Registered Member #24064
Joined: 6:33:55 pm GMT 03/29/17
Posts: 131
The hexer walked the streets of Greenvale, witnessing how the blood of the elves carpeted grass and marble. Her sword delivered death whilst she vented hateful energies, but little joy or satiation was found in the slaughter. Or so she wished to believe...
"What a waste. Cruel fate, a story ends." she remarked as yet another soldier fell before her. He was still young, still ripe for for something other than an abrupt end. She tried to force him to flee, she tried to spare him this madness, but the locals are stubborn, proud and vigilant. And -blind-.
Blinded by those who are in command. Blinded by celestial taint and the few whom sit in the throneroom. Their death, their despair, was what she sought. The sooner their heads would roll and their powers are taken, the quicker the war would end.
Yet her hands were mostly tied, as the Order of Syann still treated her as a dubious threat and would not entertain her at the council. And she, towards them, yet harboured vicious zeal over what occured at Ridgeshield. A grudge that tormented her mind as there was no effigy to Doom left to protect anybody. But not all was lost. This war, this fated struggle, may open doors to fine executions. To the secrets of the curse that all elves of Thain suffer. Allow the stronger ones, those of poison, to finally emerge. They were so alike the Goddess.
"Chaos is here. In it, opportunity is to be sought. May chaos mislead the enemy forces and allow Poisonwood to gain ground. One step closer towards the throneroom of Elisara. Towards Draxus..."
She wetted lips, anxious as she accepted the painful sting of abyssal desires. Gathering kindred spirits and elves of Poisonwood, bringing a riftblade coated with blood of Elisara's finest, she set to work at creating desecrated grounds at the southern gates of Greenvale. The demons will enjoy the slaughter and rending at celestial marks. And they'll provide necessary distraction.
Registered Member #25300
Joined: 6:37:11 am GMT 06/04/19
Posts: 153
Finding Allies V
Exhausted doesn’t come close to describing how she felt as she moved through the battlefield, healing where she could, murmuring a prayer of farewell and safe travels, when she came upon a fallen elf too late. Her heart felt like it stopped every time she found a familiar face amongst the fallen. She looked at one dead Arben lying next to a fallen Greenvale Elf, in death their bodies entwined, in death so little difference between them. Why they would wish such pain upon the other, only their hearts would know. For her part she scowled at their foolishness, cried tears for their lost futures and despaired at their hate. What manner of horrors did the orchestrators of this war see in their dreams to, in waking hours, rent such pain on what was obviously as she looked at the two dead bodies, kin?
She heard that they loved their woods, but in reality they hated so much more than they loved. Nothing about this spoke of love, they sent their own soldiers to die, cared not how they fell to their death on cold stone, cared not for their families who would suffer for the loss of their children, for their they desperately worked with Dark Forces to bring pain and destruction. They spoke of love but they did not know love, they knew the cold hard bite of hate.
She lifted her head at Any’s call. “Are you alright, Vanima?” He paused for breath in a break in the fighting, she managed a tired smile. “I am” He was in his element, only a few things gave him more pleasure than showing off his skills in battle, that she was one of those things, still surprised her. That he was welcomed to fight here by many had left her speechless but happy, even if it was a marriage of convenience for the time being, perhaps bridges were being forged. “Orenya, don’t take your eyes off the battlefield, this *she looked at the injured around her* I can do. Indeed she had done it so many times now that her gentle hands moved assuredly as she tended the injured, offering a reassuring smile and comforting words. "Hope and Faith my friends, now is not the time to forget"
As she helped the Estel carry the injured back to the makeshift hospital, her mind drifted back to the previous day’s events. She still felt the tingle of the Divine Pact she had made upon her. She couldn’t help but smile, he would have to get off those cushions now. The Orcs of Hellshire would aid Greenvale and protect the shrines. Renneleth’s voice had reached through the million and one things she had in her mind to do, explaining his understanding of the events and how they had unfolded to bring them to this point, much she had known, but much had surprised her. How long they had planned this for?, She couldn’t help but feel sorry for them, to live with such hate for so long, to feel their souls suffused with darkness, to live with no other thought but to bring pain to others. Hate fed and ate upon itself. Love shone and spread. She offered up a prayer, a fanciful one perhaps, but heartfelt, that they would someday know peace and cherish what they had. But for now, she had plants to tend, druids to convince and friends to call to the cities aid.
