; an aura of terror pulsating away from it. It looked slowly side to side, flexing long black talons and it smiled; revealing prominently sharp teeth.
A daemon-spawn. A fell creature from the darkest of experimentations; forged by blood, sorcery and beast.
“How beautiful it is to walk in lady destruction’s wake again.” It hissed.
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squiggle
Corporal
Gnarrrr, rawk, argh!
Posts: 26
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Post by squiggle on Jan 14, 2006 18:28:41 GMT -5
Haaken Voslung
Haaken flinched involuntarily as Aesir shuddered around him under the vicious bombardment of the war machines of the Ordio Legio host. By now there was no chance that the men would be able to save the fate of their city; the revitalised legio was an almost unstoppable force.
The city was in tatters, but somewhere in the midst of this madness was what remained of the librarium sancto, the place where the scholars of man maintained their extensive archives.
Haaken ducked into the ruins of a smart townhouse and glanced around him. He had advanced with the main thrust of the Legio infantry, but now it was time to accomplish what he came here to do. To his left, the central bridge was piled high with bodies, and men and monsters were still struggling with each other, having to push aside the corpses to get to their opponents.
Haaken sighed and drew Gunlaug from beneath his robes and sprinted towards the bridge, ignoring the melee that swirled around him. He vaulted a pile of corpses and ducked a lazy swing from a clearly exhausted human before pulverising his skull with the enchanted hammer. Fighting down his urge to engage more fully, he quickly danced across the heap of corpses to the far side of the bridge. The fighting was sparser here, clumps of men fighting a desperate rearguard action against the slowly advancing forces of the Legio.
Again fighting down the urge to give into the aggression and launch himself into combat, Hakken headed off down a side street and quickly lost himself in a maze of low ruined buildings. Somewhere around here he thought to himself, counting side streets in his head.
He rounded a corner to be confronted by the burning wreck of a building and as he watched, its upper floors collapsed in onto the lower supporting struts, firing a cloud of sparks into the air. Legio soldiers whooped with triumph as the building disintegrated, but for Haaken there was no such glee. Seething with sudden rage as all his plans fell to ashes, he finally gave into the battle frenzy that had been clawing at his mind since the day’s battle had begun and he sprinted forwards into the surprised soldiers, Gunlaug screaming through the air, shattering bone and pulping flesh.
Haaken screamed.
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CptNemo
Sargeant
That's what your mom said.
Posts: 136
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Post by CptNemo on Jan 14, 2006 23:17:07 GMT -5
The Return of Victus
Sirius scratched at his chin, bored and casually. From his perch atop a stone spire, he could see the entire hell that was Aesir. At the base of the citadel, a seething mass of Legio and men battled to gain control of the massive, steel portcullis. The bridge road was cluttered with bodies of the slain, probably five deep in the thick of it. He had watched as the dragons took scores of defenseless Legio, but they fell slowly but surely to the dark magics of a new mage, and the blood lust of Bane.
He strolled around the balcony. The plains from which they attack came another host of Legio. These marched in disciplined ranks, unlike the chaos that turned into the first wave. Their long, block formations crept across the blackened plains.
There was not one street, one space left without blood or a body occupying it. Many of the thatch buildings were already aflame; but a few remained unharmed in various pockets of resistance. The city of Aesir was theirs.
I’m getting too old for this, he thought. He gave a half smile to the victory. As he sat watching the battle, a feeling washed over him; more of a sensation really. He looked up, suddenly alert. Across the northern horizon stretch black forests, but nothing appeared different.
No. Something was happening. The wind began to pick up, this time blowing from the opposite direction. The black, tar filled smoke began to swirl in wide rotations around the city. Not quickly, but definitely noticeable. Half light encased the city, for the setting sun slowly grew fainter and fainter in the coiling mist and smoke.
An intense flash blinded his world for a brief second, and the rolling thunder that followed echoed across the lands. What was once an intense blue sky was now becoming a tortured battle ground over the city, as if mocking the struggle of both forces. Black clouds backlit by a dull red luminescence churned and toiled upon each other like an angry sea. Yes, something was happening.
