*smiles waiting for more*

 

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page 2 shall never do.. back up it goes!

The Droods and Wardens were walking between the few wounded we had, tending their wounds. Zlara was sitting on her knees at Yurgi's head, murmuring. "So much poison.. Ho humm… And this artery here.. Ho humm.." She gently turned his head this way and that. "Poison reached the thinking bucket. That can't be good.. Ho humm.." Standing up she walked around him, gently tapping his limbs with her foot. "So serious this bolg. Ho humm…" she sighed. "Silly bolg." She sat at his head again, playing with her lynx cub. Slowly cooing to her cub, an eerie light started spreading from it. Its eyes darted in its head. It looked scared. More she sang to it, placating it. More light came out of it, resting on Yurgi. The more light came, the more tired the cub looked. Then the cub closed its eyes. Breathing its last breath. Large tears danced in Zlara's eyes. She stroked the dead cub's fur. Standing up, still crying, carrying her cub, she walked away, outside of the keep. "What of the bolg, Zlara? Did you fail?" one of the Hibernians called out. Zlara stopped. Her hunched back turned to us. "Stand up Yurgi. Stop being so dramatic." She started walking towards the gate again.


A groan. Yurgi's chest moved. He sat up, looking left and right, his eyes unfocused. Then, his eyes suddenly focusing, he threw up. I averted my gaze. It was not a pretty sight. I ran to the walls and looked down, watching Zlara walking down the hill. "ou are a silly elf." I looked down to where the voice came from. Saorise was standing there, her serious eyes looking up. "Why do you say that, keen?" I asked, smiling. "Standing on the keep walls like that, wearing nothing but that robe you insist on calling armor. The enemie's assassins will turn you into a cheese grater." She looked me up and down. "A whitish, gangly cheese grater." She lowered her gaze and looked through the battlements outside of the keep. I heard a rustle of soft shoes on the stone near me. Smiling, I expected to see Llava appearing. The keens ears were better than mine, what with being younger and all. She had her dagger out and was fumbling with her shield. From the shadows, a form appeared. A very pleasing form. Her dagger snaked towards my abdomen. I was too slow to react. Zlara was too far from me to help. The noise of dagger hitting flesh. I held my breath, bracing myself for the pain. It was not there. I heard Saorise groan, the blade stuck in her. The Shadowblade was out of the shadow that protected her. She looked at me. She was one of the two Midgardians I actually recognized. Leylie was standing there, her eyes a confusion of why the elf, me, is still standing. I did not waste one second, drawing the rays of the waning sun, I blinded her, stunning her in her place. I then proceeded to decimate her. Before she was aware of what was happening, she was lying on the walls of the keep, dead. Saorise staggered near me. Poison going through her blood. She hung to my robe. "Silly.. Elf.. How many.. Times do I have to… tell you.." I helped her down the stairs to the courtyard. I tried lifting her, but she gave me such a look, I was lucky to still be alive after it. At the courtyard one of the bards ran to us, singing a soft lullaby. Saorise's eyes drooped. From her wound, with the blood that was constantly dribbling out, a green substance also poured out. Once all the poison was out of her system, the wound closed itself.


Zlara buried her little cub outside the keep and came back, more quiet than she usually was. Yurgi was very weak, but was getting better with every hour that passed.


We rested. The keep was ours.

A bump is definitely needed here.


Very nicely told, Masnark

As the elf continued with his story, strange thoughts went through Aorana's brain. She was still hidden in the shadows of the Hibernian pub, listening to Masnark's account of a past battle. She was now less worried that the elves, keens, celts, and bolgs around her would discover the dwarf in their midst, so entranced were they by the story. And strangely, she began to feel sympathy for the tree-huggers, even as she heard how they were killing her countrymen. Although they had killed many dwarves, kobolds, trolls, and norsemen, the Hibernian invaders had suffered losses of their own.


Aorana recalled stories she heard during her childhood, passed down from the clan elders. The elders had said that in ancient times, the natives of Albion, Hibernia, and Midgard had lived in relative peace. The legendary King Arthur had managed to keep the peace, which had benefited members of all races. After his passing, long-standing disputes and mistrust among the races had re-emerged, leading at first to cessation of trade and eventually open warfare.


