Fallen Feathers

[lynzy]

Changelings by their very nature were survivalists. Like rats or cockroaches they were usually the first to leave a troubled situation and the last to be found alive. That being said Tandara differed from the norm in that she wasn't much of a runner. She also hated being coddled too. A frown crossed her face when Ruthgar suggested she go with the week runners.

"Hells no! I'm not letting you have all the fun!" Tandi pulled her bow around and notched and arrow to ready herself for the fun. She let him lead though, men were like that or so she had found in her experience. Upon sight of the hoard Tandi would doubt there were enough arrows in the kingdom to stop them all.

 

[Peregrine]

"No, no," Cirdan replied, waving away Abel's concerns with a flick of his hand. "I've certainly received many worse injuries than that." He smiled in a quick flash of teeth, before slumping back against the wall. Now that he was out of the open Cirdan tried to wrap his head around what had just happened. Without the massive amount of noise, even with a small portion of the village packed inside of the walls of the church, Cirdan was starting to be able to sort out his surroundings. If they did have to go back outside, hopefully this time he would not be overwhelmed with stimulus.

"We should figure out..." Cirdan began, before his words were interrupted by a shout from outside the walls. Cirdan wrinkled his brow in a touch of irritation. He had never spent much time in consideration of the Hawk, and while he would be sorry to see this fine temple lost, he was not one to rush headlong into conflict to protect a lost god. He also did not think much of whomever it was who had called to the people in the church. He felt the sting of the barbed comment the same as everyone in the room, and it rankled him. A great leader could get men to fight because they believed it was the right thing to do, not because they had to defend their pride. Many young men would stay behind, unwilling to admit to any form of what might be interpreted as cowardice. Many people would die today, people whose lives could easily have been spared.

Of course, in the heat of the moment, it was doubtful that the priest who had shouted had been thinking of such things. All he wished to do was protect his Sanctuary, and his god. Cirdan let out a quiet sigh. Yes, he would stay and fight. If just to give the people who would enter the tunnels a little bit more time to flee. He had faced enough challenges that surely this one would not overwhelm him either. He had no intention of dying before getting to visit the forest of Elinshire one more time.

He was about to stand when he remembered Abel. No doubt this young man would be one of the ones who chose not to flee. But his magic-induced exhaustion would not have faded at all, and the elements would be his primary tool of combat.

"I suppose there is no chance in you leaving? No. I didn't think so." Cirdan sighed slightly, pushing his way to his feet. "Do not let your magic get too close to that green fire, and, if it does, let it go." While he was speaking, his hand snuck out, and latched onto the hand of the young man. He took a deep breath, and invoked a type of magic he had not used in a long time. The monks who had taught him had insisted he have a well-rounded education, and Cirdan was grateful for it at this moment. He used his own energy to build up the energy reserves within Abel, giving the man the power he would need to fight. He would be able to subconsciously maintain the spell throughout the upcoming fight, for his own body magic had long ago taught him how to hold a spell in place with an almost negligible amount of energy. "Because otherwise you'll probably kill me too." It wasn't the most efficient transfer of energy, and someone who was better at it would have been able to work it much better, but Cirdan's will was strong.

He smiled again, quick and brief, before letting go of Abel's hand and darting towards the door to the Church.

 

[Yaoi Master Gavin]

Jarenyth had nearly made it to the church when the hail of arrows ceased, the last ones thudding into the burning timbers of the city. He knew things were far from the end and he was proven right, in more ways than one as the main gate burst, ushering in a hulking monstrousity. The caricature of life loomed over them all, roaring as it charged with other undead in it's wake. Even over the resounding crash of it's warcry, another superceded it.

"BROTHERS, OPEN THE TUNNELS QUICKLY! ANY WARRIOR BRAVE ENOUGH TO FIGHT, JOIN ME IN PROTECTING THE HAWK! IF YOU DON'T HAVE THE GUTS FOR IT, FLEE FROM THIS CHURCH!"

The elf cocked his head slightly and laughed.

"Oh, no..." he murmured. "I'm not brave or cowardly; who has a use for such foolhardiness? This... this is business..."