Another spider web of lightning sprawled across the growing darkness. A warm liquid fell on his cheek, and he slid a snaking tongue out to it, though he had a feeling he already knew what it could be. The buzzing copper sensation ripped at his mouth. Blood. Sirius stared absentmindedly into the madness, and spotted another falling crystalline bead. And another. And another. Before reality flooded his senses again, the sky unleashed a full scale downpour.
The smoke began to dissipate, but only to be replaced by the steam of quenching fires. The ring of steel and screams of battle were nonexistent now. Silence, save for a thousand droplets, it seemed, chinking on his steel shoulder guards. He listened hard for anything, but nothing other than wind in his ears. Even being from a damned land, this ranked high up there.
It took a moment to notice the dark sharp hovering through the storm. He cocked his head and squinted. It slowly descended from the clouds. Sirius noted the pulsing energy from the object. Then it hit him. It wasn’t a shadow he was seeing, it was black light. The absence of light. Energy did not pulse outward from it, but inwards.
Reality hummed softly at first. The shroud of darkness still descended at a constant speed. As it leveled out with Sirius, the pulsing energy in his chest turned to stronger vibrations and the humming grew higher yet. Finally, it was unbearable, as if the gates of hell had been unbarred and a million tortured souls were rushing back into reality. The sound generated from inside his very soul, for covering his ears did very little.
The thing disappeared in the cloud of steam and smoke and rain. The insanity of torture was lessened now, but the pulsing vibes remained. He waited and watched as the minutes passed. A reverberating groan rumbled through the darkness. The inward pull increased, and he wrapped his arms around a stone pillar to prevent himself from being sucked off the edge. He clenched tightly, looking over his shoulder, and for a moment he though his armor and clothes my give way to the force. A raven passed overhead, flapping ungainly wings. Try as it might, nothing was going to escape, not even the pitched squawks from its beak. Even the rain was slanting towards the epicenter.
Just when Sirius thought his soul would shattered to a million pieces, it stopped, and, without warning, a thundering boom sounded. There is no way to describe what Sirius felt at that exact moment. Even the cannons the humans used were obsolete to this new, wicked thing. It shook the material realm to its very strings from which it was constructed. The universe itself was ripping, or so it seemed. The seconds passed, the madness began to decline once more.
Just as it stopped completely a tremor rippled through time and space. He held tight. Everything not affixed to something solid was tossed skyward, bodies, rubble, and equipment only just described the scene. The blood rain and smoke domed out from an epicenter of the object, and rocketed outwards tenfold faster than any natural wind, or force, could even hope to reach.
And then, calm. Quietness. Almost peaceful. He felt like nothing, could not remember, could not think. Sirius peered over the edge at the scene below. Buildings laid flat like wet grass all around the central bridge, which stood unnaturally on a single pillar. The bodies that once choked its path were not to be seen.
A lone figure was hunched down on one knee in the middle of the bridge, head bowed and arms resting at its sides. He lifted his head, slowly and powerfully. Fire crackled from within the dark recesses and crevices of his ornate, blacker than night armor. He rose slowly to a height nearly thrice that of a large man. He examined himself for hours it seemed. Then, he titled his horned helmet back, and unleashed a guttural roar nearly as powerful as the previous boom.
Ordio and men alike slowly clawed their war out from under the rubble strewn city. They simply stared, not daring to make a move. What was this new daemon spawn? Sirius felt weak and irrelevant. Not a single thought dare come to his mind. For the first time in his life, he was scared.
(OOC: I think its time that we wrap this battle up. Much larger cities, and even stronger defenses lay ahead.)
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Post by tombxlordxsabre on Jan 15, 2006 3:08:33 GMT -5
S'dala lay flat on his back. Once he had escorted Victus to his death, he had fled to city, looking for anwers. No, not just that, looking for the questions. The assassins, still under his command, had followed suit, carving a path out of the city, and had no qualms for doing so, as the Ordo already had the battle well under control.
