Shu's Quest

[mr_e_s]

Stark

"What the Hell? Why are we leaving town? I mean, I want to get out of here and all, but I'm not running from a pack of goblins!" It was possible the booze was starting to take some effect with Stark. "Do you have any idea how many guards that crazy old bastard has on payroll? Honestly, for a chintzy bastard, that bastard sure likes to keep a lot of hired swords... Bastard." Stark ordered another on his tab. Pretty brave for an unemployed guy, he thought. The bartender wasn't too happy about it though, talking about leaving town and ordering booze at the same time, he'd probably make Stark pay up before he could order another, these guys were all jerks.

Wait, this guy was looking for Fargo? The only guys Stark knew who wanted to see Fargo wanted money. Stark turned to Fargo. "It's not going to be free this time, bud, you cool with that?"

Stark was oblivious to the distant sounds of screaming coming from the other end of town at this point. The way he saw it, the guards could take care of any goblin problem. He'd be fine. The town would be fine... Except for still being a shit-hole.

[Csquared08]

"Fair enough. I didn't intend on running from the goblins either, but I'm not entirely interested in having to flee the potentially burning town all by my lonesome. Saftey in numbers, you know?" put in Rutem, still sporting that warm expression. Then noticing the exchange between Stark and Fargo, "If you need monetary help, I can pay your bill; I got some money to spare and have no need for most of it." Taking the bill from a dumbfounded Stark, Rutem looked it over and set some coins on the table, enough to pay the bill and one additional round.

Drink in hand, Rutem turned to Stark. "Now, you mind telling me where Fargo Capcillon is? As I said, I have unfinished business with--"

Rutem was interrupted by a loud crash, followed by a group of five goblins, their weapons covered in blood, running into the tavern. "Afraid we're gonna have to cut the pleasantries short; we have guests." Drawing his sword, Rutem looked over the goblins, a grim, determined expression now set in his face. "And isn't this is great? There's just enough for all of us to have some fun."

Edited June 27, 2010 by Csquared08

[rn7]

"Wait a minute. Wait... Wait!" Fargo narrowed his eyes and stared intensely at this strange new man that came over to talk to him and the others. "I don't know you... I beat you're one of 'em. You're one of 'em, aren't cha? I can tell by the stink on ya, the smell, oh how it smells, like the scent of dying, rotting, all that nastiness. Away! Away with you! Your taint will not be tolerated here!"

Dom gave Fargo a look unlike any other. On the surface, it was a confused, befuddled face, with one eyebrow raised and jaw shifted to the side. It would be the typical reaction to a response like Fargo's. But he knew better, oh yes he did. Behind that innocent grin was a sinister grimace, a warped, contorted visage bathed and absorbed in the most wretched of evils. Twisted facial features converging on the point of infinity, a dark origin that knew no beginning, contained no end, and ceased at nothing to consume everything. The eyes were wisps, bleeding through the air, taunting the breaths of innocents with its ghastly trails. Dom's face twitched for a moment, an nearly imperceptible instant of time, but Fargo saw the true face. Not a single thing would cleanse Fargo's mind of the horrors he saw.

Fargo had had enough. He would vanquish this villain of the depths here and now. Better it be he that fall today, than the lives of countless others. Fargo fastened tightly his two bucklers to his forearms, and made his approach onto Dom. Fargo spiraled in, always moving rightward, yet at the same time charging forward. The distance was closed in seconds and Fargo delivered a deadly strike to Dom's chest, striking both of his bucklers into Dom at full force. The impact of the blow set Dom slightly afloat, hovering at about head level. The opportune chance had presented itself. Clasping his hands together, open palm, right over left, he concentrated his magic to a bursting point, at which time a devastating wave of wind burst forth. The clearly visible sliver of green wind sailed toward Dom and hit. Blood flowed and bits of flesh began tearing off as the Storm Slice went to work. Like a chainsaw at the first taste of blood, it savored the first few bites, but then hunger overwhelmed it, and it bit off more, and more, and more, until it was grinding along at full speed.

Dom dropped to the ground after the Storm Slice dissipated. He was disfigured and bloody, completely unrecognizable. Still the haunting face remained, and its tormented maw turned into a baleful smile. Laughter escaped from the mouth, but it sounded less a joyous sound and more like dragging a pair of lungs through a glass and razor filled wind tunnel. Dom slowly unraveled his whip, like a boa constrictor stretching itself out before it went on a hunt. The end of the whip slithered on the ground, groping the wood flooring and ravaging it to splinters.

"Fool," He finally said, after the fit of cackling laughter. "You should have listened to me... when you had the chance!"

Before Fargo knew it, the end of the whip had already marched in front of his face, and gave him a painful kiss on the nose. Fargo fell over immediately from the shock of the blow. Dom lashed his whip about, creating a caged orb around himself, to which any that enter or even thought about getting close would get thrashed and severed piece by pieces. The parted air around Dom whistled violently due to the speed at which Dom swung, causing a vortex of objects to swing around. Fargo backed up, further and further, to avoid the whip, the vortex, and the debris, until eventually there was no place left to back into. Stuck in a corner, Fargo's hand was forced. So he played it, and played it strong. He brought his arms out to the side, then with a swift motion, folded them together. A spiraling burst of air made its way toward Dom, snapping as soon as it smacked into Dom's orb. The sudden differences in pressure cause a small explosion, sending Fargo through the wall and Dom to the other side of the tavern.

"You are even more trouble than you are worth!" Dom exclaimed, with a crawling spite under his tongue.

"Of course I am, I'm in debt!" Fargo responded with vigor. Wasting no more time, Fargo dove at Dom, sailing through the air like a missile. Fargo carefully manipulated the wind around him and used it to propel and rotate himself. His skull came into direct contact with that of Dom's, and the rotation of Fargo caused the skin around the point of contact twist off. Fargo landed flat on the ground, while Dom stumbled back disoriented. Fargo continued his assault from the floor, delivering some distanced wind punched, getting in as many blows as he could while Dom was trying to get his marbles back. Dom's eye flickered once, and Fargo knew his time was limited. Placing himself just next to Dom and crouching, Fargo what could be the finishing blow. He brought his fist up from the floor, and drove into the sky, with such force and power that nearby objects were also uplifted. Every glass in the bar was floating, every person was in midair as a result of the attack. A grand piercing uppercut to the chin, bursting the windows, and causing the entire establishment to quake. Dom was sent upwards with impossible speeds, crashing through layer upon layer of wood paneling and even sometimes stone foundations. He was sent so high that the birds found ample time to set up nests before eventually, gravity was reminded that it had a job to do. With its invisible hand, it grabbed the skyward Dom, and threw him back to the ground like a ragdoll.

When Dom hit the ground, the tavern was no more. The town was no more. There was but a crater, large and vast, with only the body of Dom in the middle.