If there was one good thing to be said of the sickly flames that were charring the town, it was that they provided all he needed to start his contract. No mere fire mage, he commanded something broader and perhaps even a little sardonic to his profession. The light that flickered around him was but one in his arsenal of weapons and one he knew very well. He also knew how to use it and it's byproducts effectively. Rarely did he tangle with the undead but it was often enough that he knew a few things. Obliteration was the only certain way to end an undead. Depending on the power of the caster, simply beheading it or destroying the torso or even just cutting it down might be enough but burning it to a cinder or pulverizing it were the best ways if it could be managed.

He lingered in the shadow of an awning, his eyes watching the hulk as it lumbered through the streets. He was no fool; he wasn't about to charge in - there were other, more expendable, people for that. The lights that flickered around him began to steady, their undulations calming to a steady glow and slowly it began to creep closer to him across and around, drawn to the assassin. As more of it pool, the more resources he had for obliterating the undead.

 

[Freedom]

Abel sighed and straightened himself as he listened to the warcry. I don't want to leave... I may not be able to use my magic... But there has to be something I can do... he thought to himself. He looked back at Cirdan when he was asked if he were to leave. He quickly shook his head no. He had to do something. Not just because he wanted to make sure the people like the women and children got out safely, but he wanted to provide some help for those fighting.

He was trying to think of a way to help when he flet Cirdan reach out and grab his hand. Abel looked confused for a moment and was about to pull his hand away when he felt a surge on energy run through him. At this, he smiled. "Don't worry... I don't plan on getting you or myself killed." He chuckled to himself as Cirdan took off towards the door. Abel rushed closer to one of the torches that lined the walls and took a flame from it. He had heard things and read stories that the undead were most easily killed and were more likely dead when defeated with fire.

With the flame in possession, he ran out of the church and caught up with Cirdan, spreading the flame slightly between his hands. "Ready for this? I'll warn you if you're in the burn path." He said with a small smile aimed at the other.

 

[Mundane Monster]

As she had finished returning lost children to their guardians or at least those that they recognized and sought the need to cling to, Jegrah returned to where she had been earlier. When she saw the horde, excitement mixed with rage coursed through her. She couldn't wait for her blade to taste the vile flesh of her opponents.

Letting out a loud roar, she dashed forward unsheathing her sword from the holder on her back. She caught up with the other warriors who had been helping and protecting the villagers. Grabbing a nearby barrel, she smashed it open and held it in front of her like a makeshift shield. She knew the arrows would reduce it to ash as soon as they hit, but it would give her some time to at least thrust her sword through someone's neck.

 

[Lonewolf888978]

As the two forces classed, it seemed like time itself slowed for Kwah. He slashed his way easily through the hordes of dead, the zombies falling like a normal soldier might have if they encountered a stab to the head. The skeletons were fell almost just as easy, but once they were slain, many of them blew away into dust, while others merely shattered into fragments. From Kwah's view the warriors seemed to be winning! Until he turned to check on the church and heard a blood curdling sound behind him. Turning he was face to face with the monster, who looked down at the paladin, blood from god knows what from its mouth. Kwah stepped back, and then took another and raised his shield in a sorry attempt to block any sort of blow the ogre could have dealt.

Leaving the tavern during the barrage of arrows seemed fine to Keeen. He meerly watched the green stars fall to the ground as the Orc, his petty girlfriend, and the rest of the tavern people flee out into the streets. Holding his sword onto his shoulder, he slowly made his way towards the church which was the only building in sight not on fire, but growled against the thought. These humans and their puny false god! None the less, he continued on until he heard a holler for help. Looking down between two buildings he saw who called it. A dwarf, crossbow in one hand and a pint in the other, was trapped atop of a tall wagon of goods, ill looking people trying to grasp ahold of him. Snarling, he decided to help the small thing and hissed his tongue out quickly as he charged towards the back of his enemies. One slash took out three of the six, and a quick stab from his wrist blade another. One of the now clearly undead tried to sink its teeth into Keeeen, but instead was meet with a claw to the brain. The final undead slowly moved towards him, maybe it was heistitating. Then it attacked. Keeeen sidestepped and threw the undead to the ground, he foot crushing its head. As he looked up to the dwarf, he saw it was gone, a bottle of ale in its place.​

 

[Peregrine]

Cirdan bobbed his head once in agreement, before turning his attention to the battle before him. The infected were rolling into the village in a seemingly endless wave, and for every one that fell two more were there to take its place. But there was no point in contemplating it. Cirdan had already decided that he was not going to die here, and he would fight to ensure that was true.