Registered Member #1145
Joined: 8:28:45 pm GMT 08/30/07
Posts: 823
It seemed like another age when Elith had first approached Styvn all those years ago and convinced him that reuniting Feywood and Greenvale with the Poisoned Woods elves was a worthy cause. It was a cause Styvn put much time and effort into. All that time and effort was wasted. Yes, there had been a scant few that made the journey out of the lands of Syann back to the Light, but not many. And it became painfully obvious to him that it would never happen. He stopped believing in that fairy tale a long time ago.
Years had passed in the interim, and Styvn had remained mostly passive in respect to his Poisoned Woods kin. He rarely trespassed on their lands, and when he did he sought to avoid them so as to avoid conflict with them. He only engaged with them when they initiated the hostilities. That was then... this is now.
The attack on Greenvale had changed Styvn's outlook on his neutrality toward the Poisoned Woods. No longer could he stand idly by and allow the tainted elves to go about their business, in peace. His position as ambassador to Greenvale was enough to make him take action, but his love of, and his loyalty to the Queen was the true driving force behind his actions now. Long had they been friends, and too many battles had they fought together for Styvn to sit this war out.
But Styvn's way was not the open warfare that was taking place in the streets of Greenvale. That was for others, like Renneleth and Kellendill. They were the ones who could lead multitudes of armored elves in fever pitched battles against an armed and armored host of enemies. Styvn's war was the war of the guerrilla fighter. Hit and run. Surprise and disorient. Strike quickly from cover, and leave none alive. He preferred to fight on his own terms, not the terms dictated by others. His contribution to the defense of Greenvale was not as great as some others, but it would keep many of the tainted elves at home and away from Greenvale. The patrols he left lying on the poisoned soil of their homelands would have to be replaced by other patrols. The more he killed in their home, the less would be attacking the city of Elisara.
As he made his way silently through the Poisoned Woods, Styvn sought out his tainted kin with purpose. He stalked the small patrols as they made their way through their homelands. He ambushed them with quick, unanounced strikes. His bowstring sang a song of death, and his twin blades struck without mercy, the hissing sounds barely audible as they carved poisoned air and poisoned skin. He danced in and out of the shadows, moving from one patrol to the next. Always unseen, and unheard, until it was too late to mount a coordinated defense against his attack. As he made his way silently through the lands of Syann, he left death and destruction in his wake. He took poisoned warriors away from Greenvale. This was Styvn's war.
Registered Member #25299
Joined: 3:54:32 am GMT 06/03/19
Posts: 253
Not far away, a wave of heat warmed his face, as an infernal ball of fire went scorching through the air to erupt on the walls overhead. Greenvale archers went airborne as they were engulfed in flames giving Lucan a clear path towards the infantry line now advancing on him. The fire was still hot on his face and it fueled his sword arm into a fury of forward momentum. Managing to deflect the lethal strikes of the onslaught coming his way in turn, his sword burned with satisfying quenched hunger. Slashing, stabbing, parrying, and delivering decisive strikes to watch bodies tumble down lifeless before him. Lucan’s arm started to weigh heavy from the constant battle seething around him. His shield arm dropped just enough for a zealous elven knight to lunge his fist into the bull-necked man’s jaw causing Lucan to spiral sideways.
That did not stop the assault. Another strike, as the elven sword danced its way up and around to cut deep under his vambrace and into his wrist. Adrenalin raged inside as his veins bulged beneath his armor causing his open wounds on his face to smear his vision. Lucan charged regardless, caught in the moment of bloodlust to start swinging his large sword. Too slow. The elven man faltered his guard to experience the heavy strength behind the assailant, cutting deep into his shoulder.
“On thou feet, now, elf!” Lucan roared with an insidious tone of command at the fallen enemy. He began to rise from the blood-washed ground beneath his feet. Another pummeled thrust of the hilt of Lucan’s sword to the opposite side of the elf’s face sent him face first into the ground. But before he could deliver the well-deserved killing blow for his cheap shot to the face, a half-dozen arrows soared past Lucan into the now very dead elven man. The spores and spreading poison seeped past him shrouding the dead almost as soon as they fell. It took a while to get used to the poison that seemed to spread like a wildfire but his new found allies had blessed him with the ability to breath deep the intoxicating vapours and instead of feeling deathly and pale, Lucan now felt invigorated and healed, as he took a greedy drink from his water flask which he filled from their fountains and wiped his blood smeared face with a silk cloth.