"Finally," Fargo sighed. "The demon is defeated."

A chuckle, a snort, then the all too familiar cackle. "Wrong again, Fargo. Wrong again!"

Dom got up and dusted off his clothing, shrugging off the damage like it was dew sprinkling in the morning. He recovered his whip from the ground, a weapon so long and winding it encompassed the entire area of the crater itself, which happened to be greater than the size of the former town. Grabbing it with both hands, Dom began sweeping it across the ground and twirling it around the air. The only true comparison to what Fargo was witnessing would be a pair of nunchuks attached to a jumprope fused with a mobius strip. Worse of all, Fargo had to fight it.

There were no other options. Fargo had to bring it out, his forbidden, concealed weapon. Perhaps the last chance he had, perhaps the last chance he will ever have. A sparkle jumped from Fargo's hand, growing bit by bit. It orbited his hand, small points slowly turning into long streaks. And then faster, and faster, it went around his hand, and with more points, until eventually, the points had formed a glowing glove around Fargo's fist. Fargo put his free hand on this fist, then swiped it to the side quickly, producing a long streak in the shape of his waving moving. The streak condensed into a glowing cylinder, which crackled at the air around it.

"The lightsaber, the ancient protected weapon of ulimate renown! Today, it will cut you to two, and end your pathetic existence!" Fargo announced to Dom, smiling below.

"Your greatest attack didn't work on me, and neither will this! Amuse me more!" Dom approached the new attack with a glee and excitement exclusive to curious interest.

Whip and saber crashed. As strong as the lightsaber was, the construction of Dom's whip was clearly not that of earthly origin. It had been possessed and corrupted, much like its wield was. And though that made it powerful, so too would it be its downfall. Fargo slashed at an opening in the cage of whips, managing to get just close enough that the ends of Dom's hair began burning to the heat of the saber. But it just wasn't enough, as Dom manipulated his whip in such a manner that it wrapped around Fargo's fist. With a single pull, Dom managed to get Fargo to flip over and land on his back, all the while disarming Fargo of his lightsaber. With Fargo strapped to the ground by the whip, Dom proceeded to strike. He grabbed and end of the whip, and writhed it around. Soon thousands of whip bends descended on Fargo, intent on lashing him into an unrecognizable, bloody mass. He couldn't allow that. He closed his eyes, shutting out all external stimuli. And then he focused his mind on the object of his salvation, the lightsaber. Using the power of wind manipulation, Fargo managed to snake the lightsaber out of Dom's grip and send it back to his awaiting hand. Once in his hand, Fargo slashed and sliced in ever direction imaginable. A whirlwind lightshow, cutting everything in its path into neat, bite-sized pieces. The infinite whip that Dom possessed was reduced to that of a mere average weapon. When the dust had settled and cleared, the two figures stood still, facing each other. Dom, with his whip, and Fargo, with his lightsaber. Even once again, right back at the start. They both stared at each other for an eternity, until some tiny, indescribable spark set them off, and they lunged at each other.

Or at least, Dom did. Fargo was locked in place for a reason he could not name. He could not move, he could not swing his sword, and it even seemed like he stopped breathing. Dom came in closer and closer, and Fargo's brain screamed at its limbs in attempt to force it to move. They didn't listen. Fargo was already a dead man.

The whip thrashed and tore through Fargo, tossing limbs and bones aside, caking the ground in red paste. All that remained was Fargo's severed head, still screaming for his body to move. Slowly he lost consciously, his reality fading into a empty, black void.

He awoke shortly, wearing his mug as a hat. His head was stuck inside the stool, and the room would not stop spinning. Speaking to the blurry figures in front of him, Fargo said,

"Boy, they make these stronger than I'm used to."

---

Reality was returning, blurs were made clear. Dom was still here, seemingly unaffected by anything that happened prior. A guy named Rutem in some type of armor was going on about money. Heh, heh, joke's on him. He just got a bag from the three taxpapers. Oh wait, didn't he say something about goblins?

"Oh, golbinshhh. I hateshh golbinshhh. Lemme asshhh themshh." Fargo tottered toward one of the angry creatures, and stuck out his hand for a shake. "Goodsh to meeshh you, Stark. You shhhure look s-shuper... s-super... badass too.... I forget."

The goblin simply batted his hand aside, and gave him a swift kick in the head. Fargo collapsed over easy.

"Heyy!! Y-you, y-you, j-jerk. I'm trying to be your... your b-buddy, St-st-shark." Fargo proceeded to give the goblin a drunken smack, to which the creature flew toward the blade of one of his friends.

Edited June 27, 2010 by rn7

[Purg]

Five goblins, two, no, three drunks, himself, and a new one, enthusiastic to fight. Even if the numbers were even, the odds weren't - but the exit was cut off, and there was little he could do even if he did manage to escape on his own. He'd just have to find a way to be useful, despite the fact that he had failed to even stun a goblin earlier. He checked quickly - the one he had found before wasn't among the group they were opposed to now, but that was less than preferable, as that one had already been wounded, perhaps even weakened by the blood loss over the time that had passed. He had to stop thinking, though, and begin doing - he pushed conscious thought out of his head as best as he could and gripped the handle of one of his throwing knives.

Sthick.

His aim had improved, as one of the goblins had just been robbed of its sight in one eye, howling with pain suddenly - but it wouldn't distract it for long. He gripped his whip and caught the ankle of the injured goblin, bringing it down hard on the floor. The creature's companions looked at him skeptically - what good would making it fall do in the long run? - until he leapt on the surprised monster, driving his heel into the goblin's chest, feeling a wonderful sense of payback, even though it wasn't the same foe as before. That wouldn't finish the job, though - he pulled one of his stilettos out quickly, driving the dagger into the goblin's skull. A goblin's bones were thicker than a human's, and had extraordinary resilience, an adaptation that allowed the relatively underpowered creatures to stand up to much more powerful monsters - but the armorslayer was designed to pierce the thickest of plate armors, and the skull could only prevent it for a second.

Four goblins, three drunks, himself, and a knight. The odds were looking a bit more even now...

[Csquared08]

Using the distraction caused by Fargo's antics, Rutem threw his smaller, one-handed sword at a very surprised goblin; he was not used to receiving free weapons. Though the hilt smacked him in the head, the goblin was unaffected and picked up the sword and looked at it curiously, intrigued by its design. By the time he looked at the sword's previous owner, it was too late; the goblin had failed to notice the knight's second, two-handed sword. Using the momentum from the downward swing, Rutem cleaved the goblin's head clean in two, instantly killing the creature. Retrieving his thrown weapon and taking the shield off his back, Rutem turned to the remaining three goblins. Or, at least he thought he did; the three were nowhere to be found. Perplexed, the knight turned back to his new companions.