He and Abel fought in surprising compliment. Cirdan's whirling fists and legs slowed the undead down, and having to rebuild themselves distracted them long enough for a taste of Abel's fire to consume them. Sometimes, a particularly well-placed blow, aimed at the fragile points even the undead still had, would be enough to completely fell the monster. More often than not, Cirdan's techniques worked to complement and enhance Abel's own. Cirdan was not one for glory. He believed in efficiency, and Abel's fire, at this moment, was far more efficient than his fists. Once, Cirdan let out a shouted "Duck!" before jumping up in the air, spinning his leg out wildly to connect with the head of a zombie that had been looming up behind Abel, sword drawn. Its rather soft vertebrae parted company with each other, and its head rolled to the ground. Its body attempted to complete the swing, but with the loss of its head it could no longer tell which way was towards the enemy, and its sword stroke hit one of its allies instead, shattering the skeleton's bones.

He was careful to keep part of his attention focused on maintaining the connection between his own energy and Abel's. Both of them would be severely drained at the end of this fight, but Cirdan's energy was the deep pool of the magic-loving elves. Hopefully there would be enough to get them both through this fight.

They migrated slowly through the tide, at time further and at times closer to the doors of the church. The bodies were starting to pile up, on both sides. But the undead came on endlessly. Who knew when their numbers would end. But it was a small matter to know when the numbers of the defenders would fail.

Quite by accident, they wound up next to the priest who had called out for their aid at the beginning of the fight. Cirdan was given a brief break from the oncoming horde, and he desperately took a few deep breaths, filling his lungs up with the smoky air. It was then that he noticed the ogre, its massive mace raised to land a crushing blow upon the warrior-priest. Cirdan darted forward, throwing himself into the ogre's side and quickly rolling away. His mass was not enough to completely topple the best, but it was enough to stagger him. His arm swung down a good foot to the left of the Priest.

"Abel!" Cirdan shouted, the cry halfway between a plea for aid, and a desperate hope that some undead had not snuck up on his new companion from behind. If they both survived this, maybe the two would take to the road together after this.

 

[Apollyon]

(Apologies. Family emergencies, my own health, and the fact I've been rebuilding a 360 L/A for a 99' Dodge Dakota Sport 4x4. If anyone cares to check out the the pictures let me know!)

​

Ruthgar was done out the door before anyone else. His lack of tact was, needless to say, inherent in his species. But there were many other things Orcs were known to be. Most Orcs were taught from an early age to be fearless. Much like some human civilizations--they were beaten and broken--broken into the perfect warriors. Because every Orc had that killer instinct lurking in them, yet only a certain 'caste' were allowed to be actual warriors unless otherwise decreed by their war chiefs. But Ruthgar was one of those few that loved to fight incessantly; he almost seemed to be at unease when things were going 'peaceably'. These were often called "Barbarians" even among their own kind.

Sure they could sit down and have a drink. But they could just as easily twist off someone's head and use their skull cavity as a chalice like a king and a golden goblet. They didn't care for being attacked. They loved it. Because then that meant that there was something out there they could mutilate beyond recognition. Barbarians were known for their anger, and the angrier they were, the more ferocious they could be. Unless you cut of their head or magically bind them--one being highly unlikely because while they weren't like their lizard-kin neighbors, they were still pretty damn thick skinned. Tales of Orcs surviving beheading strokes only to crush the throats of their attackers weren't uncommon.

Now take a nearly 8 feet tall, near five hundred pound Orc with arms as big as anyone man's head--and able to swing a massive axe around like a hatchet and you might be shit out of luck. For see, the thick hide and the thickness of his muscles--added to the redundant organs make Orcs especially hard to kill. Lizards have their scales, Elves are nimble--whatever the hell this woman next to him is has their pretty smells. But Orcs had a secret weapon; their sheer physiology. Since they were creatures on confrontation it was no surprise that evolution had taken a role in devising these fearsome warriors; twenty-three ribs, two livers, an eight-chambered heart, three lungs, and even redundant neural function as well as multiple stomachs.