He raised his arm high and beckoned his sword onwards, sending his small body of rebellion soldiers into the clash of steel while he made for the new barracks in the bathhouse, to mend his wounds and find well deserved rest in the company of his comrades.
Cool steel grey eyes stared up at the lumbered patterns of the roof with thoughts of the raging battle. With each flash of illuminating light piercing through the rattling shuttered windows a resounding thunderous crash could be heard. The mattress upon which he rested on was causing mild irritation on his back causing him to toss and turn and find no proper rest. On this night particularly he found his memories of the days battle play out in his mind. The torment of dreams that now cause a disturbance for the Greenvale elves and threaten their final moments on Thain.
Registered Member #25343
Joined: 8:54:42 pm GMT 08/30/19
Posts: 125
Thoughts and Actions
It was a curious thing to use the shadow realm and the land of endless winter to move across Thain. To see textures clash before her mind had time to adapt to them. To avoid the dangers that lurked in each. But the war demanded that of her. One moment she joined her brethren to lay waste to Elisara and its defenders, the next she checked on her pixies to see if the gathering efforts had yielded fruit. She barely had time to rest and it taxed her greatly, adding to the strain the war was having on the dryad. Moreover, leaving her tree always left a sour note in her, for moving far from it preyed on her sanity. Her ‘song’ allowed her to remain in touch with Holzstod to some degree, but it was rarely enough. After a few hours away, she would grow fatigued and have to return. Arakhor had heard of a spell that would let her strengthen this bond, but it might have to wait until the war was over. And there was no way of telling how long it would last.
It was even hard to say whether it was going well or not. Pockets of false kin, elves from Feywood and Greenvale itself, rushed to the defence of Elisara every now and then, but the destruction of the northern wall had crippled the city greatly. Poison advanced. Their trees advanced. From the south, Rita had woven new glyphs to split the attention of its protectors, and it seemed to work as well, so far. Yet, those they longed to destroy – Renneleth and Elith – were nowhere to be seen. And their continued silence could not mean anything good. Alas, there was only so much she could do. She would have to trust Spyder, Cathalya and all the agents they had in major settlements to see if they discovered their plans. For now, she would have to settle for aiding the city’s assault while she prepared the shipments in what time she could find.
Arakhor, like Seryn before her, had learned not to expect too much from others. Not even those she trusted the most. It is because of this that it had genuinely surprised her that the Lady would agree to offer their old allies what spare supplies they rounded up. Of course, it was not matter of just figuring out how to deliver them, no. They had to be carefully selected, cleaned and arranged for transport. Those they had dealt with in the past would not welcome just any offer of renewed partnership, ultimately, and a considerable amount of forethought and cunning was required. To scrounge enough for the four deliveries she had envisioned would take days as well, but her sprites had managed to prepare the first. The one they would deliver to the Thayans.
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The ‘mages in red’ had been quiet for a while, and she did not trust them one bit. The changeling had learned not to question the Lady with the fervour Seryn sported, especially after she tore Elisara's wall open with her own hands, but she knew she had to be careful. Therefore, the goods they had picked for them were simple and ordinary, including from food to sap, living wood, tools and a few bows and bundles of arrows; items they would have had no trouble finding on their own even in their diminished state, but that they could not afford to gather themselves at the moment. She also knew that a few, namely the weapons, would not be touched by the Thayans, who were too proud to wield so primitive armaments. The memory of that meeting with their ambassador months ago was quite vivid, and she knew quite well how they viewed their forest and those that lived in it, but the Poisonwood elves stationed at the enclave would surely welcome them.
With everything ready, she pictured the path ahead. Of all the shipments, the first one would be the easier to handle as far as transportation was concerned. The Ridgeshield was wild and untamed if compared to the other regions of their home, twigjacks ever ready to assault the unwary, but, of all their allies, the Thayans were the ones closest to them. For this particular trip, her companions would be few as well, the memories of their long struggle with the mages still fresh. Being the forest-kin the Lady had appointed as their envoy, Elarion would be her sole escort, with a brutejack she had enticed earlier carrying the supplies. They set for the short journey across southern Poisonwood, running into one or two encounters with dark fey and beasts of their forest, but nothing they could not deal with.
