Worlde Arcane: Kiana

Kiana

The Hafling Nation of northern Aniada is an ancient sovereign state of druidic faith and rich culture. On the Eastern side of towne, one finds Aradia, the splendid home of Riikka, High Priestess of Ishitar and new Regent of the village. To the West lies the broken home of a lost soul and former priestess, Medaille Amaraude. Both women are powerful; both women are dangerous though for completely different reasons. To the north along the water lies Northing Shire, home to some brave fisherman. The rocky cliffs along this stretch are treacherous, having claimed many lives and created many ghost stories. In the slightly warmer area just south of the town proper South Hampshire holds the produce and dairy farms of the region.

There are many other Novices and Druids who live happily among the haflings and in return for allowing them a port to the Land of Aniada, the inhabitants of Ishitar, home to a legendary school of The Craft, protect the peace-loving haflings as they keep secret the entrance to the mist-shrouded island.
<p align=center class=AMPlink>Map Of Kiana</p>

Aradia: Home of Riikka, High Priestess of Ishitar May 20, 2013 - 11:23 am

Tammis Athdar's Fine Goods and Curios May 8, 2004 - 10:29 pm

Just on the Edge of Towne July 25, 2011 - 11:24 pm

Northing Shire November 14, 2011 - 4:03 pm

Road To Bigobo June 9, 2007 - 2:47 am

South Hampshire November 12, 2012 - 3:53 pm

The Green Griffon Inn May 20, 2013 - 11:23 am

The Harbour June 22, 2012 - 1:51 am

The Healer's Dwelling May 20, 2013 - 11:23 am

The Lorimar Road 1: The Kiana Mile June 2, 2011 - 3:38 pm

The Road East to Okajavo Desert December 29, 2011 - 4:46 am

The Sacred Stone Circle February 7, 2012 - 11:20 pm

The Towne Entrance January 20, 2012 - 12:15 am

The Towne Square January 4, 2012 - 3:51 am

The Village Smythe May 20, 2013 - 11:23 am

The Village Perimeter January 29, 2004 - 3:06 pm

The Road to South Hampshire June 4, 2011 - 3:56 am

Olwort's Taproom and Flophouse July 1, 2011 - 9:22 pm

Outcast's Copse July 27, 2011 - 8:26 pm

The Towne Defenses and Earthworks February 7, 2012 - 11:15 pm

Oncedug TownBurrow January 26, 2012 - 4:28 am

Daffodil Avenue March 31, 2012 - 12:08 pm

Archive through July 11, 2011 July 11, 2011 - 10:32 pm

Archive through January 20, 2012 January 20, 2012 - 3:35 pm

By Anonymous

Friday, January 20, 2012 - 3:46 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Not that it would have made any difference had the Hafling clan moved with the quietness of churchmice. They were much too numerous to pass the streets unnoticed, and quickly attracted a following of Goblinoid raiders. At first there was only a single squad of three Hobgoblins, shadowing the Oncedug family, too unsure of their strength to test themselves against the half-dozen fighters the clan could field. Then these three were joined by four Orcan irregulars, and a plan of attack was formulated in low guttural snarls. When two more Orcs joined the hodgepodge of raiders, the fomented violence was put into action.
-
It wasn't much of a strategy, but it was brutal and effective considering that nine large warriors of Churt and the Underneath pitted themselves against six Hafling fighters not yet to, or well past, their prime along with the rest of the clans's noncombatants. The Orcs and Goblins charged from a convenient side-street, announcing their presence with fearsome roars, and presenting themselves three-abreast (for the alley was too narrow for a broader front). They attacked with club and broadsword, but no ranged weapon, and would be upon and among the Hafling clan moments after telegraphing their intent to attack and kill.

By Traveler and Troublemaker (Catastrophe)

Friday, January 20, 2012 - 4:44 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

(FROM:

Oncedug Townburrow)

If any an' all know a way out of this mess, the Tiefling 'said' to the empath as they left the Hafling clanhome. It'd be those most desperate to get out.

Catastrophe strolled easily beside the mad Elfwitch, still nibbling on one of several biscuits that resided upon the plate he'd nicked from the Oncedug Burrow. "Gods and monsters," he declared, each word unleashing a fresh scatter of crumbs from his fanged maw. "Donnae know what these knee-highs do, but these pikin' things are light as a halo's smallclothes."

He was a hellspawned ray of sunshine in the heart of the muted, fearful Hafling family, his cheerful pace all but a skip as he meandered, arm in arm, through the decimated capitol.

But relaxed didn't mean unaware; the forces of Churt and the Underneath were coming in too strong, too fast for their little voyage to go undetected, and Catastrophe wasn't so foolish as to presume otherwise. He saw them when they were only three, his fiendish eyes flicking back casually to watch the unsubtle Hobgoblins as they shadowed them. He saw them when they were seven, his grin never wavering, but by now, his gaze turning to Plenilune, an oddly eager glint in his eyes.

So by the time they were nine, crowding the alley beside them, the Tiefling didn't break stride when the foreguard of the Oncedug clan balked; he had just enough time for his lips to brush Irihi's brow as he strode confidently towards the onrushing Orcs.

"Back," he barked at the Haflings. Truth be told, he much preferred to try to taunt the raiders into focusing on him, but there wasn't enough time to intervene. Not with blades and bludgeons raised, not with murder in their eyes. So the hellspawn tried to get their attention the next best way he knew how.

There was a fraction of a second where time seemed to slow down, a distinctive twisting feeling, as if the worlde itself were warping. Catastrophe was walking forward, an unlit cigarette in his lips, his strange yellow cat's eyes radiating an unearthly glow as he raised one hand in the air. His lips peeled back in a fang-toothed grin as he snapped his fingers. There was a strange warping noise, more an absence of sound than anything else. The tip of his smoke burst into flame.

And so did the first of the Orcs, in a furious torrent of orange and heat.

By Rapidly Waning (Plenilune)

Friday, January 20, 2012 - 6:49 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Plen smirked in response to Cat's answer and almost attempted to answer him silently before remembering their conversation could only be one way.

She brought up the back of the group, falling into step and trying to not out stride the Hafling warriors ringing the group of mothers and children. She was grateful that the sun was setting. It had always seemed to...slow her, was the best way she could describe it.

It was not long before she was aware that the group was being stalked by what appeared to be Goblins...as far she could tell. Her small worlde of Moonshire had never brought her into contact with her people's ancient enemies, but she recognized them for what they were. Old fairy tales and legends featuring Elves pitted against Orcs and Goblins came to mind and she was briefly struck with a childish fear.

For a moment she was tempted to reach out with her mind and see what, if anything, she could glean, but she stopped herself. What was the point in further exhausting herself?

Before the Orc and Goblin warriors charged, Plen was already running her left hand over her injured ribs to feel for soreness and was pleased to find the pain almost completely gone. There was, however, stiffness remaining that was going to irk her if forced into close combat.

Her sword in hand, Plen turned at the sound of the battle cry, and met Cat's mirthful gaze. His confidence pushed away any remaining fear or uncertainty within her, and she allowed the itching and aching in her hands to guide her. Green skin or not, a fight was a fight and she had been in her fair share and come out of all alive so far. But, she had to admit, she was at a disadvantage. By the looks of them Orc warriors were stronger than Uman men, and she was tired, physically and mentally.

Plen's eyes flicked to her blade. Notched. It was a shame she wasn't able to get it sharpened in Chalice Surf but then if she had known what was to come she would have gotten more sleep and eaten better food too. If forced into close combat her best bet was to fight low and hope their enemie's legs were not well armored.

When she caught sight of Cat walking towards the whooping and snarling warriors Plen felt her stomach lurch in response to whatever magick he was weaving. She swore, grabbed a crossbow from a young and trembling Hafling warrior, and knelt into a steady position before unleashing bolts, doing her best to aim for the space under any upraised arms of the Orcs.

The fluttering feeling increased, and Plen looked startled to Irihi as if for explanation, immediately before Cat turned one of the Orc's into a torch.

By Warrior-agent of Churt (Rikka)

Saturday, January 21, 2012 - 12:57 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Skirmishes of the sort Rikka had anticipated were in no shortage, and while her training had prepared her to be ambivalent toward slaughter, she could not help feeling disgust at the one-sidedness of the battle.

As they rounded another corner and came into a narrow street, it appeared there was to be another of these little wars forming, one that was sure to go badly for the Half-folk. And this one, Rikka thought, would be even worse, for it appeared that there were to be children involved. And was that a pregnant she-Elf with them? Rikka lowered her gaze, not wishing to see.

It was an odd whistling sound that made her look again, only long enough to spot another Elf, this one armed with a crossbow, and a male whose heritage Rikka could not determine, who had apparently made one of the attacking Orcs spontaneously combust. "Hide!" she hissed to Gnaroc, hoping they had not been seen, for it was suddenly clear to Rikka that the battle was not so one-sided as she had thought -- and that a pair of Orcs standing halfway down the street would make, for either the crossbow bearer or the fire-starter, a spectacular target.

Trouble was, places to hide were few and far between. Rikka chose a doorway that in truth did not conceal her very well.

By Anonymous

Saturday, January 21, 2012 - 3:57 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Were they a bit fewer in number, or in less than full hue and cry, the attackers might have shied off at the spectacle of one of their number set alight and transformed into a screaming pyre. As it was, the trio in the lead behind the burning Orc, changed course to engage Catastrophe, the first with a sword driven straight for the gut of the seemingly unprotected (but for his firey magicks) Tiefling, and the second swinging for his head with a mace improvised from rather splintery wood with a great number of nails and spikes driven into it.

The third would have added his own strike to those converging on Catastrophe, had he not been transfixed by one of Plenilune's bolts. He made it across most of the distance between himself and the Tiefling only to plunge to the cobbles face-first as death overtook him in his race to do harm.
-
The remaining five skirted the engaged Tiefling and bore down on the Hafling clan. Very shortly the fight was to become a melee on all fronts.

By The Reluctant Healer (Irihi)

Saturday, January 21, 2012 - 4:03 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

(FROM:

The Townburrow)

"Delightful!" Irihi clapped gleefully as Catastrophe and then Plenilune did their gruesome (and less so, respectively) killings. This was the full extent of the aid the sorceress lent her allies.

Well, that was not entirely true; for she did bend down to place a hand on shoulder of an aged Hafling grandsire, doing his best to hobbling along at pace with the help of the cane that steadied his rickety legs. Irihi also whispered something to the elder, but her words were lost in the noise of combat. Whatever she whispered, however, seemed to make the oldling's gaze unnaturally bright and focused on the charging enemies...

By Traveler and Troublemaker (Catastrophe)

Saturday, January 21, 2012 - 7:11 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The nice thing about a straight-forward gut-stabbing is that more often than not, a little sidestep or even twist of the body was enough to dodge the attack. And this is what the Tiefling did, shifting himself a little off to the side while he braced himself for the rather angry-looking club coming in from the other side.

Catastrophe met the spiky bludgeon with his horns, tightening his jaw and tilting his head so that the weapon met chitinous bone rather than scalp and skull. The impact rattled his teeth and jarred his vision, but he held his ground.

He did not do so unscathed, of course. The spikes in the club were long and plentiful enough to draw blood; black blood matted the hellspawn's snow-white hair. Cat's foul vitae ran down his abdomen, too, for his makeshift dodge wasn't entirely successful - the first Orc's blade had left a nasty-looking gash in his side.

But his purpose had been served. Both opponents were at the Tiefling's favorite range for combat - close enough to batter them senseless with his hands and feet. He was stronger than he looked, yes, but more importantly, the hellspawn could move with blinding speed when the need arose.

The sword-wielder was closest, and more vulnerable with his arm extended. Catastrophe made a grab for his wrist and twisted hard, pulling the raider towards him even as his steel-shod boot came up to meet the Orc's face.

Should the attack land, the hellspawn would simply repeat himself, bashing away at the Orc in a blur of savagery. There was no strategy or stance to Catastrophe's fighting - he was a chaos of metal-clad limbs, hellish snarls, and psychotically eager eyes dodging and striking with startling agility in a relentless maelstrom of an assault.

Of course, engaged as he was with his own opponents, there was no way the Tiefling could even begin to perceive the half-hidden Rikka and her Orcish companion looking on.

By Rapidly Waning (Plenilune)

Sunday, January 22, 2012 - 1:51 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Plenilune loosed several more bolts towards the Churt soldiers before pressing the crossbow, loaded, back into the hands of the Hafling she had wrested it from.

She had caught sight of two other forms, Rikka and Gnaroc, in her peripheral vision, but dared not look away from the charging Orcs and the impending melee.