All this meant was that they could take astounding damage and still keep going. But that was only half the danger, the other half presided in the Orc himself. Barbarians were legendary for their fits of rage bordering madness. If they didn't have a weapon, they would scratch, claw and tear. If for some reason one of their limbs were damaged, you better believe those huge overlapping tusks could manage to remove large portions of flesh and their jaw power was close to the Reptilian kindred though they didn't have that crocodilian snout.

Once outside he became another person; driving as though a temperamental He didn't utter words. None were necessary, and as he drug the axe behind him, the sheer weight toiling the soft earth as it was simply. It left a noticeably large trail to follow him by. The atmosphere was calm from where he stood; watching the hordes scamper over stone walls, some even pouring through the gates that had been smashed open. Now this was combat! He felt that Orcish blood stirring; it was like a meaty stew bubbling in a cauldron. It began to overflow the closer the enemy got and if anyone was watch, he was anxious. He WANTED them close. As close as they could get. Those drunken eyes, once caused by copious amounts of ale--were now saddled with wanton bloodlust.

It was true, these weren't you're typical flesh and blood Ratzi or out of place human--but he bet ten to one, it'd feel just as good feeling his axe--which was so large, to most humans who looked upon it saw a mixture of a bardiche and bearded axe in the craftsmanship. A bard bardiche being a "pole-arm" type weapon which this was not. Yet it had a distinctive, long 'cleaver' like shape to the blade that resemble the crescent of the moon like those of a waning or waxing stage. However, its blade may start out looking LIKE a bardiche, but the bottom half of the immense weapon was 'hooked'. That was to say,
there was deliberate gap between the the blade and hand so that hat could could hook on to things; swords, shields, even halberds and rip them right out of the hands of their wielders. Whoever said a savage couldn't be cunning ought to be kicking themselves in the ass about now.

It was crude but without a doubt effective against most anything, especially with the force of its wielder utilizing behind its wide swings--but the weapon itself in comparison to the wielder, looked more like a bearded axe than the much larger bardiche, but set it in the hands of your average every day human man, and one would would wonder just how much strength Orcs possessed, and stamina to boot.

But it was about Orc versus man, well, not the alive ones any who. He needn't have reservations for severing limbs, crushing skulls like walnuts in his bare hand. I mean seriously, he grabbed one of the warriors up by its rotting countenance and with a smooth, if questionably easy motion--crushed solid bone like foil then threw the body into the masses. With one swing he didn't just knock back one or two--but several because they were so mindless in their pursuit.

Their lack of pain making fighting them all the more fun for Ruthgar

=======================================================================================================================================

Definitions and imagery

Bardiche

The Bardiche was classified as a pole-arm though it was the shortest of its kind. Characterized by the large crescent shaped blade at the fore of the shaft. Bardiche's had quickly become more popular that halberds in many places and in many respects. The bardiche differs from the halberd in having neither a hook at the back nor a spear point at the top.The blade varied greatly in shape, but was most often a long, cleaver type blade. The distinction was in how the blade was attached to the pole. The bardiche blade was attached to the pole either via two sockets (one at the top of the pole and one lower, at the base of the blade) or one socket at the top and one surface mount at the base, effectively mounting the heavy blade to the wooden shaft.

Bearded Axe

Refers to various axes, used as a tool and weapon, The lower portion of an axe bit is called the "beard" and the cutting edge of the bearded axe extends below the width of the butt to provide a wide cutting surface while keeping the overall weight of the axe low. The hook, or "beard" of the axe would have also been useful in battle, to hook onto things, such as shields or weapons, to pull them out of the defender's grasp.
​

 

[Freedom]

Abel charged into the fray next to Cirdan. He mainly stayed behind Cirdan so that he could fend off his own undead while Cirdan slowed the otehrs. the Fire that was in Able's possession danced around the two of them as it incinerated zombie after zombie. He morphed the shape into a ball to slam into the skeletons while he used wrapped the flame around the zombies' bodies to get rid of them.

Abel was more than happy that Cirdan was able to give him some of his energy. He was sure that if Cirdan hadn't done that, they both probably would have fallen int his battle. Able dodged and bobbed and weaved away from as many strikes fromt he undead as possible, but he was getting a few cuts here and there. they were nothing taht would make him stop from fighting as best as he could.