Upon arrival, they exchanged a few words with their leader, the wizard Zakorra Dimm, and though she said little, that fact alone betrayed more than she might have had she regaled them for hours. They were cautious. Part of it was expected, but Arakhor could not shake the feeling that Dimm had been overly careful in dealing with them. The arrogance Elarion had spoken of, and that she had witnessed in her few meetings with them, was nowhere to be seen, and only tokens of expected behaviour graced the short conversation. Before she gave herself to the dream, Seryn had started paying close attention to the nuances and details in language. One wrong word or gesture could reveal more than a monologue. Her interactions with Kallista, the Lady, Rita and Cathalya had shown this.
The more she thought about it, the clearer it became. Something was afoot. The wizard had paid little attention to the supplies, perhaps to avoid appearing weak, but Arakhor did not demand anything of her in return. The Thayans were in no position to offer much of worth after Beshaba’s retribution other than the ‘reinforcements’ they kept promising, and their arrival would reveal the true purpose of their alliance, according to the Lady. Some saw nothing but a mistake and a delayed betrayal in it, just like Seryn had, but before the conversation reached its end Dimm had directed their attention to Sandburrow and the need to deal with the fleet of the half-lings if theirs was to approach.
Was that why the Lady had struck their village first? Or was the wizard trying to divert their attention from something else? If they planned on betraying them, like Cathalya and Rita were so certain of, taking care of the half-lings could be necessary. After all, they would never ally themselves with the red wizards – not after losing the Shire to them. Or would they? The fey found it hard to believe that the red mages had fought alongside Greenvale and Feywood in the past. Pragmatic as the wizards were, surely the ‘good peoples’ of Thain would know better than to throw in their lot with them? Though difficult to stomach after all the battles and spite between Poisonwood and Thay, the pact the Lady had sealed made more sense, in a way. The Thayans were considered ruthless and evil by most, an almost perfect addition to their list of ‘friends’.
Still, a feeling of uneasiness gripped her. There were too many questions. Too many possibilities. She knew she could not let them unravel her thoughts, but they bred pause in the wildling. The supplies were moved to the quartermaster, one Murick Halennemen, so that he could inspect them before their slaves – or anyone else, for that matter – could have a chance to tamper with them. Or so was their intention.
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So uncertain was Arakhor of the situation that she checked on them a few times before finally leaving the camp, and she would return later to place a pixie guarding over them. Perhaps nothing would happen to the supplies themselves, but fairies were, by definition, rather nosy. Her ‘guardian’ might yet hear something of note while watching over them.
Registered Member #1075
Joined: 10:48:57 pm GMT 06/19/07
Posts: 792
Kyssyt wrote ...
Thankfully, at the School of Magic...
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...while, elsewhere...
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Because a library is more than a collection of books. A library is a microcosm of civilization. While it survives - no matter where it must be kept - barbarism has never truly won.
Chancing upon the School of Magic's second location for the books, Kaeridris joins the effort to relocate and preserve them.
Registered Member #24041
Joined: 4:19:01 am GMT 01/24/17
Posts: 2213
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Red Sails, Red Seas
The hin pulls down the wide brim of his black captain's hat, the seagull feather wagging like an admonishing finger to the heavens.
"Well boys, day's up. You know what that means."
The cry from the crew comes immediately back, as dozens of hin voices join together:
"Time to give 'em Hell!"
The captain smiles. "Aye boys, time to show 'em a bit of the tender love that we ourselves received not so long ago at their hands. How much ash did they leave behind that time, eh?"
The crew yells its fury at the memory of the destruction of Davenshire. Across the bay, ship after ship takes up the cry, as word is passed of what is being said.
Captain Yarland smiles under the brim of his black hat.
"Time to see if the human has any honor at all. Time to see if the elf's word is worth more than a pile of dung. Time to make sure those damn Thayans never have the chance to hurt us again!"
He looks around at the navy that has assembled. All across the bay, halfling ships, outfitted with gnomish technology, prepare to unfurl the sail of Sandburrow.
"Weigh anchor boys! First we'll find the red sails. And if things don't go exactly as we discussed, we'll be making some red seas!"