S'dala's brow furrowed deep in concentration. What in the hells had made him help Victus to a braver, yet ultimately the same death? He tried to think back to that very moment. A shiver in his memory; a shard of thought prodded him. He had thought himself incapable of being influenced... but in battle, it was possible a very powerful mind could do so subtley. Yet, why would someone want Victus to suffer this sort of death?
S'dala groaned. He realized what he had done. Of course, the burning of the body, the death bathed in blood of others. The sword master had condemned his comrade to servitude and slavery rather than penance in hell. S'dala didn't know which was worse.
That was about the time the assassins around him became extremely uneasy as the winds picked up and began to slowly rotate around the burning city. Only Shadowmaster Fain, leaning heavily on a stocky oak tree, noticed S'dala's unsurprised, and terribly bitter stare.
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squiggle
Corporal
Gnarrrr, rawk, argh!
Posts: 26
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Post by squiggle on Jan 15, 2006 3:56:23 GMT -5
Gunlaug swung and weaved, pulping flesh and crushing bones as Haaken exacted bloody vengeance on the Legio soldiers that had destroyed his precious store of ancient knowledge. Finally, surrounded by the bodies of the fallen, the red mist cleared and Haaken lowered Gunlaug, breathing deep of the cool air.
Around him the battle was over, save a moping up operation. Small groups of humans battled vainly to try and escape, but they were quickly hacked down the scores of Legio soldiers still present.
Haaken sighed to himself. Next time he would have to be at the fore-front of the battle so this would not happen next time. He began to walk across the ruined city, just one soldier among thousands, back towards the mountains where the soldiers of Clan Voslung were encamped. The Legio forces would march on Idor next, and he would be there, baying for the blood of mankind.
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Post by thecampheretic on Jan 15, 2006 5:37:58 GMT -5
Lelron felt it deep within the bowels of the keep, the keening wind and sucking blackness. He incanted quickly and it became an irrelevance to him. He walked onward.
After a short time he found what he had been searching for, a large door bound in iron and held by four massive locks. As his aura touched it, it seemed to fold in on itself, shrinking yet remaining unchanged in an eye bending display. He smiled, a magic door. He raised his hands.
The explosion ripped though the wall and the door splintered. There was a crack and a flash of black-purple light as the spell shattered. He stepped though the wreckage of the wall. The jailor ran at him but halfway across the stone floor he stopped and locked his hands around his throat. Lelron ignored the choking man and continued inwards.
The first few cells offered little, murderers, thieves, and brigands. Nobody of any interest. All of them seemed terrified by the strange magic from the surface. Idly he set a couple of the nastier ones free, their chains falling from them and the doors dropping from hinges. They would join the legio, or die. He continued down ignoring the pleas and screams. The level below had another row of cells. Two men stood chained naked to a wall, by the instruments on the floor by them they had been tortured. Lelron thought he might recognise them as from the legio, certainly the human’s ingenuity was impressive but he ignored their screams for mercy. Instead he produced a bottle from within his cloak, if such it could be called, and poured it over them. The smell of caustic mingled with their screams in the foul air.
At the next stair a door barred his way, this was where he was headed. Centuries before when he had been a citizen in Aesir he had known of this place. Ripples of purple spread over the portals surface, he reached his mind into the spell and twisted. The door vanished.
He paced down the next stairway feeling as close to excited as he had since before his soul had been sundered. At the bottom were six cells, three were empty but the others contained the most dangerous inhabitants of the castle. Wild mages. Broken people driven mad by birth-given powers they could not control.
One screamed and growled as he pounded the walls of his cell like a beast. Whatever power he had had evidently rendered him senseless. The next stood silently, a fleck of foam at her lip the only hint of the seething madness within. The third one sat on a stool. His muscular body seemed to fill the cell but his expression showed boredom more than anything else.
Lelron looked to each in turn and, overcoming the slight resistance of the enchantment designed to keep the captives in check, opened the barred doors to their cells. At once he had each in a vice like grip, denying them control of their muscles as he used them towards his own will. As he started up the stairs again they followed, jerkily.