He quickly ducked down when he ehard Cirdan call out to him. As he went down, he spun himself and caught a glimpse of a skeleton that had snuck up behind Cirdan. Abel quickly sent out his fire to slam into and melt the bones of the offending creature.

He moved with Cirdan through the tide of the battle, doing his best to help Cirdan as much as possible. He was feeling a litttle tired, but nothing that would slow him down. Abel was almost completely relived when they found themselves next to the one who had called for aid. Exhaustion was more than visible after this battle, and he knew he would need a great amount of rest after this, as would Cirdan.

As he was panting, he riased an eyebrow as he watched Cirdan take off and slam into the side of a giant Undead, which he hadn't noticed before. When the other called for him, he instantly straightened himself and rushed down to him. As he ran, Abel had flung the fire out in a massive ball, aimed right for the beast's chest. The ball of fire hit it's target perfectly and the force of it, coupled with the force of cirdan jumping into the side of the creature, knocked it down onto its rear, giving Cirdan and, hopefully, the paladin enough time to completely get away fromt eh creature if they moved now.

 

[Apollyon]

Ayakashi was certainly no stranger to the fray; having help the civilians gather at the church, he immediately then began dispatching any undead that had dared even get near the sanctified grounds. Not because he particularly shared the same faith or religion as the elderly monk, he did however feel the uncleanliness of this horde and its aberrant nature. It wasn't natural, the undead. What was dead should stay dead--no matter how much one wanted their loved ones back. To defy natural law, well, that was an affront to all things living not just those of pure heart and noble in deed. It defaced those deeds, it ignored past mistakes.

lashing first with the naginata, the curved tipped blade made for an exceptional sweeping weapon. Easily out reaching sword, axes maces--it also was seen to bob and weave and thrust in behind shields. It had the range of a spear but cut with all the control of a sword. Ayakashi's armor was so unlike any other's. It wasn't bulky and stalwart steel, though steel was in it. Rather than large, solid portions of steel it was devised of strips or bands of steel, iron and durable silk. The silk was surprisingly efficient for what one would think cloth could only do. Thou Samurai armor, in comparison couldn't withstand nearly as many demanding blows as the monk's--maneuverability was key and that was an advantage in its own right.

Though his armor was elaborate, its many decorative curves and bends belied its tactful nature. The outwardly curvature of his helm for example, while resembling somewhat that of a blooming rose was maintained because it would deflect blows and incoming missile fire. It was subtleties like these that made his armor quite surprising to be sure. Then there were the more obvious things such as the wide surface areas of his sleeves that consisted of nothing but strips of iron and steel overlapping much padding. This would no doubt make anything short of the hardest of blows hardly felt while still allowing for much use of the arm. And if a keen edge were't used, it wouldn't even shear the decorative silk overlay.

Nevertheless, with one final lunge, Ayakashi skewered through their brittle skulls. They might have been reanimated, but it did little to overpower time's effects on the these corporeal creations. Listening to the Ogre grunt, and watching it meander recklessly about, the weapon it used to bludgeon any unwary guard or even other undead in its way grumpily. It sung down thunderously, splitting the ground asunder. Lowering his center of gravity so as not to be knocked off balance. As he rose into a slightly slouched pose, he dismounted the cumbersome kanabō. It was a large club-like weapon or truncheon. There were several types including bigger/smaller, or wooden entirely of iron.

Ayakashi's in particular was a large wooden club with iron studs aligning all sides of an octagonal 'pole' that was ribbed and tapered like a baseball bat. These weapons took quite a bit of stamina as one could imagine, as they were heavy and some like Ayakashi's were nearly as long as he was tall. He rushed forth in betwixt the creature's feet and legs. It was easy enough to do with it bumbling about. Arching his arms back, he slammed the kanabō against the inside of the creature's protruding ankle bone cause a multitude of fracture's to appear and form up the Ogre's leg. Dragging the kanabō along the terrain, he used the weapons's own weight to 'swing' his self around, connecting with the Ogre's heel--further weakening that legs ability to function.​

 

[Yaoi Master Gavin]

As Jarenyth had expected, a number of people answered the call, rushing in to give aid with nary a care int he world it seemed, drawing a sneer of derision across the elf's features. Away from the majourity of the combat focus, he was able to see that the smaller undead were quite easily destroyed but their numbers always seemed the same, reinforcements pouring in. The ogre had already taken some damage but it was far stronger than the others. Simple observation told him that they were dealing with something very powerful to be able to animate so many undead, despite their weakness.