The crews move quickly into motion, a grim determination on each face- to avenge Davenshire, and the more recent capture of some of their compatriots by the Poisonwood.
((The Hin are sailing for war! This event will take place at Noon PST Sunday, April 19. That's 3PM EST and 8PM GMT+1, and something like 5AM Monday in Australia Eastern Standard Time. And before someone asks, yes we know this is during normal hours for Nature Night.))
Registered Member #1120
Joined: 4:36:33 am GMT 07/27/07
Posts: 491
Absolution
The anguish of the earth absolves our eyes Till beauty shines in all that we can see. War is our scourge; yet war has made us wise, And, fighting for our freedom, we are free.
Day, after day, after day. How many now? The green-clad mage could not recall. The hours all blended into a haze of violence and loss. Through that clouded lens, however, certain truths had manifested themselves to Teron. His burgeoning skill at manipulating divine magics was not strictly of his own doing, and was not "emulation", as he had supposed. It was the work of Arderak, a being to which Teron had not shown particular devotion. Why, and why now? There are no ready answers to those questions, but the voices in the winds had guided his mind to where he could best put his skills to use in this crucible.
Then there was the issue of that blasphemous mark near the south gate. It had been brought to his attention by Avaggdu while preparing for his...well, who knows how many sorties he was up to at that point? Investigation and an attempted abjuration yielded little result, but insights were gained that were put to use later that evening when approached by Lily and Kurasa, a sorceress that he had not met before. Exhausted and finally able to quit the field, the four of them headed out to the mark, and the mage's mind locked onto things that he had not considered the first time:
This mark was created through death, and here at his side stood a master of such.
This mark scarred the earth, and again he finds an expert at the gifts of the Source.
This mark was created by vile utilization of divine energies, and he could manipulate and unravel that.
Combining these energies at his disposal with his decades of study into the nature of the Weave...yes. He had what he needed this time. This foul distraction could not be allowed to divide the Queen's forces any more than it already had. The time to act was now, and he had the keys to unlock this problem. The enemy thought themselves clever in placing this problem up high where they supposed it could not be reached by those with the power to do anything about it. They were wrong. Wizards are nothing if not full of "tricks". Utilizing an especially prepared powder, the mage instantly defeated the problem caused by simple gravity, bringing along his companions as well.
Quickly the three set to work, while guarded over by the imposing form of Lily, in her new grey role. As the focus of the spell, Teron drew from energies summoned from Kurasa and Avaggdu, the energies that they were so adept at utilizing. Teron, for the first time, called upon his Patron, Arderak, to guide his mind in the endeavour, and thus his mind raced in new and chaotic ways, splitting his attention between the incoming Source and Necromantic energies along with his own utilization of the Divine. "Magic is Magic", previously his weak excuse for his newfound powers, came to a new realization and meaning in his mind at this time. He shaped the incoming diversity of magic into shapes and strands that his "old" mind would not have thought possible. Additionally, he gained new insights into how this mark came to be and how it worked. His thoughts followed the lines and forms of the spell, prodding and peering through, into and beyond it.
There. There it was. Every spell is a "structure", and every structure has its weakness, and Teron had found it, or rather, them. This was powerful magic, but it was not perfect. Now was the time. He had the power, he had the expertise, and he had the will. He lanced at these weak points with the fullness of each of these, not in rage as he had previously, for this spell was born of hate and blood. No, he had stepped beyond his simple anger at the situation and applied the fullness of his skill, steady as a chirurgeon and as focused as a new student trying to bring about her first spark. Thrusting through these weaknesses simultaneously, he sent intertwining strands of the energies at his disposal along the lines of the circle, and then flooded these lines with intense waves of abjuration magics, dissolving the forces that held the circles and runes together.
"CEASE!"
It was done. His companions, following his lead in this project with precision and power born of their own years of expertise in their fields, withdrew their power from the mage. The three of them finally allowed themselves to feel their exhaustion in their own ways. Teron leaned heavily on his staff, as was his normal coping technique, and watched the light in the runes incrementally dim.
Registered Member #1273
Joined: 2:56:54 pm GMT 03/23/08
Posts: 536
There it is...
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Our main objective.
