.

/kerbump

<keeping quiet in the corner, entranced by the story>

Bump.

"Saorise, Zlara!" I shouted, frantically trying to get close enough to help. Not fifteen feet from Zlara's body, Grunwave was fighting two warriors, them trying to beat on him, he fending them off with his shield, tearing them apart with his mighty sword. At my shout, his head whipped towards Zlara. Turning his back at the warriors, he charged the Shadowblades, running towards them with a wordless howl, the two warriors running after him, slashing and attacking his unprotected back, rending large tears in his armor. One of the kobbies looked up a second too late, Grunwave's shield slammed into him. Unable to stop his charge, Grunwave, shield and Kobby flew into the side of the door, slamming the kobbie again, this time on the wall. There was a loud, sick "crack" sound followed by half a dozen or so smaller ones. The kobold fell to the ground, from the way he was lying down, one could see his spine was broken in many many places. His collar bone would never be the same either.


The second Shadowblade, seeing his friend so mangled decided to make a run for it. He got two feet away from the Drood when his hands flew to his head, holding it, groaning. His legs seemed to stop cooperating with him. He tried running, but was impended. It was already lost for him. With a flurry of stabbings Saorise was on him, thrusting at his soft leather armor, shouting at him with her high-pitched voice, her shouts turning into a physical blow that damaged him from within. A few seconds later and he was lying dead at her feet.


Then, silence. We were looking around us, searching for the next target, the next threat. There was nothing. I got to Zlara and was trying ineffectually to help her to her feet. She was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes opened. All around us were the mangled bodies of the Midgardian detachment. From inside the keep one last pained shout was heard, ending with a gurgle as blood filled the throat of the one who raised the shout. Thirty seconds later Llava emerged near Shelter, saluting, saying softly "Two got in. They saw the color of their own blood." At the word blood, he covered himself again, and disappeared towards the keep. The ram-runner was gawking at the bodies littering the ground. Shelter snapped at him. "Keep ramming the door. This keep is ours." Then he raised his voice. "Saorise, count your people." Saorise, who already had, shouted back: "All are here and breathing." Shelter was looking around, searching. "I cannot find Yurgi. Llava, look for the Bolg." Seconds later, Llava appeared on the walls of the keep, his face the color of ash. "He's at the back of the keep. It seems like two Shadowblades with a Treb were trying to get into the keep. They didn’t make it. He made sure of that. But their poison killed him at the end."

Bolg down.

Wow....that is all I can say is wow.


Veeman/Runbabyrun/vincnezi Hib/Tristan

Fear my uber scouting skills.


(What's funny is that it would actually happen like that... I would be behind the keep and finding Yurgi before he'd actually say something.)

One of the little Lurikeen girls was sobbing silently. Masnark stopped his long winded descriptions of battle and was at a loss of what to do. Looking to the talkative Luri for help, "The's my thithter. The dothen't like it when people die. The taketh thethe thtorieth too theriouthly." Then she bit her lip. "urgi wathn't dead, wath he? He couldn’t be." Masnark smiled and ordered some more sweet-cakes for the children. "Let me tell you something. I was once sitting with Zlara in a pub, much like the one we are now in, little one. It was in one of those rare moments of peace we had. Zlara could drink just about anyone under the table, but when she was drunk, she would stop being her quiet self and could talk your ear off. It was one of these times when she confided in me. We were talking of death, of life, of birth. And her torrent of speech subsided. She looked thoughtful. Then she looked at me. 'ou know, elf', she said to me. 'Death… Death is just a wound people take too seriously. And me, elf, I know how to heal all wounds.' Yurgi was not really dead little one. He was just taking the poison in his blood and the gashes in his flesh very seriously. Too seriously" Sniffling, the sobbing child slowly stopped crying. Masnark did not know if it was his reassurance that did that or the fact that the sweet-cakes just arrived at the table but it didn’t matter. The children's mouths stuffed with cakes, their little jaws working through them, he went on with the story.


At the end, the taking of the keep was relatively easy. The second door was already down. We charged inside, killing what few guards were inside and cautiously went upstairs. The coward Dwarven Lord of Nottmoore practically threw his sword at us, begging us not to kill us - so scared he was. We spared his life. We took his armor, we took his beard. We gave him a copper training sword and a coin of gold with the tree of Hibernia embedded in it. Silently we escorted him out of the keep and sent him away. Sent him to tell his Norse masters that a line was drawn. Sent him to tell his Norse master that the day of the Elves, the Lurikeen, the Bolgs and the Celts is upon them. Sent him to tell his Norse masters of their coming defeat.


Yurgi's body was carried into the courtyard while our carpenters were hard at work, fixing the doors and making them stronger. It was strange seeing one so strong as him so void of life. He was lain apart from the wounded, waiting for the Droods to come.

The tails of battles of past shall serve to teach the young of this day. *smiles* Even if it be one of the fall of me homeland.