As she continued to ponder the events in Masnark's tale, Aorana could no longer ignore the suffering that war brought to members of all races. In the past, she had seen the elves and others as hated enemies, who must be killed before they killed her countrymen. But now, as she listened to their own stories, thanks to the amazing magic that allowed her to understand their tongue, Aorana's sympathy for these people grew.


She was still not sure what poswer brought her here and granted her the ability to understand the language of Hibernia, but she began to suspect that it was the work of her God Eir. Eir is the God of Healing and Peace in her homeland, and perhaps he had also grown tired of the constant battles and deaths. Perhaps Eir had brought her here, so that she would come to this realization: War brings suffering and death to all peoples and it was now time for Peace to return to the lands. If this truly was Eir's desire, that the 3 realms cease their constant battles and find a way to live in peace, Aorana knew she must find a way to do his will. She knew it would be a long struggle, but if her courage held, she would find a way.


Coming out of her thoughts, Aorana noticed that Masnark had taken a break to comfort a young keen who was upset about the death and bloodshed in his story. He was able to comfort the child, but this scene spurned a new insight for her. Perhaps the key to bringing about the return of peace to her world was with the children. Children of all races did not know hatred at first; it was only after their elders told them of the atrocities committed by their enemies that children learned hatred. With that in mind, Aorana made sure to watch the reactions of the young keens, elves, celts, and bolgs in the audience, as Masnark resumed his story.


< OOC: Perhaps I need to write my own RP story about Aorana's quest to re-unite the 3 realms. Oh yeah, and a hearty /bump for Masnark! >


< Edits for spelling and clarity >

 

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Wow Masnark.


Just...wow.


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Qwyllian Season 50 (and listening raptly) elven ranger

Har! Ol' Masnark tellin' his stories tained with the mark of the elves. Har! This old forsaken tree-hugger doesn't know what's comin' to him, Itell ya!!!


<OOC: Well written Massie, well written>

As dawn rose, most of us woke up and started getting ready for our stay in the keep. Saorise was sent with Zlara, Amergen and myself to help the reinforcement that was on its way. At night, after the keep take, Doulor was sent to call for reinforcements. Rumor had it that we even had a Corpse-Summoner coming(not that anybody in their right mind would call them that to their faces).


As we reached the fork that leads to the Albion portal keep in Odin, we heard shouts and the clashing of swords. Running towards the sound, we came at the end of the short fight. A Briton, who must have been a Minstrel by the smashed drum lying at his side was killed by the band of nine Hibernians. A very confused horse was standing at the Britons feet, looking to it's left and right, as if trying to orient itself. Divon was standing there, and so were the rest of his Phoenix Guard – a newly formed clan then. With them was a solemn Elf, his hood covering his face completely. The odd thing about him was that he was wearing no shoes. That was the first time me or any of my companions ever saw a Corpse Summoner.


We made our way towards the keep. On the way, me and Divon opened some distance from the rest of them, and talked. "I was sure we were going to get more reinforcements. Midgard will retaliate and try to take back their keep." Divon nodded at me. "Our forces are demoralized. It was hard getting even these to come." I nodded my understanding and we went back to the group.


We reached the keep at noon. Smells of food was rising from it. I was famished. I only ate some stale bread in the morning, and the day before I ate nothing at all. We went inside and sat down to eat with the guards who started arriving.


As I was walking around the keep, I saw the Corpse Summoner drawing intricate forms on the ground, in the sand. He was chanting as he was drawing. I came near him and watched for a bit. Some of his chants and one of the drawings I recognized from my years as an Enchanter Novice. I came close to him and tried making conversation. I got almost no replies except for grunts that sounded like "es" and "No". At some point I asked him why he wasn’t setting up in the Lords room. It was much safer there, I offered, and the harsh Midgardian weather would not bother him so much. He looked at me, or at least I thought he looked at me – it was hard to tell with that hood darkening his face. "Listen, Enchanter, I am a Summoner of the Dead. I need to be connected to the ground so that I can feel my Brothers and Sisters fall in battle. I need to be connected to the ground so that I can channel their bodies to this place where I stand. Stop asking me questions and bothering me. I have much work to do!" Corpse summonners, I decided, were not very nice people.

this just keeps getting better and better

 

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Bump. Second page is bad.