His adept ears caught the sound of crunching rock behind him and the rattle of bone. The elf's eyes narrowed as he looked in the sound's direction, sidestepping as a zombie's clumsy swipe came down where he had been. With a flash his katana had been drawn and the arm severed on the ground. Unfazed, the zombie reached out with its other arm only to have it's eye sockets burnt out as beams of light around the elf burned through them, gathering and culminating in a flash of light as the head exploded, flesh splattering and leaving only a radiant orb where the head was. The body shambled forward for a step before slumping down and lying still.

Looking around he could see that things were getting even more dangerous. The church remained the only building immune to the ravages of necromantic flame and several buildings had already been burned to the ground and the fire was spreading yet the undead continued to come, flooding the streets as the ogre lumbered through. To Jarenyth it was little more than a meat hammer, unrefined but good for bashing through things at least until it had nothing to bash with.

The orb of light before him flattened out into a blade not unlike a guillotine's, the edge just as sharp. Aiming for the undead ogre's shoulder joint, he let the blade fly with force, intending for the magic to sever the arm, if not at least render it near useless and flapping haphazardly behind it.

 

[lynzy]

Another, another and yet again! Her hands were a blur of motion: Knock the arrow, aim and shoot, then repeat. Almost every one was a lethal hit but it made no difference in the scheme of things as the undead kept coming and coming.

Finally she ran out of arrows and set aside the bow to take out her Twins. The two large curved daggers that were almost long enough to be short swords, they had served her father well and her father's father and so on. Handed down generation after generation till they came to Tandara and she knew how to use them in the dance of death.

Where her hands had once been a blur, now her whole body was one spinning wheel of motion. Tandi's feet seemed to never touch the ground. Why, she danced everywhere! Even atop the orc she had recently befriended, light as a feather she wove her way through the skeletons and zombies. A slice here a nip there, never landing long enough to be touched let alone harmed.

This had a price to be payed though, her energy would need to be refilled and soon. Nothing a changeling did was free, it all had a price and sometimes it was a high one. Sometimes a life was required to compensate for the use of energy. Tandara just hoped it wouldn't be hers.

 

[Lonewolf888978]

The heroes easily beat the monster, it laid defeated , one leg cracked, an arm sawed off, and a large burning whole in its chest. With the large undead creature wounded and unable to continue the battle, the rest of the undead did something strange. Slowly they edged away from the battle and back down the road, and halted at the gate, howls of fury and hunger howled from there cold, rotting mouths. A bit confused and shocked, Kwah glanced at his saviors and gave each a small nod. Cautiously, he approached the ogre who made small grunting sounds, despite not having any organs inside his skeletal figure. Climbing atop it. Kwah crawled towards the whole in the creatures chest and stabbed his sword into the creature. IT grunted in pain, and attempted to raise its other arm, but it fell from the rest of its body in pieces. Saying a few words, he raised his hand towards the sky and let the lights energy form around his hand. Thrusting his hand towards the chest, the creature howled in pain as it began to decay. The bone soon turned to ash, blowing away. Falling through, Kwah landed on his feet in the ashes, behind him he heard the priest and remaining survivors yell victory cries. Grasping his sword, he smiled and raised it in victory and gave a war cry of his own. Turning to face the survivors he began to speak to them, but soon stopped as their eyes widened in fear. Turning back around, he saw the horror himself. Four more skeletal ogres, each with a differnt weapon, pushed their way through the gates, grunting and giving war cries. Taking a step back he prayed under his breath and raised his shield. The undead began charging again, but this time something else stopped them.

Above them a roar was easily heard above the screams causing even the undead to halt. Above them from the clouds, a dark figure flew straight down. It landed in the middle of the undead horde, the ogres being squashed underneath the new monsters weight. A skeletal dragon, with blue flames covering it landed, destroying the undead. On top of the dragon, a tall figure stood and climbed off the dragon, green fire in one hand and long staff in the other. Breathless, Kwah knew the figure and he managed to whisper "Spiritus." Taking a step back, he called to everyone "Retreat!". Despite his own call, he stood frozen in fear, but soon felt a large arm wrap around him and pick up over his scaley shoulder.