"Oh. That's where they went," muttered Rutem to no one in particular, having discovered that the missing goblins were in combat with the others. One goblin had his sword locked with the elder swordsman while another had just gotten smacked across the face by a whip. The last was being steadily backed down by the dual-shield wielding mage and the younger swordsman. Grim-faced, Rutem approached the first goblin and stuck him through the midsection. Unperturbed, the goblin kicked his previous opponent in the gut, then smacked Rutem on the side of the head with the flat of his blade. The blow sent a surprised Rutem backpeddling into a chair, sending both man and chair tumbling to the ground. A wicked grin now stretched across its face as the goblin, with Rutem's sword still sticking out of its belly, approached the fallen knight, sword raised for the killing blow.

[CATS]

Kyle hadn't worn this armor in a long time. Hadn't even seen it in a long time; for about the past six months, it had sat locked away in a cabinet. Wiping the dust off of it brought back memories. He remembered the days when this suit of armor would shine brightly as he patrolled the streets each day, a young soldier in the Arcyan army, fresh out of training, and proud of it. He had kept his armor in perfect condition, shining it religiously every night, poring over it and repairing even the tiniest blemishes. The armor had been his most prized possession, a symbol of his service and devotion to society. Almost ten years later, most of the paint had faded away, and the metal no longer shone when he stepped out into the sun. You couldn't make out the crown's emblem on the breastplate anymore; if one saw the armor now, he'd have no idea that it was originally issued to a soldier in the king's army.

After putting on the armor, Kyle fastened his shield to his back, slid his shortsword into his belt, picked up his spear, and left his house. Possibly forever. He didn't have any food or supplies with him. He did have enough money to buy those things in the next town, and he could survive for a while in the woods, if need be. Of course, there was the possibility that they weren't coming. Maybe that goblin at the gate had just been a loner, stopping by for a quick snack on its way to some more distant goblin tribe. But if past experiences were any indication, it was more likely that the town would be assaulted and destroyed within the next 24 hours, and Kyle was going to be ready for that outcome.

---

A wicked grin now stretched across its face as the goblin, with Rutem's sword still sticking out of its belly, approached the fallen knight, sword raised for the killing blow--that is, until a spear's business end burst through the creature's chest. The force of the blow sent it stumbling past Rutem, and the man behind the spear didn't stop, running forward and driving the goblin straight into the wall. Kyle let go of his weapon, which had now pegged the goblin into the building's wall like an enormous nail, and would hold it there until it died, either from blood loss or (more likely) from the trauma to its vital organs. He turned and held out a hand to help Rutem up, while drawing his shortsword in the other hand and looking towards the three remaining goblins.

[Atremious]

There was so much to fear in these lands. There always was. But there was something which had remained dorment for so long, which now was awakening deep in the Forbidden Lands. A terrifying Evil whose power had returned. Far to the lands in the south, a black Keep was carved out of the mountains. Large spires rose high into the permanently scorched black sky, darkness falling all around the lands near it. How unforboding the land was. Soil grey and salted, so that nothing could ever grow in this area. There was no water, and no life to speak of. This was a cursed place, an evil place, that even the dangerous beasts of the Forbidden Lands generally stayed away from. The dark keep now awoke, but no life walked in it's halls. Nothing, but silence.

In the Throne Room of the Dark Lord Tahkysis

Atop the highest spire, sat in his dark throne, carved of the bones of the living, a dark being. The piercing green lights, which could only be described as eyes, pierced the veil of shadow created by the cowl of darkness and black cloths which covered his body. A flowing cape reached the ground at his armoured boots, made of white cloth, stained crimson with the blood of countless enemies. It had been many years, centuries perhaps, since he had the power to come alive once again. They wouldn't know who he was anymore, which gave him the element of surprise when he went to attack and regrow his armies. He would start small as he always did, and work his way outward. But first, business was business.

A silent ripple flew through the dark keep, summoning forth the only five beings who had kept in this citadel since their master had been defeated so long ago. Forever waiting his masters wishes, through the doors came the one man who had been with the Dark Lord as long as he had been in existance. General Zerral entered the room, and bowed deeply, before kneeling in front of his king.

"You called for me my master. We are all greatful for your return, and as always, we are here to serve you and only you" Spoke the dark general. His words were true. The taint had taken his heart long ago, and the powerful abilities of the Dark Lord Tahkysis had destroyed any other will he had but to serve faithfully. The full plate creaked slightly against the stone floor. And the masters words spoke in his mind.

"You... shall go forth General Zerral. The time... has come... once again" Spoke the raspy, dark telepathic voice of his master. General Zerral knew well what time it was. It was time to rebuild the Dark Lord's army. His army to lead once again, and how he enjoyed this wonderous feeling. They would start as they always had. "Go... Now" Spoke the Dark Lord, as Zerral rose, and bowed deeply once more. Departing from the black stone gates which lead to the Throne room, following him were four dark figures, dressed much like General Zerral. These men, if they could be called men, were the best swordsmen and warriors that General Zerral had left, who had faught hundreds of battles at his side. Their orders were clear. He had the dark green stone in his palm. The Soul Gem...

While most weren't sure what this weapon actually was, the Soul Gem was in fact the greatest asset that the Dark Lord had ever created. It gave them power. What kind of power was beyond Zerrals actual knowledge. But asking questions wasn't his job. The five riders set out on the world, and rode for days on end, the dead of the horses and the dead of the men requiring no sleep of course, nor food or water to slow them down. The undeath always seemed to have an unusual way of escaping the problems of attrition. It wasn't long until they came across a single town, part of it on fire, or so it seemed, and from a hill in the distance they could see what it was. It happened to be a fire elemental out of control. Perhaps a foolish wizard, a bored elemental, or just an idiot conjurer.

There also seemed to be a bit of a commotion farther along, and General Zerral descided it might be best to let the other four riders head back. At the moment, the last thing they wanted was to look more out of the ordinary than theya lready did. Goblins it seemed were attacking. And while the goblins weren't a big threat, he remembered his masters orders, and rode off in their direction. From atop his fel steed, he drew the massive crystalline blade, shimmering in the pale light of the sun, the hooves heavy in hitting the earth. There were a few other warriors attacking, and as three of them seemed to be all that was left, the General chose to lessen their numbers, if only a bit. Riding past, he used the massive blade (That totally wasn't overcompensating for anything) And skewered a goblin on the end being sure to shake it off, and inadvertantly slicing it into pieces in the process, riding past some guy who really seemed to love his armour.

Edited June 27, 2010 by Atremious

[mr_e_s]

Stark

Oh wow, guess the guard couldn't handle the goblins this time... One of them was coming at Stark. This would be a tough one, he could be sure of that. Goblins were stupidly resilient, and really pesky, but in one on one combat, they weren't smart enough to really employ any decent strategy, and as long as you kept a cool head and more didn't join in, you could definitely best one... Jeph and Fargo wouldn't be so lucky. But really, it was their fault for passing the limit and....Fuck.