The Druids have roots to fix, and poisoned pollen to spread. The troops have ground to hold, and ground to gain - and they are doing so, so well. The clerics and spellsingers have their work cut out - so we, what are we to do? We .. specialists.
The elf stands, warded against sight and harm, under one of his favourite little trees on the stone city's wide terraces, and gazes up as he has for several days and nights. Watching comings and goings--
Draxus Ultimax still guards by day...
--and observing the tactics and the patrol routes of the Greenvale troops, so as more easily to move about the city undetected.
This needs to end - and it will not end till we have that tower. And to take the tower, we need to know what to expect.
He approaches the door guard--
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And he knows that when the time comes, it won't be hard to persuade him to let them pass--
Especially with the stone in hand - but it's a shame to waste a perfectly good piece of deception on a simple reconnaissance. this is what Faery is good for!
So he calls his familiar, his long-beloved companion, and explains the rumours going about, concerning Queen Yu'Syu and her physical form.
"So that's it, Faery - just fly up there and see - is it an elf sitting upon that tower - or a green dragon?"
The fey wards herself, and carefully using the vines as support, makes her way up, up the sides of the tower, flying when necessary, till she emerges at the very edge of the wide platform where Yu'Syu holds court.
Even warded, she is spotted immediately, and has no time to count guards or assess other defenses. She leaps, just as a fireball grazes her wingtip - drops at speed, scrambles through undergrowth, wards herself again and skips across to the tree where Eswyn stands, still gazing upward at the moon emerging from behind the wide royal flet.
He chuckles. "I saw a fireball, Faery - did they notice you?"
Tylwyth growls and does not answer - merely describes what she saw during her split second's peek above the edge of the tower...
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So - it is true! And, now we know what is up there - we can work out how to approach it. After all, the Greenwood could really do with a nice Green Dragon! And in that form, she must surely be yearning to .. come home?
What if .. what if she even gets to .. stay where she is .. if .. if she co-operates?
Plenty to discuss with Tir Calentaurie. And with the Lady's advisers, obviously.
Registered Member #1563
Joined: 10:49:16 am GMT 03/30/10
Posts: 35
Deals done and progress made.
The saddle bags had more money in it than most people would see in a lifetime. Maybe five hundred lifetimes. I normally convert most gold into gems, easier to carry you see? Chucking the bags in the corner of the dark bar as if they contained nothing more important than some laundry would be a safer than holding onto them tighter than a two gold Tethyr whore. The corner they sat in was dingy. All the corners were dingy as this was the Dragon’s Den and it did dingy better than a whole lot of other drinking establishments. I could see Dele shifting uncomfortably to my right and so I cast a quick approving eye over her. She looked good with a lot more flesh on show than normal. Good, if not a little “cheap” but then that was the idea…
He entered about twenty minutes after we had arrived. A tall man, greying about the temples slightly but his eyes betrayed no such ageing as they darted hither and thither. Conrad Gilles, the formidable leader of the Bloodied Blades and the focus of my attention. I flicked a look at Dele and smiled, “we’re on” I whispered as Conrad caught my eye and I waved at him to join us from across the bar. The conversation was pleasant enough, Dele performed admirably breaking the flow of the conversation when it drifted from the topics I wanted it settled upon and bringing it back to me. People underestimate the value in having such a focusing element during business meetings, but this wasn’t the first time I’d made such a deal and I doubted it would be the last and I knew what needed to be done. Naturally there was a little reticence and a worry about disgruntled and dismayed powers that had offered the original contract, but we smoothed, oiled and drunk our way through such objections. Everyone won the way I suggested apart from the original contract proposer but then there does sadly have to be a loser.
In the end we settled for the sort of amount that made people’s eyes water. Conrad’s men wouldn’t be going anywhere and the sad facts surrounding the endless supply issues, logistics and wagoners union meant it was highly unlikely the “Blades” would be leaving Dragon’s Watch to go to anyone’s aid for the foreseeable future. I was sure the powers that be in “The Watch” would be appreciative to the attention shown to their mercenaries and prepared a letter outline my flattering efforts on their behalf.
As Conrad walked away, I winked at Dele “I think perhaps a drink to celebrate our little victory in the war effort?”. I tipped the glass to my lips and gave a luxurious stretch. Spyder had not caught the fly this time, I thought with a self-indulgent smile.
[ The Island of Thain ]
Poisonwar