" Zor, don't sip my blood this night, " she breathed a last minute prayer, probably her first in years, before grasping her sword with both hands and rushing the oncoming Orcs. Having anyone, even allies to her back, was likely to trip her, and she hoped to at least keep two soldiers from reaching the Hafling group.

Plen attempted to turn her lack of height into an advantage and sliced at one, and then another Orc's leg, specifically the soft areas behind their knees, hoping to severe tendons and bring them to the ground. She could no longer hear anything over the blood rushing in her head, even her own grunts and screams.

She did her best to keep low, forcing any Orc focused on her to swing downward and off balance and avoid meeting blade to blade. Her movements, while not those of someone specially trained, would seem calculated and unnaturally lucky, but it was this dependence on instinctive premonition of her enemies movements that also made her vulnerable. If her senses failed her, which they sometimes did, then she may stumble directly into an attack, and could only hope a strike would hit her shirt of malda or graze her.

If any chanced to glimpse her face they would realize she was smiling as if in bliss. Her body was tired, but the demon's blood was sustaining her for the time being. Her itching for violence was being scratched.

By Anonymous

Sunday, January 22, 2012 - 4:42 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The sword-wielder found himself locked in a punishing embrace with Catastrophe that quickly saw him beaten senseless. The mace-swinger, on the other hand, was ignored for long enough for him to decide that he might as well try to tackle the Tiefling to the ground as long as his weapon was stuck fast in the hellspawn's head and horns. Should he succeed, he'd attempt to keep the demon-kin subdued with his arms while goring him with his tusks, aiming to tear a vital artery around the head and neck--for an Orc's tusks are not particularly long enough to cause fatal damage to more protected organs or blood vessels.
-
Two Orcs engaged Plenilune and one, indeed, had his legs taken from under him by her strikes at his unarmored knees. Too bad it was also the one who had absorbed the majority of her crossbow bolts. He fell heavily, out of the fight as well and quickly headed toward his final reward.

The second took her slash on the calf instead of at the knee, and--though missing with the first overhand swing, dropped to a knee as he passed her, and attempted to score a sound bashing blow with a backhanded swing of his club.
-
That left three Orcs and a Goblin free to pursue the fleeing Hafling clan and pregnant Elf. They were held at bay, momentarily, by the six diminutive armed fighters the Oncedug Clan could field. The Haflings formed a convincing wall of blades for a moment, which stopped the attacker's charge short. However, the largest of them, a warhammer-armed Orc stepped up to the challenge, his polearm's reach being greater than that of the Haflet's short swords, he reared back for a mighty swing at their line, which was sure to break at least one of the Oncedug defenders.

By Traveler and Troublemaker (Catastrophe)

Wednesday, January 25, 2012 - 12:18 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Catastrophe was laughing by the time the clubber sacked him. The Tiefling hit the ground hard; the bludgeon lodged in his horns came loose. Unfortunately for the Orc, he hadn't managed to disable the hellspawn's arms on the way down. As he opened his jaws to clamp down on Cat's throat, he would find an armored fist crammed unceremoniously into his mouth.

And an elbow coming crashing down on his crown. The demon-kin's tactic was elegant in its gruesome simplicity - bash the Orc relentlessly with his elbow while the hand in the grappler's mouth tried to grasp at the Orc's jawbone and wrench it loose from his skull. At the very least, if he could grasp one of the raider's tusks and yank it out of his jaw, he would use it to stab his opponent in the eye. Or anywhere in the face, really. There was no sense of honor or propriety in the Tiefling's fighting style - he fought to win, no matter how grisly the results.

By Rapidly Waning (Plenilune)

Wednesday, January 25, 2012 - 4:25 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Plenilune caught the hit on the back of her ribs, the same side that had been repeatedly punished, and ate a face full of dirt.

There was no time to get to her feet or even gasp for breath. She twisted herself and kicked desperately out at the Orc who had clubbed he,r hoping to knock him flat on his face too.

If successful she would leap on his back and attempt to yank it's heavy head up, exposing his neck in order to slit it with her notched sword.

By Lieutenant Zorielle Draugrbane of the Daelows Army (Zoey)

Wednesday, January 25, 2012 - 11:36 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

(FROM:

Oncedug TownBurrow)

thwip

THUNK

With all the attention focused on the Catastrophe, Plenilune, and the entire Oncedug Clan, Zorielle, at the fore of the group of adventurers, had plenty of time to line up her first shot. The Warhammer-wielding Orc would find a crossbow bolt protruding from the underside of his weapon arm, and if he did not react fast enough, a second lodged firmly in his throat.

The half-Aardky calmly reloaded her weapon as she eyed the tight-knit scuffle. The scenario seemed fairly cut and dry - Orcs and Hobgoblins against considerably smaller Umanoids. For a skilled projectilist as herself, the size of her targets would make this process easy.

By Anonymous

Thursday, January 26, 2012 - 4:47 am GMT | Edit | Link |

To their credit, the Hafling line held in the face of their larger and stronger adversaries. That was all that could be said of their contribution to the melee, however, for none had courage or skill to do anything but hold back the attackers and form a buffer between the unarmed members of the clan and the Orcs.

The Haflings fell back a bit so that the swing of the warhammer only disarmed one clansman, but his place was closed by two others as he turned to scrabble for his weapon with stinging hands. When he returned to the skirmish line, a half-elf with a crossbow had altered the odds in this lopsided battle.

So long as the Orcs kept advancing, the Oncedug clan would fall back quickly enough to avoid an engagement that would likely result in mortal injury, but slowly enough to cover the retreat of the rest of the family.

By Anonymous

Thursday, January 26, 2012 - 4:57 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Catastrophe's remaining opponent got in only a few increasingly-feeble blows of his own as he was battered into submission by the demonkin.
-
The Orc engaged with Plenilune did, while moving in for a killing bash, suddenly find one leg kicked from under him. Falling to one knee, he just barely brought up an armored forearm in time to keep the fast-moving Elf's blade from opening his jugular. Roaring in pain, he tried to drive the elbow of his free arm into the Elf now at his back and clinging to his scalp.
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Zoey's target took both bolts in unarmored fat, but even the powerful Daelowsian crossbow could not bring the large warrior down so quickly. The bolt in his throat had only nicked his windpipe and missed other vitals. Ignoring the crossbow-weilder save to roar a curse at her, he tried to pound one of the flighty Haflings into the ground with his hammer.
-
The Goblin and an Orc facing the Hafling skirmish line each broke off that engagement to charge Zoey. The Goblin, possessing of two short axes, stopped just long enough to take aim and hurl at the crossbow-woman at a very unlikely range. The Orc, on the other hand, took the strategy of charging straight up the middle with no thought of finding cover against the Daelowsian's missiles, intent on skewering her with a long curved dagger.

By The Reluctant Healer (Irihi)

Thursday, January 26, 2012 - 2:15 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Irihi was distracted from the plight of the haflings by the violence surrounding--and mostly caused by--Catastrophe. She watched with macabre interest as her Tiefling lover literally ripped the Orc apart, stabbing him to death with his own tusks. Even the sorceress, who--herself--disdained physical combat, could not help but admire the power behind Catastrophe's violence. She stood mesmerized, breath catching in her throat as she saw that strength unleashed in a hail of limbs and thrashing tail. She'd felt that restrained violence in a thrumming undercurrent beneath the demon-kin's too-hot skin during encounters, the recollection of which caused her own fair flesh to color with a heady flush. Oh yes, Catastrophe was another of this worlde's (or another worlde's) beautiful monsters; like the TonDen who had wished to crush her or Bruce who had wished to eat her. But Cat, Cat had wanted to... well--

Irihi winced at a sudden discomfort. "That's right... daddy's doing some killing." She murmured, placing a hand on her swollen midsection.

By Cleo'ky (Cleo)

Thursday, January 26, 2012 - 6:44 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

(FROM:

Oncedug Burrow)

Though she initially took the lead, Cleo'ky stayed by Zorielles side once the half elf caught up. Taking her cues from the others, Cleo kept a grip on her rapier, wondering if she would need to- or be able to- use it against attackers.

Before she even fully realized what they were approaching, Zorielle had fired a bolt into a large tusked being, distracting him from his fight with frail looking half-men. As Cleo'ky realized the composition of the group- older men, women, and children- and a pregnant elf- her ire grew. Who were these monsters to attack the weak? She had felt almost sympathetic for the ones who had died earlier in their fight with her companions- but these, these were attacking such helpless people..

Her blood was boiling as an orc charged at Zorielle- and thus at Cleo'ky, who had taken cover in the nearest doorway soon after Zorielle fired. As the orc rushed past the doorway, Cleo'ky lunged forward and thrust at the tusked umanoids legs in a brave attempt to stop his charge.

By One Man and His Dog (Pegason)

Thursday, January 26, 2012 - 7:34 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

(FROM:

OnceDug Burrow)

I'm assuming that you have a plan, Ulysses.

Naturally.

The Uman and his dog ran to down the street which left the OnceDug Burrow at a tangent, heading east. They passed by the first couple of streets before finally turning left onto the third northbound street. As he did, the dog quickly glanced back at the rest of the group.

You know that big Denqi? Are you sure he's on our side? Only, he doesn't seem to be in much of a rush to protect the relic.

Well, you know what they say? 'If you can keep your head while all around you lose theirs...'

Yeah?

'... then you probably haven't grasped the seriousness of the situation.'

Oh.

The warrior carried on down this new road, dashing through the vacuum which existed between the disciplined Churtish regulars who were securing junctions to their right and the blood-hungry rabble advancing on the left. It would not be long before the route ahead was blocked by the Orcan roadblocks.

Ulysses, this plan of yours...

Yes?

What... is it? I mean, you said you'd be covering the flank. On your own. This isn't a suicide mission, is it?

Of course not! What do you take me for? The plan is to skirt around all of the violence, reach the Elf ship and wait for the others to catch up.

What?!

The two personalities of Lucky and Hanlon yelled with such perfect harmony that their voices were indistinguishable. Both Uman and dog suddenly skittered to a halt in the middle of the street, the sounds of battle loud in their ears, but the street itself unnervingly empty. Smoke hung in the air while other things best not thought about hung from shopfronts and lampposts. Ulysses, however, could detect none of this horror. He had been locked out of both bodies.

A peculiarity of three people sharing two bodies was that, if their emotion was strong enough, any one of them could utterly control one of the bodies. Ulysses was the only one strong enough - and magickal enough - to master both at the same time. Hanlon's personality had taken a battering during the incident which had caused this unusual situation, so even if he could overwhelm Ulysses' control on occasion, he could not live independently. Similiarly, Lucky was a dog. He could not maintain a state of emotional agitation forever.

It was very rare that both Lucky and Hanlon were sufficiently emotionally charged to dominate both of their own bodies at the same time, relegating Ulysses to the position of background voice. This was one of those occasions.

We made a promise, Ulysses. People are depending on you. On us.

And this is my first proper war. I'm not going to go wussing out so soon. Not when I'm doing so well! How's that going to sound in the bars? 'Hey, babe. Did you know I'm a war veteran? Yeah, a ran like a girl at the first available opening.'

Lucky: Sentiment gets people killed. This, as Hanlon quite rightly points out, is a 'proper war'. We need to be practical and, right now, practical is getting out of here without getting killed. Hanlon: You're an idiot.

No, we're doing this right! People running out on their responsibilities gets people killed.

It doesn't get the people running killed.

It does eventually! I'm a dog - I know the concept of 'you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours' far better than you do.

Really?

How far do you think these legs bend?

Good point.

Without our help, the others won't be able to protect the relic. Without the relic, the Elves won't let us on their ship. Without a ship, we're dead.

Fine, if we're going to have to be heroes, at least let me help.

How? You're not having control back until we know that your idea of 'help' isn't 'run for the harbour'.

Your lack of faith hurts me, Hanlon. No, we need to clear a path ahead of the relic, which means we need to disrupt the Orc roadblocks. Get me close to the next one on the right.

At this point, the Uman and his dog were slightly ahead of the skirmish going on around Irihi. The enemy front line was advancing fast to the north and would soon also be moving west. Under the magicker's instruction and the dog's direction, they approached the next roadblock without being seen and, coming from the south, they were also downwind.

By mordeck (Mordeck)

Friday, January 27, 2012 - 12:26 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Mordeck came in from behind the group in time to see the shots into the fray ahead of them. he reached up and grabbed his axe.

He ran forward towards the charging green skin just as Cleo'ky's weapon hit it. if it wasn't dead he would finish it off, and then continue on towards the group of haflings and co.