Stark broke the eye contact with the goblin he'd been fighting to run up and punt the other goblin away from the two helpless drunks. He'd probably screwed himself over too, that really wasn't smart. He had the first goblin's claws in his shoulder as a reminder of that. At least the other one was wrestling with a chair on it's way up, he had a little time first. Lightkratos damnit that hurt, though.

"Screw...Off!" Stark brought his arm up and elbowed the goblin in the face. He wasn't sure if he hurt the goblin's face or his elbow more, but it distracted the goblin long enough for him to shove him back, and get those twisting painful claws out of his shoulder. He shoved him back against the bar, and finally pulled out his broadsword to finish the little bastard off before the second one got up t-"Ugh!" Too late, the second was up. Stark wasn't, though. Damn thing attacked him on his bad side. Missing an eye was rarely handy.

He had the goblin on top of him, and it was all he could do to keep it from slashing his face to ribbons. Using his sword when he could, his arms when he couldn't, he blocked a series of wild scratches. "Get off me, damnit!" The goblin's strategy was clearly just keep going until there was nothing left to scratch at. Stark's strategy was to swing his legs up from behind, grab that little monster by the neck with his feet, and pull him the Hell off. As the legs hooked around his neck, the goblin had a second of self realization, and tried to bring his hands up to stop it, but he was already being swung headfirst into the ground. It would give Stark enough time t-God damnit the other goblin was on top of him! "Lightkratos, are you kidding me?!" He really was out of options here, this one had learned from his comrade's mistakes, and was keeping Stark's legs pinned down while he tried to scratch through his defenses. Stark realized he didn't have a lot of options here, so he lowered the arm of his not holding the sword and quickly reached into his pocket. The goblin took the opportunity to take a few light slashes at his chest, but almost immediately stopped. It's eyes couldn't seem to hold their focus on Stark any more. Indeed, his hands were swinging half-heartedly at the air on top of Stark.

Stark let out a grudging smile. "You little bastards just love change, don'tcha?" He brought his sword into as good of a swing as he could muster and cut the goblin's neck open. Let him suffer a bit. Even as it died, the goblin had been reaching out for the Ducats Stark had thrown out of his pocket. Goblin's fascination with shiny objects, especially Ducats, was probably their biggest weakness. Stark really should have tried it sooner. The second goblin hadn't noticed the Ducats, as it was still shaking off the head wound it had received being slammed into the floor. Stark was quick about it this time. He should have run to the first goblin, then he probably wouldn't have been tackled... Oh well, hindsight was 20/20. Or well... Just 20 in this case.

His blade came down on the goblin's skull, the weight of it barely taking it's thickness in at all before penetrating and killing it. Stark stood over his two fallen opponents, breathing heavily, in and out deeply, and with some trouble. He turned to the other men in the bar, and put his broadsword back in it's hilt for the time being.

"Feel free to step in and help out any time... You assholes!" He was possibly still a little drunk.

[Atremious]

Zerral had watched the display put on by this Stark fellow (Not that he uh... knew his name or anything. It's just plot device! Yeah!) and watched him fight. How fun it was to watch humans backed into a corner, trying to fight their way out of a situation by any means nessecary. With a swing of his blade the goblin he had put on it with his ride by, now quite dead (But not -completely- dead) fell to the ground in a bleeding useless pulp. No longer would it raid things. No longer would it see the joy on it's kids faces when it brought back severed human heads and Ducats. No longer would it kiss it's goblin-wife, even if he really never liked her a whole lot, but damn for a goblin she was attractive. But no, there would be no more of this. The last thing that went through the goblins mind before it died, was the massive crystaline blade.

The sanguine fluid dripped off the blade and onto the ground quickly, until once again it was clean, and the warrior dismounted. He didn't engage the other targets just yet, he rather felt like these pathetic little creatures could handle it. He was once just like them, and while he would kill them, unlike his master, he was always curious about these beings. He liked to learn from them, as despite their inferior lifespan, potential, and overall ability, they had always amazed him with their sheer force of will. Maybe it was because he was used to the undead. Maybe it was just that he's been alone in a fortress for the past millenia or so. He wasn't quite sure which. He still looked human, and didn't smell necrotic nor was his skin dieing. He was pale however, and had with him a sense of dread that his enemies could almost taste in the air.

To be honest, had the Dark Lord ever found out that his general wasn't always merciless and a murderer any time he came across humans, he'd have been destroyed of all free will and made a puppet. It's partially why he sent the other riders back. He could handle this himself, it was more fun, and besides, he still liked to fight and have fun doing it. As the man yelled out for others to help out, he merely laughed.

"What, happen to bite off more than you can chew? It's easy really, the game is to make sure they die, without letting them kill you. Really easy, and a whole lot of fun once the adrenaline starts to kick in!"

[rn7]

"I love you, man," said Fargo as he was locked in a drunken embrace with one of the attacking goblins. Somehow he had managed to grasp the creature in such a way that it would be hard pressed to fight back. It didn't stop the critter from trying though. It looked a bit disgusted that something was clinging to it, and so attempted to run around, throwing itself into walls. No matter what it tried though, the goblin couldn't shake off Fargo.

Fargo licked the goblin, not entirely clear why he did so. "Mmm, you taste like freshly poured cement!"

That set off the goblin. With all of its remaining strength, it tossed Fargo off and aside. It then proceeded to get a broken shard of glass, stab its own eye balls out with it, cut up its tongue, slice of its ears, slit its throat, and finally jab the piece straight into his heart. It fell over dead in a pool of its own blood.

"Hee hee, do that again," Fargo chuckled in a goofy tone. "You ol'.... kidder."

[Purg]

The five original goblins were now dead, as well as another pair that had found their way into the besieged tavern. While a few more of the curious humanoids looked into the bar, attracted by the scents of freshly spilled blood and the jingling noise of scattered Ducats, a new pair of warriors had entered - one had the appearance of what was once a royal soldier. Perhaps his armor was secondhand, though - no guardsman would let his armor tarnish so. The other one, though... He gripped his whip tighter than before, his knuckles turning white from the powerful hold on the leather handle. The armor told of strength, and the black plates warned him against trusting the man within - with a sword that large, he had might to spare, clearly. The thought struck him that this man might be in league with the monsters - it wouldn't be the first time ebony knights had marched with hellish creatures - but the bleeding goblin at his feet did a bit to dissuade him from that theory. He lashed out quickly with his whip, stinging a goblin on the nose, the beast leaping back in surprise, falling over the bar. Dom quickly realized the bartender had already been knocked unconscious as another goblin rose from behind the bar, bits of broken glass stuck in its form. Quickly, he pulled out a throwing knife, aiming for the spot just below the chin, where no bone protected the veins there, but the entire tavern shook suddenly, knocking the surprised mercenary (and the goblin he had been targeting) to the ground.