Keeeen arrived at the battle late, and soon quickly began killing off the undead from behind, his sword ripping into their soft flesh, or into bones, cutting the weaker ones, or bluntly crushing them. As the undead retreated, he merely watch, a frown on his face "Not even a challenge." As the ogres came and were crushed, he growled happily, eager for the new challangers. As the dragon flew from the sky, and the dark figure got off of it, he was finally realizing something was off. Green fire? That wasn't normal for even the greatest sorcerers. His one opponent he hated to face were mages, always to unpredictable, but were normally really easy to cut into pieces. As he heard the priest call retreat, he slowly turned, not to eager to run from battle, but for some reason an outside force commanded him to. He spotted the armored priest, frozen with fear. Walking towards him, he slung him over his shoulder and walked towards the church. ​

 

[Peregrine]

Even almost entirely blind to the world, every remaining sense within Cirdan screamed at the arrival of the dragon. Small shivers began to race through his body. It was an intrinsic reaction, a release of the fear that Spiritus' very being put into the air. For a moment, while everything else, undead and living alike, stood paralyzed, Cirdan shook.

And then they were all released, Spiritus stepped down off of his mount, sending shudders through the ground. The undead began to once more press in towards the remaining fighters, while those who still lived began to back towards or full-out run towards the church. Every individual had their own justifications for it. Many carried the wounded forms of their allies. Some looked to the church as a better ground to fight this new, unknown enemy. But the retreat was unanimous.

Cirdan had no problems with running when the situation got beyond his capability to handle. The damage from the fight was obvious in every aspect of the town, from the scorched buildings to the piles of ash, to the dead littering the streets, both old and new. And all of this chaos had been the result of the attack from that single being that was drawing ever closer and closer to them. Only a fool would try and fight when they were so clearly and completely overwhelmed.

Cirdan and Abel had stayed close to each other, even as the undead ogre had toppled. Now Cirdan once more latched onto his ally, pulling him towards the Church. Any people who were still inside would simply have to make do as best as they were able. The fighters had given them as much time as they could.

It seemed, at least, that their fight had not been in vain. It was a small mercy, but the inside of the church was nearly empty. Those who remained seemed to mostly be waiting for the fighters who had gone out to do battle, along with a few people who had not yet made it into the tunnels, and those who were, for whatever reason, refusing to flee at all.

Cirdan stood stall for a moment once he was inside the church, uncertain as to whether or not they were going to be expected to continue to fight from this new location. If they were, he was not certain that he would remain. It was one thing to fight to protect the lives of those who could not protect themselves, it was quite another to do battle with an enemy that could destroy a town all by itself. He would give the Paladin the benefit of the doubt for the moment, but he still turned to Abel.

"We... should flee. Even if... the rest of them... don't." He was panting heavily, his voice broken from inhaling the smoke from the green flame. Not only that, but the continued supply of energy to Abel was starting to weigh heavily on him. When this was over, he would need a good, long sleep and a hearty meal to recover.

Assuming, that was, they still managed to get out of this city alive.

 

[Freedom]

Abel had sighed quietly in relief as he watched the ogre colapse into a heap of dead again corpse. He was slightly dropping his guard in his moment of reverie, but it was quickly interrupted as he heard the roar from above. he whirled around just as the creature dropped to the ground. From the dragon, he felt immense power... he knew that there was no way they could beat this thing...

He felt his blood run cold when he heard teh name of the ccreature that stepped down from the undead draconic mount... Spiritus... It-It can't be him... He stood frozen in fear as the color rushed from his face, leaving him looking like a blank sheet. He was trying to wrench himself away, but his fear had him stuck. He practically stumbled along after Cirdan when he was pulled away towards the church.

He had finally regained his compsure as he was spken too. He hadn't realized how tired he was until now... They needed to get somewhere safe and get tehre now, lest he colapse... He could tell that Cirdan was trying hard to keep the energy flow between the two of them so that Abel could have fought in the battle.