By Draekkor Stoneblade (Draekk)

Friday, January 27, 2012 - 3:38 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

(FROM:

The Oncedug Towneburrow)

The mercenary's slower pace dictated that he arrive on the scene last, but only barely so. As Zoey fired at the orc, the Denqi stepped past her, placing his body as something of a buffer between the Lieutenant and the enemies. Thus it was so that as the Goblin launched his axe, Draekkor's left hand reached out to snatch it from the air before it could get close to Zorielle.

Before he had a chance to set himself to fight the chargin Orc, Cleo'ky popped out and attacked it, then Mordek rushed past to assist the young elf. With his original target occupied, the sellsword decided to return the ax to its owner.

"Here, I think you lost this!" spat Draekk as he threw the ax back at the Goblin. The distance may have been improbable for the monster. But not for the powerful Denqi. Spinning end over end, the ax flew back towards it's greenskinned owner so fast it was a mere blur.

Once releasing the weapon, the mercenary took hold of his own blade with both hands and advanced along the street toward the group of Haflings. Whether the ax killed the Goblin or not mattered little to Draekkor, for the unfortunate creature was in the path between him and those who needed protecting.

By not me (Yu)

Friday, January 27, 2012 - 5:15 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

"It's a trap!" Snarled a sword-armed Orc, currently looking for a way around the Hafling's defenses, but now finding himself preoccupied with the sudden appearance of some four additional warriors coming to the aid of the Hafling clan. Not that it mattered; trap or not, there was no escape for the Orcs and Goblins. With the profusion of ranged weapons, they now had to fight to the death.
-
Except for those who didn't, that was. The Ax-armed Goblin missed hardly a beat between flinging his remaining weapon at the approaching Denqi and darting for a narrow side-alley. The Denqi's counter-throw clipped his armored shoulder, causing no damage, but speeding his retreat. By his reckoning, their makeshift raiding party was no match for these fighters, and he had no loyalty to the Churtish forces. If he could make good his escape, he would.
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The dagger-armed Orc snarled in suprise and pain, legs entangled in, and gashed by, Cleo's sword thrust. He slashed at the Elf as he fell, but it was an awkward angle, and he had no chance to follow up his initial attack as Mordeck's Ax put an end to him.
-
Only the massive warhammer-weilder and another sword-armed Orc remained unchallenged by any but the Hafling defensive line. Having no wish to immediately face the stronger opponents, they tried to complete the slaughter of the armed members of the Hafling clan before the other fighters could intervene.

By The Reluctant Healer (Irihi)

Friday, January 27, 2012 - 5:41 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

They hardly needed her help, and so Irihi let the compulsion, with which she'd hexed the old Hafling, fade away. That trick probably wouldn't be as entertaining the second time around; watching another diminutive Half-Thing ring the Orc's armored helms like bells. Still, a promise was a promise, so long as the life-mancer was not too inconvenienced by it. Should any of the front-line Haflings absorb a deadly blow, they'd not expire from their wounds, thanks to a brief inverted word of power and an offhanded gesture from the Elfwitch. As she'd avowed; she let none of the Oncedug clan come to harm, no matter how distasteful she found staying the shade for these little monsters' benefit.

Oh, she could have staked all the remaining Orcs to the ground with their own bones, or thickened their skulls until their eyeballs were squeezed out, or brought about any myriad of quick gruesome endgames, but watching this conflict play itself out was much more interesting...

...until the cowardly little Half-thing line retreated right past her, leaving the Elfmaid facing huge hammer-weilding and sword-slinging Orcs alone. The Sorceress had no incantation at the ready, nor could she--heavy with child as she was--have any hope of meeting or dodging the violence of the now-desperate raiders.

The sword-wielding Orc was faster, and thus upon her first. "NO!!" She screamed, turning aside and wrapping her arms about herself to protect her unborn child, thus offering her unprotected back to the raider.

By Traveler and Troublemaker (Catastrophe)

Friday, January 27, 2012 - 6:51 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

blood

Catastrophe did not stop his rapacious assault on the Orc beneath him when he was dead. Over and over again he smashed his gauntleted fists into the raider's skull until there was nothing recognizable left.

pounding hot

He was like an animal as he switched back up to all fours, crouched like a beast as his claws dug into the cobblestones, fangs gleaming in his psychotic smile, his alien cat's eyes wide and dilated in frenzy. Whatever bloodlust played in Plenilune's system, its source was clear in the demonkin's stance.

breathe heavy

There was something strange happening near him. Drifting ash, spilling blood seemed to slow down around him; the worlde seemed to bend near him, as if the worlde around him were growing weaker. He stood upright, his savage grin never faltering as his eyes darted to and fro, soaking in the sight of the two Orcs menacing his lover. His tattered coat fluttered about him, though there was no wind to drive it, his tail lashed violently behind him like a whip in the hands of a drunken dominatrix.

Those versed in the ways of magick would feel it, as if the weave of the worlde were twisting; those skillful enough would be able to take advantage of the warping of the leylines to amplify their own skills. Of those assembled, Draekkor and Irihi would have felt something similar before in the presence of Trask, if reversed in polarity now.

back up

With a primal, demonic growl, one hellspawned hand reached out, taloned fingers tense in concentration, and the swordwielder froze in place, his eyes bulging in his sockets as he was lifted from the ground. The Orc's limbs twitched and spasmed, the poor raider's eyes rolling back in his head as he gurgled in agony. Catastrophe clenched, and with a nauseating, wrenching snap, the Orc contorted horribly, armor screaming, joints popping as he formed a gruesome facsimile of the Tiefling's fist - arms and legs as fingers, head as thumb.

offa mah woman

Apparently, the time spent in close quarters with Irihi had rubbed off on the demonkin. Cat's arm drew back, and the malformed Orc mimicked the motion, leaking blood as he pulled backwards into the air. And with a swing of the hellspawn's arm, the twisted form of the raider careened like a right hook at his hammer-holding battlemate.

By Rapidly Waning (Plenilune)

Friday, January 27, 2012 - 11:34 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Plenilune, now riding the back of her target as if trying to break a horse, wrapped one of her legs around the waist of the Orc and pushed her foot into his inner thigh to prevent him from getting back on his feet. Her body tightened like a snake. Her free hand gripped and twisted her enemy's ear. She grunted through gritted teeth as she absorbed all of the blows to her ribs landed on her from the Orc's elbows but still did not flinch or loosen her grip.

She hacked clumsily at the neck area of the Orc with her sword, trying to wedge the blade beneath it's greaved arm, aiming to plunge the blade downward beneath the collar bone. Her enemies size was limiting her range. She tried to slide further up the Orc's back, pushing her heal into the Orc's belt for leverage.

Her strength was beginning to fade, but just as her body's grip was about to slip, Plenilune's stomach twisted in response to Catastrophe's magick. The demon's blood burned in her veins again giving her another surge of rage and strength. She was not going to die here, in a foreign land, in some unknown war to be buried in rubble and rot.

In rapid succession, Plenilune pulled at the Orc's ear till it ripped clean off, jammed her knee beneath his ribs, slid her hand to the Orc's jaw and yanked it's head back before plunging her sword point through his neck so forcefully that she grazed her own shoulder with the weapon.

The sound of a bolt flying through the air caused Plen to jerk backwards and roll the Orc's body over her own in an attempt to dodge any arrows aimed for her. She had not caught sight of the newcomers yet and suspected it may have been the two Orcs she saw attempting to hide earlier. She craned her neck till she was looking towards the Hafling group with her head upside down just in time to see Catastrophe's handiwork, twisting the Orc's bodies like a puppeteer.

It was horrifying...yet comforting. Apparently she had fell into the right side of this fight.

By Lieutenant Zorielle Draugrbane of the Daelows Army (Zoey)

Saturday, January 28, 2012 - 1:25 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Neither Zorielle's expression nor stance wavered at the sight of the charging Orc. The Goblin registered as a non-entity, attacking at a distance that would clearly be inconsequential.

Again the split-blood's weapon came up, leveled easily at the Orc's face, when he stumbled at Cleo'ky's jab. She watched with detached interest as the Northlander charged past her, easily cleaving her opponent's head from his shoulders with a swing of his massive axe.

Mister Stoneblade was next, stepping in with that expert grace she'd become acquainted with from their service together. As predicted, this skirmish proved to be noticeably one-sided given the collection of warriors she traveled with.

The sense of satisfaction was short-lived. From her vantage point, it was easy enough to refocus her aim on the assailants of the dark-haired High Elf, but before she could fire, Zoey felt her innards warp with the aftereffects of Catastrophe's... no, this wasn't magick, this was something else, something more chaotic, more primal in nature. It called forth memories of her uncle and that strange, unrefined art he practiced. But she'd never experienced anything like this. This was powerful, yes, but messy. Dangerous.

Her heart thumping in her chest, she willed her gaze to sharpen, to focus on this new, unpredictable situation. What she saw chilled the typically unflappable Lieutenant, even more so than the horned man's grisly manipulation of the Orc. It couldn't be...

No. It wasn't. The scars were different. The man's frame, his noticeably unearthly nature. But what were the odds?

By One Man and His Dog (Pegason)

Saturday, January 28, 2012 - 1:57 am GMT | Edit | Link |

As the Uman made his stealthy approach to the first roadblock, where disciplined Orcs stood alert in positions hastily prepared, Ulysses began to laugh within the comfort of the dog's mind.

The fates are on our side, my friends. They've sent us a gift, look!

Out of the smoke, ash and dust scrambled an unarmed and terrified goblin, fresh from the encounter with the rest of the group. He fled towards the safety of his own lines, his mind a dull spark in the magicker's perception.

Ulysses had once been a gifted fire mage, but his untimely assassination had put an end to this. He retained the reliable use of only one spell - the thrall, with which he controlled Hanlon. It would be difficult to control Hanlon and cast a thrall on another being, especially a strong-willed one, at the same time. However, with the Uman safely hidden, Ulysses could relinquish that control and turn his full attention to the goblin. It was not an especially strong mind. With panic flooding its emotions, it was childishly simple to dominate. It would be even simpler to shred it right now, leaving the goblin piled on the floor with its brains leaking out of its ears, but the magicker had a plan.

The goblin ran up to his Orcan comrades in utter fright. "Quick!" he screamed. "We were ambushed! Just down that street." He pointed back down the road towards the Hafling clan, still staggering into the midst of the regimented Orcs, who all looked universally unimpressed. The corporal in charge of this section gazed unseeing into the haze and, therefore, never saw the sword which decapitated him.

As the goblin had staggered into the Orcan section, he had suddenly stood upright and unafraid. He'd snatched the sword of a junior soldier and immediately turned it upon the corporal.

Whoa! What's this? Extra magick? Where's that coming from?

Ulysses was having far too much fun to wait for an answer. He quickly made use of the added dose, provided by Catastrophe's worlde-bending, and expanded the thrall to take in the biggest of the Orcs in the section, who suddenly turned and cut down one of his fellows. "They've turned on us!" Ulysses cried, as loud as the Orc's voice would go. The creature had a fine set of vocal chords on him and the cry would likely carry to the next junction and the next section of Orcish regulars. "The goblins have betrayed us!"

Divide, thought Ulysses, as he ceased all of his thralls and reanimated Hanlon. And conquer.

By Draekkor Stoneblade (Draekk)

Saturday, January 28, 2012 - 2:29 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Skidding to a stop in front of the alley mouth where the goblin had escaped, he caught a whiff of more goblins and orcs at the other end of the alley. Quickly checking the pieced together map of the city in his mind, the Denqi suspected this alley connected to the street the Uman with the dog had gone down when they left the Oncedug Burrow. The scent on the wind confirmed that as his nose sifted out the scents of Hanlon and Lucky among the smells of goblinkin.

Without a second glance towards Catastrophe, Irihi, or the Haflings, the mercenary darted down the alley towards the scents. He was on alert, and ready for a fight.

By Anonymous

Saturday, January 28, 2012 - 5:51 am GMT | Edit | Link |

The bulk of the Northern Army Regulars were gathered near the Sacred Circle. Those left behind to control the intersections heard the warning shouted from the rear and passed it on in both directions. There were not a great many warriors of the Kingdoms of the Underneath nearby, most having dispersed into the city or having been held back at the gate guarded by the restored Watcher. Those that did remain within range of Orcan warrior suddenly found themselves in combat with the Churtish army.