The city outside was devastated; though most of the corpses seemed to have been taken by the magic he had felt some still littered the street, ripped to pieces by the great magic. The ground was slick with an unimaginable quantity of blood. Almost every building was raised, few roofs were intact and smoke still drifted from the occasional block. In the centre of a bridge stood a massive being the mere sight of which had cause the few surviving defenders to put up their swords and join the long lines of captives who staggered out from the city towards the legio’s camp. Lelron smiled at the thought.
He followed them from the city with his own captives in tow. This would be interesting, assuming it worked…
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Post by Larke on Jan 15, 2006 7:20:07 GMT -5
OOC: Since Nemo totally fecked up Victus return, nevermind)
The transformed Victus stood in the centre of the bridge, the battle around him had ceased to a stand still as man and beast alike stared in horrified terror. A sea of reds surrounded him, the dark hearts of the Legio members. Pockets of white and grey were sorely pressed, Victus could only guess these were the remaining human soldiers.
Stomping forwards shapes began to materialise as they neared him, outlines of warriors moving warily around him were easy to distinguish. Faces and buildings were not.
He ignored those beneath him as he moved through the ranks, bowling creatures over with powerful legs and crushing them underfoot. Closing on the first cluster of good souls he could reach, Victus slamned two giant fists down. Shattering stone and bodies with equal ease. Gripping one large fist around a soldier he lifted him off the ground with ease, clenching his fist he felt bones and armour plating crack under his strength.
Flinging the lifeless corpse back into its previous compatriots he continued to rage as he tore limbs from bodies and crushed foe's with single blows. All to soon for Victus the frenzy was over, he refrained from tearing into the ranks of cheering Ordio around him. Such an act would only dishearten them. He left the bloody pile of corpses, mangled and torn apart in the centre of the street.
His hulking frame barged through the smaller streets, smashing veranda's off shop fronts and tearing masonite from buildings. His feet slipped on the piles of dead that littered the streets, but all this to Victus was obsured. His new sight had left him blind from the remainder of the world around him, shifting forms of grey swirled past his vision as he staggered again.
His gigantic feet entangled by the hand carts abandoned in the center of the road, the mighty Victus toppled to the earth. His heavy form shattering anything it landed on. reaching out for anything to grab hold of, the five metre tall Demon roared in frustration as his fists tore chunks from walls and collapsed houses.
"To your right." A soft femine voice called out, Victus could see a pure white soul standing before him. Realising he was at their mercy his right hand reached out again grasping for something to grip onto.
"No reach more forwards." Victus did as he was told, finding purchase on something that didn't collapse under his weight he lifted himself up. "There thats it." the female voice called out as he reared up to his full height.
The white soul moved closer to him, Victus could see her outline. She seemed so small to him, probably not more then five and a half feet tall. Victus could feel the Demonic urges within him, they ordered him to kill her. To crush her with a single blow and end her life, to do the wishes of Anguis. Instead he knelt, bowing his armoured head as low as he could.
"Why?" the question leapt from his lips.
"Because you needed help. Is that wrong?" The woman moved closer to him, a slender arm reaching out and resting on his armoured leg. "Why did you fall?"
"My sight has been taken from me, all that i see is what is inside peoples souls."
"And what do you see inside mine?" She gripped one of his huge fingers with both hands, pulling on it and encouraging him to open his palm.
"Purest of whites. I am a wretched beast now and my Instincts tell me that i should kill you, but i can not."
"Then it seems you need my help even more now then ever." The young womans voice was soft, she climbed into his open hand and sat down. Resting her back against his wrist she grabbed hold of his large thumb, holding it over in front of her.
"What is your name Woman?" Victus asked as he rose to his feet, keeping his right hand close to his chest.
"Layla."
Victus returned from whence he had come, guided by the fragile layla resting within his grip. Not a single foot was placed on uneven ground as the Demon returned to bridge where he had died, pausing only momentarily Victus continued on. Leaving the city via its ruined gates and marching across the corpse littered fields back to the Ordio Legio's camp in the foothills.
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