EquinoxSol x Emilysrose

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by EquinoxSol, Oct 13, 2012.

  1. ((Started it when the siege first starts. I hope its okay ^^))

    A clear, unwavering sound rang out through the city, followed by a hoarse shout. "Our spotter's seen them!" The spotter, a young Elven man almost reaching adulthood, stood upon the top of one of the watchtowers. He had a sharp eye, and a quick wit, but only the former actually helped that night, as it gave the small group of soldiers that had been amassed earlier that week time to prepare.

    The call traveled among the archers upon the wall, and soon reached the castle, and, subsequently, the Lord of Caelthyr. Telling his servants to remain in their quarters for the remainder of the siege, he stood in the great hall, his guardian the only person who stood with him. His guardian was a slight of a man, but was one of the quickest warriors in the city. Both held swords, Lord Aendir's the one his father's father's father used, his guardian's a thin, light rapier.

    His wife and children, two young boys, were in the study, his wife holding the twins close to her.

    Meanwhile, Torwena, the maid of the castle, bit her lip as she looked out the window of her bedroom, wringing her hands worriedly. She knew that the war had been terrible, but it hadn't touched Caelthyr, being so northward, in at least seventy-five years. Snow blanketed the land, as more poured down from the skies.

    Torwena was young, barely out of her teenage years, with dark, raven-colored hair. Her eyes were that of a cat's, a brilliant green. She wore a simple, soft lavender color dress, something her mother gave her when she became an adult. While she did have a strong-willed personality, she was terrified of what the spotter's had seen, the Wendingos. She could only pray that Caelthyr had the soldiers sufficient enough to fight off the attack.
  2. They all could smell it, the lucious fragrance of their preys' flesh almost waiting to be munched on like there was little else in the world to worry about, other then someone else taking your piece of Elven thigh. She led the pack on this, the one called Rozelle when not in this form. When her skin shone like lapis lazuli and her eyes burned with a hunger that would make a starving man seem like he was the most well fed person in the word, she was no longer known by that name. She had none but she was still the head of the pack.

    She snarled back at her silent ranks as they called forth a storm, a snow storm in which they would thrive while their prey shivered. She felt the rush of the elements in her as she crouched low on her lanky legs and jumped over a small river that was quickly becoming covered in ice that shifted under her giant claws. She leaned back and howled to the moon as they advanced to the smell that offered what she hoped would be a meal for the whole.
  3. Taethor stood strong amongst his men, giving them words of encouragement when he could. Like his name meant, Taethor really was a long and thin brother, though to whom, not many knew. He was the illegitimate son of the late Lord Aenor, and half-brother to Aendir. In Elven customs, having a sibling, especially a brother, who didn't share the same two parents as you did was extremely scandalous. Probably, in an effort to protect his second eldest son, Aenor had forced the boy to live with his mother, out in the city. He only found out about this a few years ago, but the young man didn't let it bring him down, knowing that he wouldn't have gotten this far if he'd been able to live with his father. He would probably have been the Lord if he had, stuck taking care of Caelthyr...It would just get boring, he decided. Besides, was his thinking, if he loved his current occupation, a high-ranking officer in the small army of the stronghold, and didn't want to be anywhere else.

    However, he was getting second thoughts as he saw the first of the Wendingos appear at the horizon. Silently, he prayed that there wouldn't be enough of his body left for them to use. The idea of something using his corpse to murder his friends was too much to bear. Pulling his cloak closer around his thin shoulders against the cold, he looked to his second commander, one of the men he worked besides daily. "We'll pull through," he said, though whether he was reassuring the other man or himself, it was impossible to tell.

    As the Wendingos got closer, he could hear his second commander whispering numbers under his breath, going down numerically. "Five hundred...Four-fifty...four hundred..." and on and on. It took Taethor until the second commander began notching an arrow in his long bow to realize he was counting down yards, and that he should probably as well. Notching his own arrow, one of a special design they'd had one of the blacksmiths working on for years now, he smiled to himself, already feeling the rush of battle. "Tonight," he stated, using an old battle cry his ancestors must have used when they fought off the legions of demons in the God Wars, thousands of years ago, "we fight not only to protect our Lord and our families, we fight to protect our king, the great King Gailon!" Taethor hadn't meant to, but through his nature, his voice was quiet, and only a few of those around him heard. But, those who did hear him spread it around like wildfire. With that, he pulled back the string of his bow, took quick yet careful aim, and fired the arrow, straight at the nearest Wendingo.