(FROM:

The Sacred Circle)

Almost at the same time as the split in the invading forces, the deadly whirlwind of the uncontrolled necromantic draw wound its way down the boulevard held by Churtish forces. For a moment, it seemed the deadly magick might be held back by a triad of Orcan warlocks tasked with suppressing just such a suprise attack (as the former commander had expected the Hafling Druids to muster some form of massive magickal response).
-
But the magick of the Necromantic Draw was of a different epoch in the histories of the Worlde, and consumed too the mages sent to stop it. Thus the deadly whirlwind advanced, sending a wave of panicked Orcs fleeing before it.

By Anonymous

Saturday, January 28, 2012 - 4:16 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The pincushioned warhammer-wielding Orc tried to deflect the body of his erstwhile ally with a backhanded swing of his weapon, but the force behind the blow was greater than that of a simple flung body. He was bowled over and knocked senseless. Before he could rise, the Oncedugs were upon him, stabbing and bashing until the large Greenskin moved no more.

At last, there were no more raiders in the fight.

While two of the Oncedug fighters saw to collecting the rest of the clan from the side of the street where they had flocked to cower together, the other two--including the patriarch--cast about for just whom to thank for their rescue. The horned one was a terrifying warlock of some fanatical stripe. One of his Elven companions was some sort of berserk warrioress, the other one (whom they had apparently mistaken for an all-powerful sorceress) seemed barely any more able to keep herself together than their own noncombatants. That left a newcome Elf and Elf-mix. The patriarch chose to speak to Zoey. "Miss, I thanks yew on b'half uv all us Oncedugs." He began as he headed over to speak with the Daelowsian.

By The Reluctant Healer (Irihi)

Saturday, January 28, 2012 - 4:26 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Irihi, for her own part, did nothing; remaining hunched in a closed-eye flinch against a blow that never fell.

So much senseless killing; she felt even that of the great Necromantic Draw of her broken spike, misused by Hafling druids to slaughter a goodly portion of the Orcan army; it all should have delighted her. But she couldn't afford to be delighted just now, so she worked at being terrified, shocked, and vulnerable.

Rather disturbingly, it wasn't all that hard. The quivers of fear which caused her hands to shake, and squeezed eyelid and jaw shut, seemed awfully real. "What is wrong with me?" She whispered to herself.

By Anonymous

Saturday, January 28, 2012 - 11:03 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The section of Orcs was now down to a lance corporal and five grunts, one of whom was unarmed and another was looking very confused and deeply concerned as two of his comrades attacked him. Desperate for his life, he defended himself and pleaded between sword blocks. His pleas were ignored as the two Orcs pressed the attack.

The goblin, too was forced to defend himself. Not nearly as skilled as the Orcs, he was swiping hopelessly, trying to block accurate and forceful blows from the lance corporal and two grunts - one of them using only his dagger. The goblin, bleeding from several wounds - both those inflicted in the earlier action and those the Orcs had just opened - suddenly found an opening, through which he plunged his sword into the guts of the grunt still wielding a sword.

The opening had been created by the abrupt appearance of the mighty Denqi behind him. When the other two Orcs did not respond to their comrade dying in agony, he turned. His victorious grin vanished. "Uh oh," he gulped.

By One Man and His Dog (Pegason)

Saturday, January 28, 2012 - 11:27 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Conquer? That's my bit, isn't it?

The Denqi, too. I can smell him coming.

Oh, so now your nose works?

Now I know that you want it to work, yes!

Both of you, shut up! Give me a minute's peace, for the sake of the the Heavens! There's killing to be done.

The Uman, suddenly burst out of the fire-gutted building in which he had been concealed. He resisted roaring a battle-cry - he'd learnt, the hard way, that such extravagances could be costly. He set upon the three Orcs fighting amongst themselves, aiming for the two attacking the recently thralled big one. He aimed a thrust at the joints in the armour of the Churtish regulars.

What about us? Staying here? The dog peaked over the wall, watching what was going on. It ducked down again.

Wouldn't want to cramp his style.

No, definitely not. Absolutely.

... Hey, Lucky? Can you smell something?

I can smell a lot of things. You want to narrow that down a bit?

Something kind of... deathy.

Kind of deathy? We're in the middle of a war, Ulysses! There's a lot of deathy smells.

I know, but this one smells different. The rest are death by sword or fire or stampede. This is just death by... death.

I'd ask if you'd been hit on the head, but it's my head too. I'm sure I'd remember something like that. Did that extra magick do something to your mind?

I'm serious, Lucky. There's a lot of people dying, but there's nothing killing them... I think. Hey, is it getting windy around here?

You know what? I do smell something odd.

It's kind of a purplish smell, with a big hint of black, right? Being canine, Lucky's (and, by extension, Ulysses') sight was in black-and-white. However, their sense of smell was so vivid that it was often simpler to describe smells by colour.

No, it's more browny-green. Mostly brown. Kind of troll-coloured, actually.

Troll?!

By Draekkor Stoneblade (Draekk)

Sunday, January 29, 2012 - 12:13 am GMT | Edit | Link |

As the goblin turned to face him, the Denqi smiled. It was a cold smile, one of pure sadistic glee.

"Uh oh, is right, Goblin."

With speed that seemed impossible, the mercenary slashed straight down with his greatsword. However, he was feeling particularly vicious, so his attack was with the flat of his blade, not the edge. He was aiming for the Goblin's skull. If his attack connected, he would continue applying full pressure in an attempt to squash the greenskin, like a fly, beneath the weight of his sword.

By Traveler and Troublemaker (Catastrophe)

Sunday, January 29, 2012 - 2:10 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Catastrophe watched in satisfaction as the last of the Orcs fell to the Oncedug's blades. He was breathing heavily, each exhale a growling purr in his throat as he tried to force himself to calm down.

He wanted to keep fighting. He wanted something, someone to punch in the face, someone's gut to drive a knee into, a head to butt. The Tiefling drew a knuckle across his lip where one of the raiders he'd spattered had gotten a punch in.

As the adrenaline died, the hellspawned brawler started feeling the aches in his joints and the sting of the lacerations the skirmish had left in him. His little stunt had taken the jam out of his doughnut; he sighed, and the cobblestones seemed to sigh with him, rising and settling in their mortar settings. He looked sidelong at Plenilune, a trace of the sinister battlefrenzy in his pointy grin at the Cuthail'ky empath. This was a lull, a break. There'd be a lot more excitement on the way to the Harbor, he was sure of it.

But for now, the demonling's attention was fixed on the imminent mother of his child, huddled as she was in the aftermath of the fight. With steady strides, Catastrophe waded past the Oncedugs - gore-splattered arms wrapped around her; his tail coiled around an ankle as he growled into her ear.

"What's the matter with yeh?" he murmured, his fangs tracing gently along her auricle. She seemed pointedly unguarded, and it was replacing the Tiefling's bloodlust with a less appropriate impulse. "Yeh donnae cower, angel."

By Lieutenant Zorielle Draugrbane of the Daelows Army (Zoey)

Sunday, January 29, 2012 - 2:30 am GMT | Edit | Link |

"No thanks are necessary," the half-breed coolly replied to the Oncedug Elder, her emerald gaze unblinking as he approached. "Daelows stands with Kiana, as per the Treatise of Bigobo Grove. It is my duty to aid the citizenry to the best of my ability in states of emergency."

What she said was not an untruth - the Daelows Military had standing orders to such effect. But her duties as a Wraith would override such directives should her objective demand it. Fortunately, in this situation, it did not. She eyed the demon-thing with the uncanny resemblance to her uncle as it curled itself around the pregnant Aard'ky.

So this was the objective. After the reports on Dragon's Peak and the level of involvement from the Ufaerian forces, the Wraith was expecting something less... docile. She would have to further analyze the ancient once they had reached a more stable environment. "Cleo'ky," she said to her companion as she cocked her head towards Irihi. "If you would, please secure the payload."

In the meantime, there were still far too many variables on the field than she preferred. "I assume, Elder Oncedug," she began, addressing once more the venerable Hafling at her side. "That we are all traveling towards the potential sanctuary of the Harbor. Gather your people; I imagine that haste would be advisable for all involved."

She was walking now, headed without preamble towards the other unidentified player on the field. "I am Zorielle," she stated bluntly as she looked up at the empath. With the hand not currently occupied with a crossbow, she pointed at the white-maned hellspawn. "What is that?"

By Rapidly Waning (Plenilune)

Sunday, January 29, 2012 - 4:11 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Plenilune scrambled out from beneath the dead Orc's body and lurched to her feet.

Her side was beginning to burn again, but despite the pain she found herself smirking back at Catastrophe. She couldn't determine whether the lingering thrill powering her was solely her own or if the he-demon's was infecting her. She was about offer a good natured insult to Cat to express her admiration when he rushed to Irihi and wrapped himself around her crouched form.

Plen straightened as she peered at the odd display. This was not the Irihi of Catastrophe's memories, but then...whatever she had seen was just a glimpse of another's experience. A combination of a shrug and shudder rattled up her spine.

She turned to watch Cleo'ky, the Northman Mordeck and a newcomer, a very serious looking Elvish looking woman making their way to the Hafling group. When the stranger approached her, Plenilune took a suspicious step backwards.

" That, " the moonfaced Cuthail'ky nodded toward's the he-demon while resisting a grin, " is a monster...and I'm Plenilune. "

Plen felt only a stony wall when examining Zorielle, but also felt no imminent threat. She sheathed her blood stained sword for the time being, " You mentioned ships and a harbor, how far is it? " She sniffed at the air but couldn't detect any smell of sea and salt through all the blood and smoke.

By Warrior-agent of Churt (Rikka)

Monday, January 30, 2012 - 11:41 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Rikka remained hidden where she was, hoping she had not been seen, or at least, if she had been, forgotten. It was not a good day to be Orcish in Kiana, at least not in this neighborhood.

She could see from her vantage everything but Gnaroc, and she did not know where the guard had gone. She supposed he could be among those dead, although she could not have said for certain, the pulpy mess most of them had been left in.

The Draughrbane woman was here, but considering the number of allies she had upon her side -- and considering what any and all of those allies would do to any Orcish survivors they happened to find in this little alley, kidnapping Zoey for ransom was now out of the question.

The best Rikka could do for now was to continue hiding and hope this group left the area without finding her.

By Cleo'ky (Cleo)

Monday, January 30, 2012 - 8:10 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The dismembered head rocked slowly back and forth in a growing pool of blood. Cleo'kys amber eyes focused a glassy stare at the head and still-twitching body. Mordeck had detached the head, as easily as one might chop the top off a turnip...

The cuthail'kys disturbed trance was interrupted by Zorielle- calm and collected as usual, reminding Cleo'ky of her purpose here- the reason behind the mutilated fallen bodies- the weapon. Her moonstone castings, augmented by Catastrophe's aura, lent Cleo'ky the emotional strength of mind to bring her gaze upwards and listen to Zoeys words, to not be overwhelmed by the deaths surrounding her. As the darkness softly fell over the scene, the moon began to rise. Nearly spherical, the glowing orb crept above the level of the houses. The cuthail'kys eyes rested on it for a moment, the symbol of hope and source of power.

As her gaze shifted down again, it was clear who was the ancient- it could only be the expecting elf. Emboldened, the moon elf approached Irihi and the demon, failing as she did so to visualize the engorged elf, snuggled fearfully in the demons arms, as a weapon.

Perhaps the moonstones, in Catastrophes presence, lent poise and clarity to Cleo'ky as well, because she spoke with more determination than usual, remembering as well as she could the words of the master mystic.

"Honored one." She addressed Irihi in formal elvish. The elves of Ufaeria have heard of yer return. We imagine yew may have suffered, here among the land of the men. We have brought a ship, magickally powered, to take yew home to the land of the elves. Will yew come? Tis necessary that we go quickly, before the army overtakes the city."

As if to punctuate her words, the roars of the advancing trolls rumbled through the town.

By mordeck (Mordeck)

Tuesday, January 31, 2012 - 9:17 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Mordeck started towards Cleo'ky, however, she approached Irihi. It could wait.

By The Reluctant Healer (Irihi)

Wednesday, February 1, 2012 - 5:24 am GMT | Edit | Link |

"Not for my sake." Irihi replied quietly to Catastrophe's question, not knowing if she was speaking the truth or not. Surely she had rarely been cowed before, but it did happen, from time to time. Now that she was safely ensconced in the arms of her terrible demon, she felt no great desire to reflect on the why's of her sudden meekness, letting herself remain thence entangled until approached by one of the two people travelling in the company of the group that had come to their aid.

Disengaging herself from Catastrophe as Cleo approached, so that she might greet her properly, Irihi sized up this newcomer. She saw no signs of mixed blood in the Elf, though she was of a coloring unfamiliar to Irihi. She was pale, like those twisted drow, and Irihi wondered if she might not be an offshoot of those miserable creatures. But when she began to speak her words so pleased the life-mancer that she could have been from the moon for all Irihi cared. "R... really?" She barely dared to breath, lest she somehow spoil the news this wonderful, lovely person bore.