Flames erupted behind the bar and on one side of the tavern as the fire elemental broke through one of the walls. It had smelled the alcohol on the air since it had entered the ramshackle village, and had made it's way there, enjoying the trip - and now, the alcohol-soaked boards and dry rafters ignited even faster than they normally would, as the elemental cackled in it's harsh, dry voice.

Dom stood up as quickly as he could muster and surveyed the scene - at the eruption of the flames, the goblins that hadn't been consumed already had fled, crying out in their nonsense language, choosing less on-fire targets to the bar and it's inhabitants. The elemental likely wouldn't be harmed by any physical means, and he couldn't see any magic stopping it in such a flammable location - so he dashed to the doorway, turning to the others as he reached it:

"The rest of the village will burn just as this and other buildings are. I suspect we should make our leave, then, before this tavern becomes coffin to more than just the jester today."

With that, he hit the streets. The scale of the damage was greater than he had predicted - several homes were burning, some of them already naught but ash and ruin, while goblins, wolves, and even a couple of skeletons chased and slew the villagers. He felt the ground shake menacingly, and spotted an ogre perched on the roof of the chapel, intent on trying to find a way into the sanctuary that many of the doomed people had hoped would protect them - already the ceiling was collapsing under the brute's weight, screams echoing from almost every location in the town of Oakheim. Dom was intent to not let his own voice join the doomed, so he made his way towards the edge of town yet to be set alight, assuming the others had the sense to stay close behind.

[mr_e_s]

The Brute

The amount of guards at the door was augmenting with a somewhat steady pacing, it was disheartening, to say the least. He considered for the briefest of instants a parley. An attempt to make the guards understand the reasoning behind the brutal nature of the scene they would come across when they finally had the multitude to break down the sturdy oak doors. It seemed more killing was the only option. But...perhaps the best defense was in fact defenestration.

Outside, the peaceful gardens that had undoubtedly been placed there specifically for the view from the office bore witness to a sudden intrusion, or rather an extrusion, depending on the point of view, of a large man barreling through a second story window, tucking and rolling upon contact with terra firma, and looking altogether off-put. "Tsk... This was a new suit..."

Surveying his immediate surroundings, and finding only foliage and other flora in his immediate purview, he took off towards the front entrance. It was likely a fairly reasonable assumption that most of the guards had been summoned inside and were currently assailing the oaken barrier to their deceased overseer. Unless the lone survivor of the incident in the study had collected his wits and opened the door for them, though The Brute found it unlikely he'd move for another hour or so.

Thankfully, no blood was spilled by his hands on his way out of the manor. Less thankfully, because most of the blood to be spilled had already been so. There was a behemoth in the front lawn of the estate, boredly eying the sprinting soldiers for hire that had realized the fruitlessness of their efforts. It noticed him shortly after he noticed it, and did not take it's eyes off of him. As he got closer, it backed up a few steps, finally giving it's owner notice of the approaching threat.

"Prophet, what are you doing here? I had this situation governed, there is no need for any of this." The Brute gestured to the now burning city. "In fact, you're operation is serving only as a hindrance, as I've uncovered that the phylactery has been purloined from the manse, and could very well be in the village you are so quick to incinerate." The Brute had a dislike for Prophet. His methods were sloppy, they yielded unnecessary casualties. He was as much a beast as those he tamed.

[Purg]

Ah, The Brute. He had no name, as far as Prophet knew or cared, and his title was more than adequate, speaking of his inhuman strength and disturbing knack for gratuitous violence when angered (which, unexpectedly, took quite a bit, for a large man he had a long fuse), but he had no tolerance for the atrocities that the monster tamer committed as often as he could. He pulled the reins on his behemoth back, making certain to keep distance between his mount and The Brute - the two had fought before, and the behemoth had lost. In fact, The Brute was the only human, besides Prophet, that it wouldn't attack, out of simple fear.

The phylactery... He closed his eye for a brief moment, and a flash of second sight overtook him - people, fire, darkness... He opened his eye again and swore to himself. "If you hadn't been biding your time, perhaps this could have been averted. I am only doing what I've foreseen - this village must burn, because I have seen it burning already." He turned the behemoth away from the manse, ready to charge back into the assaulted town. "Your guess is correct, though - either it's in some other doomed township, or the artifact is here."

He whipped the reins quickly, the behemoth taking off quickly with long, powerful strides, rushing towards the buildings that had been set aflame. Prophet reached his hands out on either side, letting the reins drop loose - he would have to risk letting his beast roam freely for the moment, as this was important.

All at once, the beasts across the village turned towards a strange sensation - their master was calling them, ordering them to halt their attacks. Some creatures, like the wolves, or the goblins, were easily overpowered, their small minds already satisfied by the damage already done, while the skeletons and the ogre, filled with a deep hatred of humans and their creations, had to be convinced. The fire elemental, however, could not be convinced - why should it pull away from these beautiful flames, dancing for it happily? These buildings all burned so perfectly, the people within immolated so well, their screams mixing with the crackles and pops of their tombs so melodiously, there could be no reason why it should stop. In fact, it should do more, become more than what it already was.

Flames consumed the buildings near the tavern now as well, the elemental raging against the human who had brought it to Oakheim, intent only on leaving once there was nothing left to burn. Prophet swore again, this time more loudly, and pulled the reins back, the behemoth lifting it's maw from the gored guard it had been chewing on. He turned, looking for his comrade. "The future cannot be changed now - we will have to search for the phylactery in the ruins, or hope that it finds it's own way to us!" He wasn't used to his monsters turning against him, but it mattered little - it would exhaust itself, and then he would assert control over it once again. Until then, though, he had best retire along with the rest of his minions, before the elemental decided to see how his former master would burn. If he cared a little more, perhaps he would warn The Brute about the same thing as well.

[mr_e_s]

Stark

Wait, shit was getting confusing. Who was the guy in the armour again? Wait, who was the guy in the other armour? Why was shit on fire? Stark wasn't that drunk. Wait, when did the fire start? Was someone smoking i here. Was this the doing of that guy in the fucked up black armour with the shiny sword? No...no it was probably that being that seemed to be made of some kind of hellfire. He was pretty sure it was an elemental. Huh, you didn't see them very often. They were very solitary creatures usually, how odd for one t-ohfuckeverythingwasburningtotheground! Stark looked at the passed out Jeph and the not far behind Fargo. He couldn't save them both... "Damnit, one of you guys grab the kid!" Stark put Jeph over his should and got the Hell out of there as fast as possible. He didn't look back, but then, he barely looked forward, either.

