Date Posted:12/16/03 4:22pmSubject:
(RP) The Key to Midgard's Heart (RP)
In the evening, the call was made to go attack Hlidskialf. We took our entire fighting force – 24 fighting women and men, divided into three units. A few healers and crafters were left in Nottmoore to help outfit the guards and take care of day to day business. We had Hlidskialf mostly down, only having trouble with the Lord who would not give up when suddenly the shouts of my brothers and sisters pierced the air. "Incoming!", "Brace yourselves!", the shout was taken. At the end it was not enough. Close to forty Midgardians swept over us, taking us down quickly and efficiently on the stairs in Hlidskialf. As I was about to die from two Kobolds working in tandem, blasting my psyche with their foul magic, I was swept away, something stronger than death calling to me. The last thing I saw was the sweaty face of the Summoner of the Dead chanting, singing and dancing, more and more bodies appearing at his feet as he channeled the fallen Hibernians to his little magical garden.
I lost consciousness.
I do not know how much time passed, but suddenly I was awaken from my slumber by the foulest of smells. Coughing I pushed myself back from the smell and looked around me. Tigarian was crouching near me, holding a smelling stone to my nose, the noxious smell was still strong even 2 feet from them. He smiled that reassuring smile of his. That smile that tells you that everything is good, or at least, that everything is going to be good. "What is that smell? I have never smelled salts so foul!" I cried, trying to hold my breath. "It is no ordinary smelling stone, it has been drenched in Troll sweat for forty-five days." The courtyard was full of Hibernians, some unconscious others groaning, still others suffering silently. The Droods and Wardens were walking around them, fixing broken bones, closing opened wounds. I could see Zlara walking around, "Ho humming" to herself as she laid her hand on that limb, touching that person. My eyes swept over the shadows. I stood up. Holding Tigarian's arm, I asked "What of the keen? Did she make it?" He chuckled. "She's on the walls, Enchanter. Leylie and her horde of Shadowblades have been trying to come over the walls for the past 12 hours. Saorise and some of the Shades are making sure they do not make it." Looking at the walls, I could see her little body walking the walls, seemingly chatting with herself.
At the third day after the defeat in Hlidskialf, the horn was blown. The Norse have arrived at Nottmoore. We had more reinforcement coming, but they were too late. The forces of Midgard were at the bottom of the hill. Shelter called out to the shades "Give me a count. How many are we facing?" five minutes later Jander appeared at his side. "Sixty Norse. Armed to the teeth. Order of Shadows leading." Jander looked around him at the twenty four Hibernians. He looked at Shelter again. "It's a good day to die." Shelter waved his hand at the Shade. "Pha. Every day is a good day to die. Today we do not die though." Raising his voice, he called.
"Shades and Mentalists to the walls! Casters and Healers in the courtyard. Nottmoore will NOT fall this day. Do not make me out to be a liar Hibernians!"
Date Posted:12/16/03 4:22pmSubject:
(RP) The Key to Midgard's Heart (RP)
A horn sounded. Rows and rows of Midgardians assaulted the keep. Many fell at the first onslaught from our Mentalists, rangers and from the guards. But there were so many of them, those who fell were revived quickly and no less than three rams were quickly built, all of them manned by huge Trolls, bashing our doors. The Mentalists kept manipulating the ether around the Norse, causing disturbances that caused such headaches in some of them that they dropped everything they were doing and would just wither in pain. Rangers shot arrow after arrow at the Midgardian Healers and casters.
Not three minutes after the assault started, the walls were infested with Shadowblades, trying to cut down our rangers and mentalists. For the most part, our shades were able to prevent them from doing so by uncovering them. From the courtyard, us casters then let our spells fly, burning them where they stood. Some died on those walls, their insides burnt to a crisp. Others were able to jump out at the last second, to be tended by their Healers. Irnai was a fiend on the walls, slinking from battlement to battlement, she caused more and more of the attackers to suffer from headaches. Leire kept leaping from wall to wall, his arrows finding soft targets and holes in armors that were not fixed well. He was standing there, an arrow nocked, his bow taut. From the shadows, two Shadowblades appeared, ready to tear him down. Just then, the air crackled, there was a blue lightning, appearing above the walls at the back of an unsuspecting Irnai, the lightning took form, and held it. Like a crack in the air. Everything stood still. Then, the lightning parted, forming a hole in the air, behind the Keen Mentalist. As the hole grew, a shadowy form appeared from it. The Twisted Shadowblade Ugmug appeared, his black dagger ready to kill. Just as he was poised to strike, no less than five daggers and eight arrows struck him. Looking back at where Leire was standing, I could see Leylie and Burok, their hands still stretched from throwing the daggers. Leire's arrow, Llava's dagger, all were turned against the Twisted One. Overawed, I looked as the little Kobold stumbled back into his hole, clutching his chest with one hand, holding his throat with another.
The hole closed behind him. The Shadowblades on the walls spat towards him and disappeared back into the shadow. The battle resumed as if he never appeared.
At this point, the children's mouths were hanging opened. "Why did the Shadowblades try killing their own kin?" the Elf asked in a soft voice. Masnark smiled and answered. "That was no regular Shadowblade. He was taken by forces much darker than the Lords of Midgard. Forces so bleak, so evil, they make the Midgardian leaders look like toddlers playing with wooden swords. He was hated by his former comrades as much as he was hated in the green lands of Hibernia. Maybe even more"