Since even before the bird-man had mentioned a land of Elf-kind, Irihi had dreamed of such. She had managed to gather that Dor O�Lim was no more; no great surprise, for her homeland had been cursed almost beyond recognition during her time of service. But even as she had hoped to find a new realm of the favored folk, she had feared what would be remembered about her, about her kind, and what she had done. Now here was this representative of The People, telling her not just that she would not be barred from the Elven lands, but that they had sought her out. Irihi's grip on Catastrophe's arm tightened. "Oh, Cat, did you hear her?" Irihi's breath came heavy and her knees went weak. More than these outward physical signs, though, her aura, her presence--those everpresent ramrods of fury and malice with which she held her spine rigid, twisted reality to accept her plane-warping presence, and mercilessly beat back the reasonable and good folk of a worlde which would not suffer such an abomination to live--now diminished, now cracked, as did her voice. "They've forgiven me!" She whispered to the Tiefling.

Cleo would see the pregnant dark-haired, sallow-skinned Elfmaid tear up at her words and lean ever more on the demon-kin who supported her. "I have, dearheart. Oh, how I have." She replied to the Moon Elf's estimations of her troubles. "Let us waste no more time here. Lead away to your ship!" She encouraged, breathlessly.

Of course Irihi was not yet all butterflies and honeydew, for she could not risk a peaceful disposition. With her tide of rage on the ebb, now the Elfmaid took refuge in her fear. It was only a tiny seed of doubt, the quietest voice from within that warned that there were many reasons Elfkind might seek to bring her back into the fold; and not all of them were beneign. She cultivated this shoot of disquiet as a hedge against the happiness that threatened now that she seemed so close to realizing one of her fondest wishes.

By Anonymous

Thursday, February 2, 2012 - 10:59 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Fear, if nothing else, accelerated the goblins reactions as he brought his stolen sword up to meet the Denqi's downward stroke. Had the stroke been with the sharp edge, it would easily have killed the hapless creature. However, with only the flat hitting him, the wounds were savage but not fatal. The goblin's arm immediately shattered, bone jutting through flesh and chilling screams of agony howled continuously as the attack drove him down. The scream brought the orcs to their senses and the lance corporal brought his own sword up to slow the Denqi's mighty weapon. The grunt, meanwhile, brought his dagger around to stab for the attacker's left ribs.

Meanwhile, the two orcs attacking one of their own were suddenly reduced to one. One of the grunts gurgled in an horrendous manner as the Uman held him up, his sword still jammed in the gap in the armour under the creature's right arm. He was using the dying Churtish warrior as a meat shield as the other two decided amongst themselves who was the greater threat - the Uman or each other.

The decision took quite a while in coming. The two grunts turned and continued to try to kill each other. The loyal soldier had hoped to get a surprise attack in so that he could turn his attention to the Uman interloper, but the big, recently-thralled orc had suffered only a cut across the ribs and came out fighting. Their gurgling companion watched in despair before finally expiring.

By Traveler and Troublemaker (Catastrophe)

Friday, February 3, 2012 - 12:57 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Catastrophe let the Elfwitch go reluctantly. His mouth was still grinning, a legacy of the violence he'd just enacted, but his brow was gathered in a frown as he watched his lover turn towards the Cuthail'ky. The trials of the last few months were still fresh in his mind, and these last few days would be critical. Not just for Irihi, but for the child as well.

The more time he spent not punching anything, the more Myrae's predictions were seeping ominously into his horn-crowned skull. All the pieces were there; the mad and powerful Witch, the impossible child she bore. And now the call of the Elves, bringing her into their fold. The coalskin had said something about that, right? Something about the end of the worlde?

But how? Clawed fingertips scratched uneasily at the scruff on the Tiefling's chin as Cleo'ky spoke. How were they going to turn 'Ri into the reckoning? The hellspawn smiled almost gently at his lover as she grasped his arm. "'Acourse, angel," he cooed, his voice either dripping with or devoid of sarcasm. "Who couldnae forgive the likes of yeh?"

Catastrophe wrapped a supporting arm around Irihi as she clutched at him, his toothy grin not at all reflected in the golden cat's eyes that bored into Cleo. He was looking for something, for anything to suspect about her, some sign that the Moon Elf was trying to trick them, get them to surrender his lover. But the hellspawn came up empty - from what he could tell, the young Cuthail'ky was earnest as a blank page.

And she was offering a ride out of this hole. Had he been by himself, the Tiefling might have taken his chances fighting his way out of the battlezone, but there was more at stake. Irihi. The child.

A corner of the hellspawn's mouth quirked, his scrutinous visage softened. "Aye and aye, Willow," he chirped to Cleo'ky. The heavy footfalls of the advancing trolls did not go unnoticed; at the first of the ominous thumps, Cat's ear twitched. "Yeh heard the woman. Lead on."

Yeh still with me, Plen? Catastrophe's words came with shadows of images. They were the newcomers - Cleo'ky, Zorielle, even the massive Denqi that had charged past. The thoughts were fast, fleeting, mere hints at what was going on in his head. Necks. Insides of elbows. Knees. Heels. Weak points. Stay sharp, lass. Sommat's off. Sommat's comin'. Luck cannae hold like this without a backswing on the way.

Dark though his thoughts may have been, the Tiefling seemed outright cheerful as he followed Cleo'ky towards the harbor... and to where Hanlon and Draekkor were embattled.

And behind, ever behind, the thunder of trolls drew closer.

By Lieutenant Zorielle Draugrbane of the Daelows Army (Zoey)

Friday, February 3, 2012 - 1:30 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Zoey's eyes narrowed at the pallid Moon Elf's response. "Zorielle," she said crisply in return, her emerald gaze openly assessing the woman standing before her. "The Harbor is not far - several blocks north before we move beyond the town's perimeter." But what waited for them there? The Half-Aard'ky knew nothing of the Greymaster's plan for them. But a being of that much power would have a plan.

Not that the Wraith was without plans of her own. Not for the first time, Zorielle wondered whether her signal had been received. She found her eyes pulled back to the 'monster', to the man who bore an uncomfortable resemblance to someone she knew far too well.

The Lieutenant's reverie was interrupted by the faintest vibrations beneath her feet. Her head snapped back, back from whence they had come. Now was not the time to ruminate over the implications of the horned demonling speaking to Zoey's... friend. Capable combatants and growing numbers not withstanding, the group was still in grave danger.

Priorities. Contact with the target had been made. Next was evacuation. Evaluation could wait until they were safe. "We should go," she said to the Oncedugs, to Mordeck and Plenilune, to Cleo'ky and the weapon.

It was then that she spotted the figure in the doorway, the half-Orc she'd met on the Meurra. Over the distance, Zorielle's eyes narrowed at Rikka as the Haflings mobilized and resumed their pilgrimage towards the piers. "We are being followed," she stated flatly to no one in particular.

By Cleo'ky (Cleo)

Friday, February 3, 2012 - 10:42 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Relief spread across the moon elfs face as Irihi quickly agreed to accompany them to the boat. Cleo'ky did not know what she would do if the ancient were not interested in coming to the ship- the mystic had said it was vital, that devastation could occur if she were to fail in her mission. But looking at the excited, pregnant, elf and her demon lover, Cleo'ky had a hard time imagining her wreaking havoc- and for the first time, she began to wonder if perhaps the mystic were misleading her somehow.

There was little time to consider that possibility, however, as the demon, the ominous rumbling, and Zorielle urged them onward. Cleo'ky hesitated for only a moment, unsure of which way the harbor was. But Zoey, always the rock, of course knew exactly where to go- and of course the haflings did as well. Cleo'ky 'led' the group, following the armed haflings who knew the way.

She heard Zoeys succinct warning and glanced behind, trying to discern who or what was following them. A shiver went up her spine and she wondered if they could possibly get out of this war-torn city alive.

By Rapidly Waning (Plenilune)

Saturday, February 4, 2012 - 4:04 am GMT | Edit | Link |

She slightly lifted her head and returned the serious woman's appraising look. The image of a taut bow flashed in her mind.

Wound tight. Dangerous. Fast.

The moon-faced Cuthail'ky wasn't sure if it was her perception speaking to her or just her habit of thinking in symbols, but whatever it was she was sure it was correct.

And then Cat's voice bounced around her aching brain. She tried to resist looking at him but couldn't. She looked towards him with obvious attention and nodded slightly before trying to turn the movement into a stretch and shrug for anyone watching.

Plenilune followed Zorielle's gaze to where she had earlier seen two figures fade into the shadows.

Wiping her gloved hands on her bloody shirt, " Time's too short and they're too few for it to matter, " and with that Plen followed the rest of the group to the harbor bringing up the rear of the group.

The distance ground shaking didn't go unnoticed, but she didn't see the use in asking about it. Whatever it was surely couldn't be good for her or the rest of their group.

TO : The Harbour

By Warrior-agent of Churt (Rikka)

Saturday, February 4, 2012 - 1:39 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Rikka was not near enough to hear the conversations, but from her vantage, it was clear the survivors were ready to move. Clear, too, that the pregnant she-Elf and the creature who supported her were among those that would be moving.

Likewise, it was clear that she had been spotted. By the Draugrbane woman.

"Gnaroc?" she hissed, now truly frightened. If none of her kinsman had survived this skirmish, Rikka was alone here, undoubtedly seen, and to the eyes of all but a couple of them, a greenskin like all those already dead. And only one by one did they seem to be setting off for wherever they were going.

To make matters worse, there were noises -- noises that were nearly impossible to identify, but that were terrifying nonetheless.

And her shoulder burned terribly, for what reason, she could not fathom.

By Draekkor Stoneblade (Draekk)

Saturday, February 4, 2012 - 9:16 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The Denqi growled as he felt his attack be blocked. He had known it was a gamble anyways, but it still rankled that the little monster had managed to survive. It had even managed a semblance of a counter-attack with it's pitiful dagger.

Switching to a one handed grip on his sword, Draekkor caught the dagger arm at the wrist, and twisted it relentlessly. His warrior blood was up now, gone was strategy. His grin widened, lengthy canines giving him a nearly rabid appearance. The mercenary wrenched the goblin's wrist again, hearing the satisfying sound of bone crunching. Pushing away the dagger arm, and sweeping his sword wide in a zero-stance horizontal attack on the lance corporal aiding the goblin, the sellsword planted a heavily booted foot against the broken goblin's chest and virtually punted him.

The air currents had brought him the scent of trolls approaching. He needed to finish this little skirmish quickly so he could get to some real fighting.

And so I can catch back up with Zorielle. I've missed working with the Lieutenant.

By Lieutenant Zorielle Draugrbane of the Daelows Army (Zoey)

Saturday, February 4, 2012 - 10:30 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

As the ever-growing cadre began its slow migration to the North, Zorielle remained still for a moment, her emerald gaze fixed on where she had spotted the half-orc. After a moment's contemplation, the Lieutenant turned on her heel and strode to Cleo'ky's side.

Her gloved hand caught at the young Cuthail'ky's; should she grasp it, the Wraith would squeeze it in a (for her) strange display of affection. "Get them to the harbor, Cleo'ky," she said, her voice still sharp and businesslike, though traced with a hint of softness. "If you stay together, you will be safe. Keep an eye out for Ulysses. And Mister Stoneblade - the Denqi - he can be trusted." Her gaze trailed back, towards where she had last seen the orc-blooded spy they had met on the Meurra. "There is something I must investigate."

And with that, the Lieutenant peeled away from the rest of the retreating group. She moved quickly, staying close to the shelter of the shattered buildings and rubble that littered Kiana's streets. She did not have much time; the sounds of the approaching Trolls were getting louder.

Should fortune be on the half-Aard'ky's side and should she find Rikka before the half-orc spy detected her first, Zorielle's crossbow would be loaded and leveled at the halfbreed as she approached through the fire and smoke. "Churt," she said flatly, keeping enough of a distance to maintain a tactical advantage. "Why are you here?"

By Warrior-agent of Churt (Rikka)

Saturday, February 4, 2012 - 11:16 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

There was no place to run, and had there been, Rikka was no coward. Scared, yes. But not a coward. At least that is what she told herself as she removed herself from the Hafling-sized doorway where she'd hidden and stood straight.

She still held a spear in either hand -- her own and the one she had taken from a dead soldier -- but she made no effort to raise them. Doing so would only hasten her own demise.