There wasn't anything he could do here. It took legendary level shit to take down an elemental. Or at least some pretty strong shit it was weak too. He could probably fight it if it started storming or nothing, but the clear sky had never been so ominous. It seemed to grow with the fires around it. Stark actually had to stop for a minute when he finally did turn back. To...appreciate? Something, anyways. maybe stare in awe. It was horrible, yet beautiful. It seemed to thrive in destruction, and it seemed wholly focused on it's flames. It would probably be doing the same thing in a forest or completely empty village. All about the fire, just, new fuel, moving fuel... Why was it here? Stark couldn't make out the others, but the smoke was getting pretty thick throughout the village. The pub had turned out to be one of the last places hit, most of the village was already burning, already dead...

Stark didn't wait, or regroup, or anything. He just ran. He wasn't even aware Jeph was on his back any more. Had he been, he probably would have discarded him for the added speed. But his mind was blank. He bumped into what he was pretty sure was a skeleton with a bow and arrow, and he heard something that sounded like wolves tearing apart a young woman. None of it really registered. It was all just a huge terrible blob. As the fires raged on, growing and shrinking, as though living and breathing entities all their own, seemed to reach out to grab at him as he tried to make his escape. Somewhere, the cries of an ogre rang out, trying to avoid the same fires as the people it had been trying to kill shortly prior.

Oh Lightkratos... It was all Stark's brain could muster up, over and over again as he ran. He thought he saw a child on the ground, reaching out to be saved, but he passed it by without even giving it consideration. He needed to live. He would live. He would get out.

....And he did. He found the town gates, amazingly enough. He hadn't even been sure this was the right road, it was so unfamiliar. But he crossed the threshold meant to keep the evil out, and felt immensely better already to be out in the wild with all the terrible things out here seeming so much better then the horrendous things in there. Still taking wild, panicky breaths, he ran a fair ways still, before collapsing against a tree. It felt oddly squishy for a tree...Oh Lightkratos, Jeph! Had he really been carrying him all this way? He let him go, finally, not bothering to check if he was alright, and instead looked dejectedly at the former township of Oakheim. Pyres of smoke billowed out over the horizon. Their appearance shaking rapidly from the heat emanating rom the houses and trees and boies trapped in the blaze. Fuel...

Had anyone else even survived? Was he the only one? Oh Lightkratos, that kid...

[Crimson_Edge]

Battle armor in good condition. Check. Mental focus sharp, undistracted. Check. Position apt to mount a counterstrike. Check. Powerful blaster weapon to blow giant golem’s head off before it uses its behemoth body to crush bones . . . crap.

Vix jumped four feet backward as the large stone fist slammed into the earth before him. He knew he’d forgotten to bring something. He just didn’t know it would be as significant a something as Clyde’s blaster. Thankfully, the ogre of a creature he was engaged in combat with wasn’t much more intelligent than a common housefly, and Vix was both agile and quick-thinking. If there was going to be a crushing, it wasn’t going to come easily for Mr. Stone Golem.

The tall blond fixed the glaives on his hands and focused his eyes on the golem’s face. As with any opponent, the stone golem foreshadowed its attacks with minute movements in its stony face. When it was going to simply try to pound Vix into the ground with its arms, it would squint a little, probably to lock on to its target. When it was going to maneuver its body into a better position, the eyes darted to the side, and the lips parted a little. Whenever either signal was given, Vix would move his eyes to the arms or legs, as was appropriate, to determine the direction of movement that would ensue.

Doing this, the fighter dodged first one, then two, then even three and four arm slams, until the golem was roaring in rage. But it wasn’t enough for Vix to simply dodge his foe; he needed to strike back, and to strike back hard. Because he lacked a blaster or any kind of weapon besides his fists, he was doing nothing by avoiding the opponent’s attacks except angering the golem and wearing himself out. Fatigue would be the victor of the battle if all he did was run around. But an opportunity for attack needed to present itself. The golem left no unguarded spots, partly due to its bulk and size--it was easily as tall as a small building, with substantial girth. If Vix had only had his blaster at that moment, he could have simply shot the creature in the head, and ended the battle right away.

But since he did not have his blaster, he needed to close the distance. He waited, again watching the golem’s face. The eyes moved to the left, and the lips parted. The golem was going to move. Quickly aligning his vision with its legs, Vix anticipated the leftward movement and also dashed to the left, so that he ended up before the golem again. He watched the face again. Here came the squint. It was going to attack. Left arm. Coming down. Going to slam down in one, two . . .

As soon as the golem brought down its fist this time, Vix ducked and pushed beneath the stone fingers, narrowly avoiding the attack. Without giving the beast a moment to pull its hand back, Vix swung up over its wrist and stood straight up on the back of its hand. The yellow-eyed fiend began to roar in a deep voice, but Vix bit his lower lip and ran up its arm as fast as his legs would allow. His enemy swung the arm, but it was no use--Vix’s balance and dexterity kept him running in the same direction, toward the same goal. Right for the beast’s head.

Now the golem brought the other fist across, to grab and crush its tiny foe. But Vix was already at its ear, and now, its neck, and now, the top of its head. Both hands came up, two sets of giant, spidery stone fingers, clasping and rushing toward Vix’s fragile body. He jumped--high into the air, to avoid both hands---and came crashing down in a matter of seconds, passing gracefully by each fist and landing a cracking blow in the center of the head, ripping the beast’s skull in half with the force of his glaived fists. The miserable wretch roared, howled in pain, attempted with one hand to swat its foe and with the other to grab its aching head, but it could not sustain its anguish, and began to fall backwards. Vix quickly jumped down below its chin and made a dash toward its feet, erupting into a sliding motion just as the beast began to form an incline. The moment before the ogre hit the earth, Vix made a small jump toward land, closing his eyes as the dust swirled up, as though in a sandstorm, and swished around with the air before coming to rest. Vix then reopened his eyes.

He looked at his encapsulated hands and stretched his fingers. “Who needs a blaster anyway,” he muttered. “Ha.”

[CATS]

Just as Stark was wondering about "that kid," a pair of gauntlets dropped Fargo off right next to him, too tired to set him down gently. Kyle flung himself down next to the two drunks, nearly as incapacitated as they were, but for entirely different reasons. The full suit of armor might not have been his best idea. Then again, he had felt something strike him in the back as he ran through the town.....reaching behind him, he felt something hard sticking into his armor, and pulled out an arrow. Probably from one of the skeleton archers. Aside from a dull ache at the point of impact, there was no pain whatsoever; the arrow hadn't broken skin. Kyle's opinion on the armor idea did a 180 as he tossed the arrow aside.

After helping that knight up, Kyle had fought briefly with another goblin, but it had fled when the fire elemental appeared. Kyle had followed suit, but heard someone say something about "grab the kid" before he could make it through the door, and turned back under the assumption that no one else would be willing to risk his life to carry a kid out of the fires. He had no idea if the knight or any of the other people had made it out. He wouldn't be surprised if they hadn't; there usually weren't many survivors in your typical goblin invasion, and this one had featured goblins plus much bigger, scarier things.