Some seconds passed before she was able to answer the question posed. She thought of Gnaroc, whose fate Rikka still did not know. If he yet lived, and she called to him now, she suspected they both were as good as dead. And yet, what difference did it make, she thought, staring at the wicked-looking bolt poised directly at her heart...

Eventually she was able to firm her features and look Zoey in the face. When words came, they were brief and simple, and while Rikka did not share everything, they rang of truth: "My superiors are fools," she answered bitterly.

Draugrbane was welcome, if she wished, to read between the lines.

By One Man and His Dog (Pegason)

Sunday, February 5, 2012 - 1:22 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The Uman mercenary looked on in confusion as the two orcs continued their fighting. He allowed his now very dead meat shield to slide of his sword into a heap on the ground. Hardly thinking about it, he flicked his weapon a couple of times to get the green blood and gore off the blade.

Orcs, he thought.

Orcs are the least of our troubles, Hanlon. There are trolls on their way. Finish this quickly.

Hanlon glanced back at the wall, behind which the dog was hidden. His eye was drawn upwards slightly and both of them suddenly widened. Sod the trolls! I'm more worried about the giant purple tornado!

Ah. Yes, I've heard about these. Finish this very quickly. If that thing gets too much closer, we are in very serious trouble.

What is it?

You don't want to know.

That bad, huh?

That bad.

Without further comment, Hanlon turned a hefty swipe upon the two remaining Orcs he'd been dealing with.

By Anonymous

Sunday, February 5, 2012 - 1:48 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The orc grunt's wrist exploded in pain and the knife clattered on the cobbles. Now totally disarmed and incapacitated, a lesser creature would have fled. Indeed, the goblin, winded by the kick which had sent him into the chest of the lance corporal and with arms shattered, did crawl to safety, fleeing his second fight in less than ten minutes. Unless specifically pursued, he would make for the Churtish lines, where he would be immediately killed by the regulars, who believed the UnderNeathers to be traitors.

The grunt, however, was made of sterner stuff and, despite his injuries, he still levelled kicks at the mighty warrior. The lance corporal was still in the fight and, so long as he was, the grunt would remain to support him, even if it were only as a distraction.

As the Denqi had drawn his huge sword back for the swipe, the lance corporal had shifted stance and grip to block the blow, deflecting the stroke up and over himself. He'd then taken a goblin to the chest, which had sent him sprawling on the ground. As the goblin had crawled away, the lance corporal had quickly recovered and was now waiting for the grunt to be enough of a distraction to draw the attention of the Denqi.

Should Stoneblade turn to deal with the grunt kicking him in the side, the lance corporal would charge in for the kill.

Meanwhile, the two orcs fighting between themselves were again reduced by one. The loyal grunt was suddenly hit in the back by Hanlon's weapon and, while his armour stopped the swipe, the thralled grunt had used the opening to thrust his blade up under his comrade's chest armour. He deeply regretted having to slay one of his own section, but was left with no choice. He did not shed a tear, though. Orcs tend not to. Instead, he squared off against the Uman, immediately launching into the attack.

There remained, therefore, the lance corporal and one wounded grunt fighting the Denqi, the goblin crawling east from the fight and the big grunt whom Ulysses had thralled. Unfortunately, there was also a troll two streets away, who had heard the screams and shouts, smelled the blood spilled and was keen - in so far as such a creature can be described as 'keen' - to join the fight.

By Cleo'ky (Cleo)

Monday, February 6, 2012 - 6:46 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

A pleasant shock coursed through Cleo'ky as Zorielle squeezed her hand. She gave a small squeeze and tiny smile in return as she listened to the instructions, nodding in understanding. It wasn't until after the lieutenant darted off down the alleyways that the cuthail'ky realized she was leaving the group. As the form disappeared through the dark smoky ruins, Cleo'ky felt a knot form in her stomach- would she see Zorielle again? Amber eyes stared into the dark, hoping the half-elf would reappear. It wasn't until she stumbled over fallen rubble that the moon elf brought her attention back to her forward progress.

As they progressed she could hear signs of fighting on adjacent streets, but the haflings seemed to adjust their course to avoid the pockets of fighters and thus they wound their way through the streets.

(TO:	The Harbor)

By Draekkor Stoneblade (Draekk)

Monday, February 6, 2012 - 7:06 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The Denqi caught one of the kicks the grunt was aiming at him, and pivoted, throwing the Orc off balance. Continuing his rotation, the sellsword managed to slide around the grunt, thus placing the Orc between himself and the lance-corporal.

In one smooth motion, the mercenary slammed his sword point into the dirt, driving it deep, and then launched one of his enchanted knives at the chest of the lance-corporal. Anchoring himself against his greatsword, Draekkor held tight to the orc grunt, using him as a living meat-shield to protect himself from the impending explosion. For whether the lance-corporal was struck by the knife, or deflected it, the impact caused by either would trigger the explosive magick.

By Anonymous

Tuesday, February 7, 2012 - 10:34 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Draekkor's blade effectively finished the fight. As planned, the dagger hit the lance corporal square in the chest and, the moment contact was made, the Orc disintegrated. The concussive force of the explosion would blow both the ex-thralled Orc and the Uman off-balance, though the Orc, whose back had been to his former leader, subsequently took the brunt of the impact. The already wounded grunt in Stoneblade's grip was only knocked unconscious by the heat, flames and impact of the blast. Even Orcan nerves have their limits and the damage this individual had taken more than surpassed them. Dead or not, he was out of the fight and would not recover for several days. Assuming he lived that long.

However, as one fight ended, another would surely begin. The explosion had, naturally, caught the attention of the nearby troll and it increased its hulking pace. Frankly, it brought the attention of every troll in the city, though some were more wary of huge gouts of flame than others. Unfortunately for the two mercenaries, three of the behemoths in the immediate area were not so sharp and turned to lumber in the direction of the detonation. Unless impeded, they would arrive only about five minutes after their comrade, who would himself arrive in less than one.

By One Man and His Dog (Pegason)

Tuesday, February 7, 2012 - 10:52 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Hanlon finished the stunned Orc with a rather disgusting thrust to the face. Effectively it was the same manner in which the formerly-thralled grunt had dispatched his own comrade, only going high-to-low instead of low-to-high. Further description would be deeply unpleasant and largely unnecessary. Suffice it to say that the Orc was very dead.

The Uman nonchalantly flicked the green blood off his sword. Again. He smiled his default cocky grin at the only other creature in the vicinity still standing. "Looks like I owe you two, Denqi."

We don't have time for clich�d pleasantries, Hanlon. Between the orcs, the trolls and the giant purple typhoon, we have more than enough problems to keep us occupied for the few minutes our current life-expectancy extends to."

Huh?

Ulysses mentally sighed. Where did I lose you?

I think I got all the words - except for "clich�d", but I remember you using that one before and I know its somehow bad - but I don't get your meaning.

Run before bad stuff kills us.

In so far as it is possible for a disembodied amalgam of memories to do so, Ulysses rolled his eyes. Here! Allow me!

"You can tell me about where you get the explosive throwing knives from later, my friend," said Ulysses from Hanlon's mouth. "For now, I believe there is a troll close at hand. We would be well advised to run!" Without waiting for a reply - because, frankly, none of the three personalities was foolish enough to go toe-to-toe with a troll without a very good reason, a small siege engine or a significant advantage in numbers, position or magick - the Uman and the dog, which had emerged from the wreckage of the house, set off towards the northern gates. The harbour itself was a short distance from the city limits (at least, it was by the last map of the area Ulysses had seen, which hadn't been a new one even then). The gate would provide the positional advantage he needed for a rearguard action.

By Anonymous

Tuesday, February 7, 2012 - 11:01 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Gnaroc In the face of such overwhelming force, there was only one option; die honorably in battle. While Rikka had been momentarily distracted by the band of enemies, he had quickly slipped through a shattered doorway of a nearby building. It was a squeeze, but he had made his way to the second floor and now crouched in the shadow of a broken window which allowed good view of Rikka as well as easy egress. When the enemies noticed the Orcan spy and attacked, Gnaroc would have his best chance to ambush them and perhaps take one or two of the superior force before he, himself, was killed.
-
Gnaroc felt no remorse over using Rikka as bait, for surely he would ensure a more glorious end for the both of them this way. In the confusion he thought to create, perhaps the spy could score her own kill before they were overcome. After all, as any Churtish soldier knew, the best anything was a good offense.
-
As Zoey approached, the Orc readied himself to lunge at her. Though he was on the second floor, it was a Hafling building, and thus his leap would bring him down on the Dalowsian from a height only slightly greater than that of her head.

By Traveler and Troublemaker (Catastrophe)

Tuesday, February 7, 2012 - 11:09 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Catastrophe remained entwined with his lover as the Oncedugs marched off towards the Harbor, his tail flopping lazily about behind him as he stuffed another cigarette between his lips. He paused but a moment to light it off of a smoldering crossbeam along the way, jutting into the street from the little villa it once supported like a broken rib.

He was humming to himself as the cadre of seasoned warriors and terrified children made their way along a sidestreet, one of the few not bordered in flames. As they neared the corner, the Tiefling stopped short without any indication of why, drawing the confused stares of the Haflings at the fore. Cat grinned at them and held up one finger.

With a thunderous BOOM, the cobblestones shook with the might of Draekkor's explosive; a wash of heat surged through the street from around the corner. With a cheerful nod, the hellspawn resumed his stroll.

"Why, look, honey," he said to the Elfwitch at his side as they rounded the corner. One taloned digit pointed towards the Denqi standing amongst a swath of fresh corpses as Ulysses made his move. "It's that Draekkor fellow. From the party."

By Anonymous

Wednesday, February 8, 2012 - 10:58 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

As they entered the city, the Trolls acted as expected. These monsters had been tormeneted by a lifetime of hard labor and cruelty. Freed of their shackles and surrounded by the neatly-ordered Hafling town, they set to work acting out their long-suppressed rage and pain. That which was ordered, they smashed. That which lived, they killed (and often ate), the efforts of the brave Home Guard which stood against them came to naught, for the troll's thick skin and regenerative powers defeated the Hafling's weapons.

Except for fire. They shrank from fire; turning aside to smash or kill elsewhere when faced with flaming arrows or fire mages.

By Anonymous

Wednesday, February 8, 2012 - 11:02 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

(FROM:

The Sacred Circle)

Riika, High Priestess of Ishitar Riika watched the Trolls devastating her hometown with a sick heart. She knew what had to be done, yet still she shrank from giving the order. But if Kiana was to last out the night, with one stone still stacked upon another, the Trolls had to be driven off. They had started to spread out upon entering the city, though they were still mostly clustered near the breach in the wall; crushing and feeding. There was only one direction they could go, and it would mean more death within her city this night. There was no way to send warning to those in the path of destruction, they would have to survive as best they could.
-
The longer she waited, the harder it would be to herd the great monsters. To her remaining disciples, she shouted: "Burn them! Put them all to the flame and drive them to the sea!" While the Trolls could not be resisted, Churt's warlocks had been held back at the wall, not entering the city for fear of both the trolls and what Home Guard sappers remained. Thus the huge monsters razed the city without magickal protection.
-
The druids of Ishitar, the Home Guard mages, and archers that had mustered complied with grim faces. Arrows tipped with burning pitch flew, gouts of flame erupted amidst the milling Trolls, and fireballs rolled down streets toward the monsters. The fire came from one side, to the other lay Kiana, and eventually the harbor and the sea.

By Anonymous

Wednesday, February 8, 2012 - 11:07 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The hair-raising bellows of the Trolls turned from agression to pain and fear. Fire was their mortal enemy, and it seemed everywhere--but in one direction. So it was in that direction that they fled.
-
En-masse, the house-sized monsters turned, some already afire, and charged away from their torment of flames. It took time for the Trolls to build up speed, but once they had, their momentum was irresistable. Where roads and alleys twisted or turned, the fleeing trolls smashed straight through. Boards, shingles, glass, and brick flew before them as the huge monsters careened off crumbling solid walls and burst through lesser dwellings, crashing down the city streets with thunderous footsteps.
-
Adding to the chaos, the first missiles of the resumed Churtish bombardment crashed down into the city smashing and dealing death indiscriminately.

By Anonymous

Wednesday, February 8, 2012 - 11:09 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

A peculiar rattling sounded as the cobbles of the street beneath the feet of the group began to clatter together like chattering teeth--driven by some faint but growing vibration. Bricks tumbled from shattered walls and shingles clattered down from damaged roofs as the tremors increased. From the direction the group had come, an unhealthy glow arose behind the Kianan rooflines. As well, an unearthly gutteral howling filled the air. Whatever made the noise; and likely too what caused the ground to tremble; was clearly drawing closer.
-
Even the three Trolls, younger faster creatures leading the pack which had gained the breached walls, paused to look back toward the glow and noise.
-
A whistling sound announced the resumption of the Churtish bombardment. It was followed by a tremendous crash as a the cupola of a three-story building half a block away was obliterated by a falling field stone.

By The Reluctant Healer (Irihi)

Wednesday, February 8, 2012 - 11:23 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

"Oh my. What is that awful racket?" Irihi sniffed before turning toward where Catastrophe pointed. She wanted to talk to the Elfmaid about Ufaeria--not look at stinky Umanoids--but the girl had run off somewhere, so she directed the obligatory, albeit dubious, gaze at Draekkor. "So it is." She confirmed.

Irihi was enjoying this little stroll well enough. It had all of her favorite things; monsters, murder, havoc; but she wondered if she ought not to try to wean herself from such. While the mongrel races might see fit to allow such messiness in their mud hut towns, surely the lands of the fair folk would be much more ordered and serene.

By Rapidly Waning (Plenilune)

Thursday, February 9, 2012 - 4:31 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Plenilune watched as the tightly wound Aard'ky retreated to search for those following the group. One less sword for the time being, but also one less unknown.

She brought up the rear, ripping bolts and arrows out of dead bodies, Orcan or Hafling, along the way.

The shaking of the ground was beginning to rattle her shrieking nerves. It was increasing, getting closer...

And then the hot explosion waved over them from around a bend in the street. The sight of the large Uman, she thought she had heard someone refer to him as a Denqi, amid a pile of corpses greeted the group as they rounded the corner.

For a moment she was ready to fight, but Cat and Irihi's obvious ease put her at ease also...and then, in that single moment of relaxation, an even larger wave of heat and flame rose from behind them, dimming the moon's light and accompanied by bone chilling howls of fear.

" What's happening? " she whispered, then yelled, " We need to move faster! "

She felt unusually light on her feet suddenly. It was the fear of whatever was howling and making the earth shake.

By not me (Yu)

Thursday, February 9, 2012 - 11:05 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The Oncedug Clan were more-or-less following Catastrophe's instructions, but the uearthly howling from the rear lent a fleetness to their feet that had previously been absent. With the way ahead seemingly cleared of Orcs by the Denqi and Uman--while trolls and some unknown terror approached from behind, the clan did not wait for orders from their defacto defenders. Leaving the group of big people to see to the rear, the clan scurried on ahead, at a half-trot/half-run; the greatest haste the elderly and children could manage. The few Oncedug fighters formed a vanguard to the fore, but in their haste, they were unlikely to be able to stop the rest of the Haflings from charging straight into an ambush, should any lie in their path.
-
At their increased pace, the clan began to leave the bigguns behind.

(TO:	Daffodil Avenue)

By Anonymous

Thursday, February 9, 2012 - 11:07 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

From the direction of the rumbling and firey glow, now came a smattering of creatures. First, a pair of horses: Unsaddled and riderless, they raced past the group at full gallop with eyes ringed in white. The equines were followed by dogs, some clearly feral some bearing collars of ownership, all running in the same direction as the horses. After them, rather bizarrely, came cats.

By One Man and His Dog (Pegason)

Friday, February 10, 2012 - 12:33 am GMT | Edit | Link |

As the cats streaked past the trio, two of them experienced an unnatural urge to chase the fleeing felines. While he was confused by the sensation, Ulysses was not about to pass up on some added impetus, so he allowed Lucky to take over for a short time. He then had to intervene to slow the dog down - he was outdistancing the Uman by yards.

I think something nasty is coming our way.

Whatever gave you that impression? Was it perhaps the violent explosion? The ear-splitting screams? The terrified creatures? The vibrating ground?

Ulysses' sarcasm was interrupted by a house off to his right suddenly exploding. He was immediately knocked to the ground, bleeding from several mercifully shallow cuts. The dog's ears rang, blocking out all but the loudest of noises, which now seemed dull and distant. His nose was filled with the smells of burning and blood. His vision was blurred, so there seemed to be two Uman's dashing towards the canine. As he was scooped up and thrown over the swordsman's shoulders, the movement felt like it was happening to someone else. Every sense was battered into submission and only one thought remained clear.

I was going to say the whistling sound of an incoming shot, actually.

Fortunately, Ulysses' annoyance kept him from blacking out, enabling the Uman puppet to keep running for the harbour gates.

(TO:	Daffodil Avenue)

By Lieutenant Zorielle Draugrbane of the Daelows Army (Zoey)

Friday, February 10, 2012 - 2:15 am GMT | Edit | Link |

For a long time, Zorielle stood still, her crossbow aimed unwaveringly at Rikka's breastbone even as the orc-blood made no move to attack her. Her cold green eyes were fixed an unblinking at the halfbreed spy, her face an expressionless mask.

Until she abruptly lowered her weapon. "Most superiors are," she replied, her toneless voice making it extraordinarily difficult to tell if she was making a joke or simply stating a fact.

The Wraith's head snapped up at the sound of footfalls. Before Gnaroc even managed to leap through the window, Zoey's crossbow was back up, aiming carefully for any weak point she could find on the guardsman. Her mind was blank, nothing but herself and her target...

It would have been impressive to see the half-Aard'ky make her shot, to fire a crossbow bolt with uncanny accuracy into the Orc's eyesocket, shifting her body just slightly to her right for Gnaroc's spear to glide over her shoulder.

But it was not to be. For just as Zorielle pulled the trigger, there was a thunderous crash as the building Gnaroc leapt from exploded in flame and rubble. A catapult shot had shattered the tenuous structure, blowing the half-elf backwards into a wall.

Her vision was scrambled, her hearing muffled and swimming. She had kept her feet without truly knowing how. Her teeth ached, and the back of her head felt numb, the back of her neck felt wet. The Lieutenant blinked, looked about dumbly as her mind struggled to make sense of what had happened. The Orc who had lunged at her, even Rikka... she couldn't see them, couldn't piece together enough of the scenario to understand.

So when the first of the massive Trolls, maddened by the flames, smashed through the wreckage and roared mightily, Zorielle only looked up at it with round green eyes, uncertain as to what to do as the monster's mighty foot arced downward at her.

By Traveler and Troublemaker (Catastrophe)

Friday, February 10, 2012 - 2:31 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Catastrophe could feel the rumble beneath his feet. He stiffened at the sound, his golden eyes wide as he swallowed.

Hoofbeats. The Tiefling turned back, his eyes scanning the burning wreckage of Kiana as the howling of stones being trebucheted at the capitol sang in the air. Once, twice, the fieldstones crashed! Buildings crumpled at the impact as the herds of beasts ran past.

The hellspawn could feel it gnawing at the pit of his stomach, that exhilarating, rare sensation that so infrequently clutched at his heart, that pinched his senses and caught at his breath.

Fear.

The thundering, the screaming was rising in volume, a cacophany of flame and havoc. "Aw, pike me," he breathed. With an ungainly swoop, Cat tucked an arm under Irihi's knees and hoisted her into his arms.

"Run," he roared to the collection of adventurers. "C'mon, yeh leatherheaded pikesuckers - RUN FOR YER PIKIN' ARSES!"

And with that, he was off, sprinting as fast as he could whilst laden with a pregnant Elfwitch. Which, as it turned out, was actually quite fast.

(TO:	Daffodil Avenue)

By Rapidly Waning (Plenilune)

Friday, February 10, 2012 - 4:34 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Plenilune didn't need to be told twice...infact she didn't need to be told at all.

She sped after the group, jumping easily over debris and looking over her shoulder in hopes of spying more horses fleeing.

If another passed the group she would attempt to mount and calm one in hopes of gaining height and speed.

TO : Daffodil Avenue

By mordeck (Mordeck)

Friday, February 10, 2012 - 3:41 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Mordeck waited untill he was last in the group, looking wearaly back the way they had come, and followed.

(TO: Daffodil Avenue)

By Cleo'ky (Cleo)

Friday, February 10, 2012 - 6:24 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The entire city was crumbling, falling apart around them- and Zorielle was not here. Visions of the half elf, crushed, on fire, bleeding and broken flooded through Cleo'kys mind as she helplessly watched as horses, haflings, and house pets ran for their lives, trying to escape doom.

Her moonstones had given her warning before the first explosion, now with this larger explosion and ominous, increasingly loud, rumbling Cleo'ky's skin was crawling with alarms. Numbly she ran amongst the haflings, blindly following with a desire to survive- despite the fact that parts of her told her it was useless. She would not give up.

(TO:	Daffodil avenue.)

By Draekkor Stoneblade (Draekk)

Friday, February 10, 2012 - 6:59 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Dropping his now unconscious shield, the Denqi shook his head to clear away the ringing in his ears from his knife. He didn't even hear what Hanlon had said to him.

Pulling his greatsword from the ground, the Denqi sheathed it and took stock of the situation around him, he was down to nine throwing knives, and even his innate stamina was beginning to flag.

A deep breath was taken as he noticed Catastrophe, Irihi, and the others round the corner. One was notably missing, the Lieutenant.

As the crashing sounds grew closer, and the terrified animals ran past, followed by Catastrophe yelling at them to run, Draekkor chose another path, he ran back the way they had come, towards the crashing sounds. The Denqi followed his nose and memory of the streets as best he could to locate Zorielle.

Rounding the corner of the alleyway that the Lieutenant was in, the sellsword pulled up short, flinging his hands up to shield his face from debris as he watched an explosion blast the Elf into a wall. And before he could move to help her up, a maddened Troll appeared, looking to flatten the beautiful Zoey beneath it's ugly foot.

Ideas strategies flashed through Draekkor's mind, as time seemed to slow down for him. Too far away for me to run up and grab her, and she's too close to the Troll for me to risk using my explosive knives. Troll is too maddened by the fire to pay heed to a verbal distraction, only one option left.

Adrenaline fueled hands flashed Seals faster than the eye could follow. It was a race, Draekkor's Seals against the descending Troll foot. The foot lowered an inch, two Seals done. Another inch, three more Seals. The Troll's foot was now only a few inches from Zorielle, when the mercenary finished his Seals and slammed his palms to the earth, triggering the spell.

If it worked, his spell would open the earth beneath Zorielle, dropping her slender form a couple of feet into a crevasse just barely wide enough for her body, then closing the earth again over the top of her, before the Troll's foot could make contact, creating a stone shelter with enough air to last roughly fifteen minutes. Though the mercenary planned to get her out of there as soon as the Troll moved on.

By not me (Yu)

Friday, February 10, 2012 - 10:46 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

And then, the rest of the Trolls hove into view.

A few blocks away, the facade of a house erupted into a shower of rubble which seemed to birth a charging Troll. Three more were visible beside the house-smasher, one with hair and flesh alight. Together they formed a line abreast slightly wider than the street they followed, and together they plowed down the road their footsteps shaking the ground and crushing the cobbles to gravel. Behind them, a veritable flood of Troll poured. Embers, dust, and debris rising above the rooftops to either side of the street evidenced that the wave of stampeding trolls was wide as well as deep.
-
Before the monsters fled the remaining unlucky denzins of Kiana. Smaller animals, here and there a Hafling flushed from a hiding spot or a member of the Home Guard fleeing before the irresistable force. But the troll tsnumai was still picking up speed, moving now faster than a Uman could run.
-
Another horse did pass near Cleo, but this one held a Hafling rider, hunched over and whipping the beast with the reins.

By The Reluctant Healer (Irihi)

Friday, February 10, 2012 - 10:47 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

"Whoop!" Irihi exclaimed as she was swept off her feet. Before she could decide if this was a dignified enough way to travel, the troll stampede crashed into view, and she left off that question in favor of craning her neck to watch the chaos which smashed building and being alike and threatened to soon overtake and end them with its burning crush. "Oooh!" She did not sound displeased, for this was quite a spectacle.

(TO:	Daffodil Ave.)

By Lieutenant Zorielle Draugrbane of the Daelows Army (Zoey)

Tuesday, February 14, 2012 - 4:39 am GMT | Edit | Link |

One moment, there had been light, fluttering orange and red all around the stunned Lieutenant, light bright and angry, light dimming as the Troll's gargantuan foot came swinging down at her. Only as it was almost upon her did Zoey recognize what it was, the imminent doom it represented. In those final seconds, the half-Aard'ky's brain flicked back on, running trajectorial calculations, evaluating time left, distances to either side, weak points that might be exploited. Chances, probabilities, all run at lightning speed behind the wide green eyes staring up at the sole of a monstrosity's foot.