Kyle turned towards the one other survivor who looked (mostly) in his right state of mind.

"Kyle... You?"

Usually he'd be a bit more verbose than this, but at the moment, he was still working on catching his breath.

[lunarAegis]

Jeph

Shit was going down. For the first minute or so of the fray, Jeph stayed on the floor trying to get his wits about him. People were yelling things about leaving, others were yelling about debts, others were yelling about fires, but Jeph wasn't listening. Jeph was counting his fingers. Over and over again. He knew he wouldn't be sober enough to fight until there were consistently nine fingers. Wait, no. Ten. Ten fingers.

One. Two. Fou- damn.

One. Thr-

This might take a while.

[Purg]

Was it safe to stop running? He wasn't sure. He still hadn't looked back - where the others following him, or had he escaped alone? He wasn't sure which he would prefer more right now. A sudden wave of nausea hit him - he wasn't sure if it was because of the running, or the scent of charred flesh in the air, or the fact that the only thing he had consumed that day was the two shots of whiskey, although it was most likely some mixture of the three - but he couldn't stop himself from falling to his knees and retching. His limbs shook with exertion, and, although he may not have realized it, fear, as he stood and wiped his mouth, kicking dirt over the foul liquids spattered on the ground before him. Moments after he had risen, one - no, two - of the bar patrons crashed through the brush, tossing carried companions to the side. That made five, then - but that meant that two more hadn't found them, yet. Perhaps they hadn't escaped. Many people hadn't, Dom had noticed in his blind rush - women torn apart by wolves, children fought over by the goblins, charred corpses everywhere.

One of the men offered his name. Dom thought of providing a pseudonym, but decided against it - even if he were planning on leaving them at the first safe alternative, there was no sense in not being honest with his new... companions. He struggled with that idea - traveling with others, even when it was necessary, had never been something that appealed to him - but he pushed the odd feeling aside, slumping down against the trunk of one of the trees, watching one of the drunks counting his fingers fruitlessly.

"Dom," he said finally, finally feeling better, although feeling painfully hungry. "That was... far worse than I imagined."

[Csquared08]

As the sword swung down, Rutem saw his life flash before his eyes. He began to regret leaving the Arcyan Army, not wanting to be killed by a simple goblin. Then, he started wondering why he was still alive and how the blade hadn't yet reached him. Opening his eyes, he saw a man rush past him, holding a spear that had skewered the attacking goblin. When the man then held out his hand to help him up, Rutem took it gratefully. It was then that he noticed the fire. Acting quickly, he recovered his sword from the skewered goblin and then retrieved his two-handed blade from the other. When he heard the one-eyed swordsman yell, "Damnit, one of you guys grab the kid!", Rutem made a move to grab him, but the other, the one who had saved him just a minute ago, had already grabbed the kid and run out the door. Not wanting to be burnt alive, Rutem followed suit and ran after the others.

Having finally reached safety, Rutem collapsed to the ground, close to where Kyle had collapsed a couple minutes ago, exhausted. Looks like... all of us made it out, except for that one with the black armor... Where'd he come from anyway?

[mr_e_s]

Stark

"Stark....I think... Fuck man, I dunno." Stark's mind was still back there, it hadn't caught up to him yet. It was still back there. He almost asked, but he didn't want to. If none of them had seen or heard that kid and they learned how he just left him there to die, they'd probably all judge him. And if they had heard the screams for help, seen the hopelessness of it, and ran just like him, he'd probably judge them, even if he had no right to.

It was so surreal, watching from this peaceful hill as the town he spent the better part of a ear in burned to the ground in front of him, almost all of it's residents failing to make it out. Scattered survivors made it out through the gates, Stark saw some teenager hop the wall, with some howls behind him. He probably had a rougher time of it then Stark, by the look of him. He probably lost his family... Then got hunted down by wolves. He'd probably have this day as the defining feature of his life from now on, no matter what. Stark hated himself for it, but seeing someone he could suppose was worse off made him feel better about this tragedy. About what he'd done...

The survivors stopped coming, but the town kept burning, the flames still licking at the skies. Stark just watched it absentmindedly for a few minutes, it seemed the others were doing the same, as there was no conversation for a few minutes. Stark did finally break the silence though, tearing his eyes away from the still standing church steeple, the symbol of Lightkratos still there, burning high above much of the fallen skyline of the former sleepy community. "So... What... What happens next?"

The Brute

He was very perturbed with his compatriot at the moment, with his inability to reign in his own beasts. How could he so arbitrarily enlist the aid of a being he hadn't full dominion over? The lack of any semblance of forethought that could be attributed tot his ignoramus was nothing short of infuriating! He should have his intestinal tract forcibly ingested by that overgrown feline he so proudly and openly trounces around on! He should be made to watch as it get the taste of his blood, learns that it is acceptable and safe to devour it's former brutal master. Watch all that loyalty he instilled into it melt away as it feasts happily on his innards! To... This wasn't a constructive line of thought. Indeed, it lead nowhere even remotely helpful.

The Brute let out an audible sigh. "Well, there's nothing one could do to stop that incendiary infernal beast now. I suggest we depart to safety until such a time as the township ceases immolation, and return with some of your... less indomitable creatures to aid in the search for the phylactery." The Brute hastily marched towards the wall of the estate shared as a border of the township itself, and scaled it. It wasn't a fashion in which he enjoyed making an escape, but the fires in the town were already well past the point of hazardous. There was nothing to be done for it.

[CATS]

Kyle just nodded. A few seconds later, the knight from the tavern arrived and fell down next to the rest of them. It was good to see that he'd made it out. The survivors were silent for a few moments as the town burned.

It was hard not to go back into the town. There were still people in there, innocents, women and children, dying and burning. Kyle wasn't a soldier anymore, but his reasons for becoming one had never faded away. He felt a strong compulsion to protect the citizens. They had been exploited and belittled by their own government for years. They deserved better than to die at the hands of the very monsters that the corrupt government was supposed to protect them from. In spite of all that, Kyle forced himself to stay put. The utter exhaustion helped a lot in that respect, both in making him want to stay put, and in justifying that course of action to himself. He had barely made it out with the kid in the first place; he wouldn't have the strength to run out of there again, not fast enough to get away from the goblins and the wolves, at least. He had saved two people already, and that would have to be enough. There was nothing more he could do. He needed to believe that right now, because the alternative was an even more painful thought.

Eventually, the man named Stark spoke up.

"So... What... What happens next?"

"We have to get away from here. The goblins will spread out into the surrounding area to hunt down survivors, and that fire elemental didn't look like it was going to slow down anytime soon. If we stay here, we're done. I don't know where we can go, but....I guess it doesn't matter. It's not as if the next town will be any better than this one was," Kyle said.