All that added up to one simple, grim conclusion. There was no way out.

It was then that the Denqi's spell took hold; the wounded Wraith found herself with nothing underfoot but a gash in the street, and with nary a moment to spare, she disappeared into the pocket of sanctuary Draekkor had afforded her.

What had been a neverending moment for sellsword and soldier was nothing but a single step in the Troll's flight. Like its brethren, the massive monster plunged headlong into the streets, leaving fire and chaos in its wake.

By Warrior-agent of Churt (Rikka)

Wednesday, February 15, 2012 - 12:48 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Rikka was covered, as well, but not magickally, as the Daelowsian had been; rather she had sought refuge back in the low doorway where Zoey had originally spotted her. That doorway was little more than a pile of rubble, now, and Rikka slowly and painfully dragged herself from beneath it.

Her last vision of Gnaroc had been his fateful leap, and she had no idea how he had fared after, or, as before, even where he was. Of Draugrbane, Rikka had seen naught but a Troll's falling foot, and then nothing more. She could only presume that what remained of the Daelowsian had stuck to the giant creature's sole.

Quickly deciding she was better off hidden beneath the pile of rubble, Rikka quit trying to remove herself, instead burrowing farther in. Even she had to admit to herself, she was badly shaken, having witnessed the trampling of Zorielle.

By Draekkor Stoneblade (Draekk)

Friday, February 17, 2012 - 5:07 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Heaving a sigh of relief when the Troll moved on after Zorielle had been saved by his spell, the mercenary began preparations to get her out of her earthy sanctuary. He was interrupted, however, by the stampede of Trolls tearing through Kiana.

Utilizing reflexes honed by over a century on battle-fields across the Worlde, the mercenary made no attempt to fight any of the panicked monsters. He simply dodged around them, and under their feet. His clothing and armor took a few scorches, to be sure. Draekkor's greatsword even snagged on a low piece of debris at one point, trapping the Denqi, until he unclasped his sword-harness and left the whole apparatus lying on the ground.

But never once did he stray from the alley. Each jump, each sidestep, each desperate roll only moved him closer to the crack in the ground that was the only indication of where the Lieutenant was buried alive.

When the tide of Trolls had finally passed, the mercenary rushed to the spot where his spell had taken Zoey underground. His hands flashed Seals, one, two, three... a total of eight Seals before pressing his hands to the ground.

The earth would open up again over the Lieutenant, and her first sight would be the warm smile on the soot covered face of the large Denqi. "Come on Lieutenant. Let's get the hell outta here."

By mordeck (Mordeck)

Saturday, February 18, 2012 - 11:52 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Yeah....It was obvious. However, Mordeck couldn't make it to the cellar in time, and there was no way he'd be able to out run the trolls with Cat on his back. So he turned. and ran sideways down the streets and alleys until it was safe enough to turn around and go down the streets back to where the stampede had ran before.

By Lieutenant Zorielle Draugrbane of the Daelows Army (Zoey)

Monday, February 20, 2012 - 11:52 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The minutes spent in Draekkor's makeshift oubliette were more than enough for Zoey to regain her bearings. It was, after all, a fairly simple affair to gather one's surroundings when they only consisted of a few inches of space and no light. As the earth parted at the mercenary's touch, he would discover a rather nonplussed half-elf patiently awaiting him.

"It is fortunate, Mister Stoneblade, that you are no longer under the employ of the Daelows military," she said, her voice as deadpan as ever as the Denqi helped her back onto the street. "From what I understand, there are repercussions for the act of burying one's commanding officer alive, regardless of circumstance." Now that she was back in command of her faculties, the Warlocke seemed none the worse for the wear as she wiped the worst of the dirt and ash from her combat leathers. "Still," She glanced up at the massive mercenary, her canny green eyes betraying more of an emotion than she was used to displaying. "I... am thankful for your intervention.

"We must hurry." A quick glance around the immediate vicinity uncovered what she was looking for - miraculously, there was her crossbow amongst the debris, scuffed and battered, but largely unharmed. The Wraith frowned at a particularly prominent scratch on the grip before folding first the bow, then the bridle together and resheathing the enchanted weapon at her hip. "I would be doubtful if this most recent development will encourage our transport to linger."

Zoey oriented herself north, towards the harbor, towards the wave of hellish destruction that washed over Kiana, and she felt her lips press together. Cleo'ky, surely, was there. In the path of all of this - for really, it would be impossible to avoid. The young Wraith could only hope that her companion had made it to safety.

She swallowed. There was only one way to find out. The Lieutenant took one step forward, then puckered her brow in a moment of indecision. "The orcbreed." She swiveled to look up at Draekkor. "The woman that was here with me. Where is she?"

By Draekkor Stoneblade (Draekk)

Wednesday, February 22, 2012 - 6:59 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Supressing a chuckle at Zorielle's comment about burying her alive, the mercenary stepped back to allow the Lieutenant to pass. "You're welcome Lieutentant."

Stooping to pick up his greatsword and harness, the Denqi shook his head, "I saw no one. Just you, and the Troll who almost stepped on you."

Taking a quick sniff of the air currents, the Denqi shook his head again, his brow furrowed. "Too much smoke. And too many Orcs around. All I can smell is Orc and burned Troll. We'd be here all day if you wanted me to pick out a single scent trail in this cacophony." he admitted sadly as he buckled his weapon back on. "We'd best make our way to your aforementioned transport."

"Just like the time we first met, eh Lieutentant, minus the hordes of undead, of course." Rolling his shoulders to settle the weight of his blade on his back more evenly, the sellsword gestured to Zorielle. "Point the way, ma'am, if you please."

By Traveler and Troublemaker (Catastrophe)

Friday, February 24, 2012 - 2:17 am GMT | Edit | Link |

"My pikin' head." Slung over Mordeck's back like a sack of potatoes, Catastrophe groaned as he rejoined the land of the living.

It had been an eventful couple of minutes the Tiefling had missed. Mordeck's flight had been ill-advised - the rampaging trolls had formed a wall of flame and destruction, sweeping like a hellish wave through Kiana. Countless others had chanced a gambit similar to the Northman, and he would have seen the gristly results all around them. Crushed beneath trollfoot and collapsing buildings, their screams drowned out by crumbling stone and roaring inferno. That the barbarian and his extraplanar cargo remained untouched by the passing sweep of havoc was nothing short of a miracle.

Catastrophe moaned again as he pried his eyes open. "Th' pike happened?" His words were slurred, his head lolled listlessly back and forth as he scanned their surroundings. "Ri?" His voice was little more than a croak, urgency seeping into the edges of it. "Where is she?"

He was awake now, wrenching violently in Mordeck's grasp - if he freed himself from the berserker's carry, he would stumble, clearly disoriented from the head wound that had knocked him unconscious. His voice was ragged, his golden eyes touched with madness and panic. "WHERE IS SHE?!"

By Anonymous

Friday, February 24, 2012 - 2:44 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Mordeck may have, by the luck of the Gods themselves, evaded certain doom under the feet of the Trolls, but something far more sinister was afoot. The skies still roiled with the sickly purple-black clouds of Irihi's magicks.

And they did not confine themselves to the skies for long. With this much death to feed it, the miasma began to touch down on the streets, small cyclones stretching down like tendrils from an ominous man o' war. Where they touched down, they drained the last of the vitality from the dying, leaving brittle husks in their wake.

The black storm moved slowly, but inexorably in the wake of the Trollpede, the deathly tendrils growing stronger, drawn first to the weak, then gravitating towards those with stronger life forces to swallow.

By Warrior-agent of Churt (Rikka)

Saturday, February 25, 2012 - 8:30 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Rikka could not have been more shocked to hear another's voice than when she recognized that of Zorielle -- nor could she have been more surprised at the woman's words. Endeavouring to turn herself in her hiding place, so that she could see the one who had apparently saved Zoey, Rikka managed to knock down a bit of rubble. She froze, but the pair could not help but to have noticed the noise.

By Lieutenant Zorielle Draugrbane of the Daelows Army (Zoey)

Wednesday, February 29, 2012 - 3:39 am GMT | Edit | Link |

Zoey's head snapped in Rikka's direction - the sound of collapsing rubble was all around them, but none nearly so small in volume. No, this wasn't the sound of some/i{thing}, it was the sound of someone. And while her short stint of sensory deprivation and the ensuing chaos made it impossible to be certain, the Lieutenant had a reasonably good idea as to who that someone was.

She never shifted her gaze from the source of the noise. "A moment, if you would, Mister Stoneblade." She was glad the mercenary was with her now; it was clear now which side held the tactical advantage, should it come to that. Even now, the half-Aard'ky's fingers flexed, ready to reach for the enchanted crossbow at her hip. She took a slow step forward, towards the pile of rubble obfuscating the Churtish spy.

Zoey pressed her lips together, her mind clicking away, carefully debating the next words out of her mouth. And when they came, perhaps they would be as much a surprise to her as they would be to the half-Orc they were addressed to. Or perhaps not; it was difficult to tell whether the stern young officer was ever really surprised.

Her voice was clear in the crackling flames and shifting debris, even in the thundering wake of the Troll rampage. "Come with us."

By Draekkor Stoneblade (Draekk)

Thursday, March 1, 2012 - 5:01 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

The mercenary was about to ask Zoey what she was waiting for, when the Lieutenant spoke to a pile of rubble. The female she was talking about must be under there.

It was then that he noticed the death cloud. The noise, and smoke, had obscured it from him before, but now he could see tendrils reaching down to the earth only a few streets away. And it was moving towards them.

"Umm, Lieutenant,we should hightail it to the harbor. I don't like the look of that." He punctuated his last sentence by pointing at a death cyclone that had touched down only a street or two away.

Draekkor directed his voice to the shifting pile of rubble Zorielle had addressed, "Seriously, if you want to live, take the Lieutenant's offer. And do it fast, we're running out of time!"

By Warrior-agent of Churt (Rikka)

Saturday, March 3, 2012 - 2:24 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Amid the confusion, Rikka considered mumbling something about having thought Zoey had been crushed -- for all she knew, she might have said it anyway -- but even if she did not, the expression on her face would make her thoughts clear.

She looked the young man up and down. His race was not immediately determinable, as if that made any difference. He seemed plenty capable, however, and at the moment that did matter.

Turning to where he pointed, Rikka saw for herself the strange, smoky funnels, and though she did not know what they were, she had no trouble believing in their sinister nature. "GNAROC!" she shouted loudly, in one last effort to locate her kinsman. "Come with us!" Whether he did, or not, Rikka understood that she could not wait for him any longer. Where Zoey and the other might lead, Rikka also would run, quickly as she could, if not entirely efficiently, for she had been somewhat bruised by the the falling rubble.

By Lieutenant Zorielle Draugrbane of the Daelows Army (Zoey)

Saturday, March 3, 2012 - 6:22 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Rikka's reappearance earned little change in the half-Aard'ky's expression. True, she was aiding in the escape of an enemy. But this battle, this war was over. And no one would win. She would deal with the ramifications of her impetuous decision later.

At the sound of Draekkor's voice, Zorielle lifted her head, peering upwards at the malevolent mass hovering above the city, deathly purple-black tendrils leaking down into the streets, claiming what little life remained. "I suspect, Mister Stoneblade, that you are correct," she said dryly.

One more sweep of her surroundings, and Zoey headed north, towards the harbor.

(TO:	Daffodil Avenue)

By Draekkor Stoneblade (Draekk)

Wednesday, March 7, 2012 - 1:01 am GMT | Edit | Link |

The mercenary wasted no time in following Zorielle. Those clouds were staring to creep him out.

(TO:	Daffodil Avenue)

By Warrior-agent of Churt (Rikka)

Wednesday, March 7, 2012 - 11:08 am GMT | Edit | Link |

(TO:	Daffodil Avenue)

By mordeck (Mordeck)

Wednesday, March 7, 2012 - 3:52 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

"yew got knocked out by a giant sword. she is safe, she is fine. if yew can, lets go. if yew cant, then get on my back."
(To Daffodil Avenue)

By Traveler and Troublemaker (Catastrophe)

Thursday, March 8, 2012 - 9:37 pm GMT | Edit | Link |

Mordeck's words brought no comfort to the demonspawn. "Aw, pike me," he muttered, his taloned fingers raking through his snowy mane, his breathing heavy, his eyes wide. "Moradin's zills, they've got her. Oh, pike me, they've pikin' got her."

He looked like an animal, pacing back and forth frantically, his tail lashing anxiously behind him. "Step up, basher, we've got problems. Oh, pike me, we are piked if they've got her."

(TO:	Daffodil Avenue)

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