He sighed, then stood up, stretched, and looked around at the other survivors. He thought he recognized a couple of them as town guardsmen, though they weren't wearing their tabards. Off-duty, probably. Kyle wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he would have to worry about it later.

"We can go through the woods near here, or we can try to stick to the roads. The fire elemental might come after the woods looking for fuel, but on the roads we'll be more exposed to the goblins and the wolves. I'm not sure which way to go, but whichever one it is, we need to pick fast, stay together, and go now. So which way?"

[rn7]

"Thankfully, I've already forgot.... whatever it was that happened. Nice fire, why didn't you guys tell me you were having a riot? I would have brought my marshmallows." Fargo put a hand over his eyes and scanned the area. "Man, did you guys do a number! Can't even recognize this place any more! So, this was the plan to absolve all my debt, huh? I appreciate the effort, but these guys are like drops in the bucket!"

Fargo tried to get up, but ended up stumbling over again. In his weird fallen position, he wriggled his hands. Much to his joy, he was greeted by a breath of wind circling around his fingers. At least some of his powers were returning now. His body ached a whole lot though, so moving from the strange position he was in wasn't really possible. He lay there, blood rushing all to his head, and watched the fires tear through the town.

"Guess we can't stay here any more!" Fargo gurgled out of his mouth, the blood to his head taking affect. He had a fit of coughs and bouts of wheezing until he finally got himself upright again, completely out of breath. As far as he figured, they could go north, to the protected city-state of... what was it again... ah, who cares. The place had a well-maintained military and could no doubt protect them all. Then again, Fargo figured EVERYONE was gonna be going there. He wasn't looking forward to waiting in line or scramming into tiny stools because of the lack of space.

What was that place down south? Corthrone? Fargo remembered going there to trade way back when.

[Purg]

"Roads," Dom offered quietly, pulling himself to his feet. "I'd rather risk goblins than fire, and more survivors will group on them - traveling in a larger group will deter further attacks." He offered his hand to the armored drunk, who had apparently finally decided he did have 10 fingers, helping him to his feet. "We'd best leave soon, though. The longer we stay here, the more likely we're to be found by the monsters we're evading." He scanned the forest around them quickly - nothing was moving on the ground level, that he saw, but the birds and other wildlife had already fled, sensing the foul beasts in the area. He looked down at the injured boy - hardly old enough to have left his home. If he were a native of Oakheim, that home was now destroyed, the village gone from stifling and boring to charred and destroyed in one afternoon. So much death today, more than he had seen all through the rest of his life, and for what reason? Just because he disliked people didn't mean he thought they were deserving of death, especially in not such awful ways.

Those thoughts would have to wait until later, though. They had to begin moving - he didn't escape just to die in a different locale to the same monsters.

[Csquared08]

Rutem looks over the group. One, most likely drunk, had just determined he still had ten fingers. The boy next to him, presumably also drunk, has no recollection of what happened. He himself was exhausted, as was the man who saved him. Kyle, was it? That left the one-eyed swordsman, Stark, and the whip-wielder, Dom. Both looked rather winded and in no shape to move anywhere fast anytime soon.

"Though I agree that roads are better... I don't think that one," indicating the drunk counting his fingers.

"Jeph." supplied Stark.

"Jeph is it... I don't think Jeph is any condition to move quickly, if it at all. Me and Kyle, it is Kyle, right?" The man nods. "Me and Kyle, we're exhausted. And the other drunk is likely in no condition to move either. I say we spend the night here, wherever here is, and leave in the morning..." Having expended the rest of his energy, Rutem collapses of the ground, quite content to sit and do nothing else.

[Atremious]

The town was burning. This was the best possible thing which could have happened. Zerral made his retreat during the chaos, making his way quickly out of town. He didn't really stop to speak to any of the people whom he had inadvertantly helped. He knew what his mission was, and the consiquences of failure. Sometimes the best of options was to sit back and wait rather than do anything drastic. The fire elemental would take care of his work for him. He left the small town, and traveled for little over half an hour until he reached a 'scenic' outlook higher up above the town from a distance. He could watch it burn, but more importantly he could feel the power from those who happened to lose their lives in such a fight. This was what he was sent to achieve. To steal souls, and his master didn't want their paln discovered before it came to fruition. His pale, ice blue eyes examined the hot fires which ravaged the town below, a small grin emitting from his lips. It was then however, that he felt a stinging pain in his back, before falling off his fel steed to the ground writing in pain, a crossbow bolt sticking out his back, as he stopped breathing.

"Well look what we've got here? Seems we found ourselves a knight who wasn't paying enough attention to his surroundings!" the single marksman spoke, as a sizeable force of bandits, or mauraders. Were they mauraders? They could just be theives. Brigands! let's call them brigands. The brigands had been passing by, preying on caravans leading in an out of the town. They weren't exactly there to attack it, but rather cause attrition to the merchants who made their living off these roads in the hills and steppes. They approached their kill, the leader walking out seeming proud of himself.

"Seems we have a rich knight too, look at the sword he's carrying! I've never seen anything quite like it before." Twelve. He could count twelve of them. The question was, do they die slow? Or die fast? Eleven die slow. Yes, eleven. The unlucky number twelve (Or lucky, if he is a masochist) had to die slow. And with pain, lots of pain. The one who shot him, how he hated so much to be shot. Had he been human this would be lethal, much like what happened to that strange Shu character on whoms quest we were all partaking. But this wasn't a potentially main character who was going to die just yet. With a quick motion, he reached out with his unholy strength, ripping off the limb of the bandit leader nearest him. This happened to be his leg, which he then proceeded to use to beat him to death with, a large mass of gore and blood spilling over the ground as he screamed in agony and for mercy. He recieved none really, being beaten to death with his own leg.

The sword was drawn next. How he hated having to deal with these shocked bandits, no, brigands. He felt more blades dig at his armour, few getting through causing little more than stinging and light bleeding. The crystaline blade cleaving limbs and hacking flesh, tearing armour and causing death and destruction in it's wake. How he loved this part, how long he had missed it and how may people had this blade cleaved? He never really kept track, but he knew the number was vast. It wasn't too much time until he was soaked in blood from his plate boots to his deathly white hair, a grin across his lips as he held out the shimmering green gem, as it ripped the souls out of the men who had attacked him. They would have their suffering, but only after they were used to help create the Dark Lord's army of the damned.

As he turned back, he saw the entire town gone, the few survivors gathering outside, he rode down to them. He was bloodied in carnage, though he approached them carefully, slumped over as if heavily wounded before speaking weakly. He was a man who looked near death in condition and in wounds, and his voice was weak. "There are bandits... on the road." Was all he could mutter out, approaching the remaining group of survivors. He had to at least act hurt, or more so than he was.

Edited June 29, 2010 by Atremious