"Y-Yes... C-C'mon... We need to leave now..." He spoke out weakly and raspily. his voice was heavy from teh smoke and from the lack of energy. Abel reached for Cirdan's wrist as he lightly tugged on it in the direction of the tunnels. "If... If we stay, we'll just end up dead..." He spoke the truth. He knew they were to exhausted to do any help and they would only get themselves killed if they stayed.

 

[Yaoi Master Gavin]

Jarenyth smirked at the holy man as the corpse disintegrated. This was supposed to be the horde's ace? If that was all they had to offer, then the only thing they had were numbers and that could be easily remedied. Again, the light began to gather around him to annihilate the walking dead. As the four other hulk lumbered in, there was little change - the targets were only larger. If one was no problem, then what was four to them? Undead or not, they would fall. Similarly, there was no change as the dragon landed upon the ogres - four problems for one was far better. As the figure atop it got off, Jarenyth was reach to snipe him down; this was obviously the mastermind behind this. The sight of the others fleeing, and the holy man's call of retreat gave him pause.

From this distance he couldn't make out who it was, but it obviously terrified the holy man, to the point was he was literally frozen in fear, requiring the need of a large crocodile man to take him to safety. Clearly this was an opponent that, even with the backup of so many, he did not believe they could defeat. With the call of retreat sounded, the elf had little option but to retreat as well, if only for his own well-being. The church, unmolested by the flames as it was, was the obvious choice and as he edged closer tot he building, the assassin got close enough to see the one who had disembarked the dragon.

He had expected that in this world, there would be some necromancers able to resurrect dragons. Possibly some could do it if they worked together; he did not traffic in the undead and therefore had no clue the intricacies involved. However, he recognized exactly who it was that had disembarked. The assassin had gotten around, read a lot, and the Assassin's Corps was a rumour mill so the identity of this legendary being was not unknown to him. His purpose here was.

The elf felt no fear of Spiritus, only a sense of respect and reverence towards the being. There was no worship, only an understanding and acknowledgement of what the being could and had done. Outmatched or not, Jarenyth would kill him. Maybe not now, maybe not later, but he would. His personal contract demanded it. Btu he was not fool enough to try now, not when Spiritus was surrounded by his incoming legion and the assassin was in such a precarious position.

He slipped in through one of the side doors of the church and made his way into the chapel. There were few in here, far fewer than he had seen come in, leading him to believe there was a hidden part to the church where they ahd evacuated to, more than likely underground.

 

[Apollyon]

Ruthgar was having fun. While everyone in their right mind dreaded how dire the situation was becoming--he was laughing and happily cleaving bodies into not so neatly cut pieces. His mother hadn't obviously taught him how to cook. Oh wait, she did! That's where he got it from! When an Ogre tromped towards him, most would be daunted by the sheer size of the monolithic aberrations. Ruth found it a perfectly acceptable moment to be even more brazen. While the Ogre's club could easily smash a building, or two he chose then of ALL TIMES to discard the heavy ass battle axe he'd so loved to carry and tote around--even when more than a little drunk.

It was all about an Orcs pride see. Orcs were proud warriors, and the harder the challenge the easily more accepted it became. So tearing apart a creature nearly twice his own size with his bare hands was just...too damn good to pass up. Afterall, he was an Uthgardt. He'd be damned if he didn't die trying. So, lodging his axe into the nearest wooden building, (I mean, seriously, who does that?! But, he couldn't very well go and lose it now could he?) he gripped his hands, knuckles cracking as calloused fingers, meaty and thick flexed. The titan, three meters in height and carrying a club nearly the size of a tree lumbered towards him. Yet, the Orc seemed blissfully happily aware and he even seemed to be smiling. And not like he was at that fine piece of ass earlier. No, this was a different kind of happy.

The kind of happy only Orcs and the reptilian folk generally seemed to hold when it came to ripping things apart.

In a scene that could only be described as a watching two trains colliding and creating a telescoping effect. Telescoping occurs when the underframe of one vehicle overrides that of another, and smashes through the second vehicle's body. The term is derived from the resulting appearance of the two vehicle bodies: the body of one vehicle may appear to be slid inside the other like the tubes of a collapsible telescope - the body sides, roof and underframe of the latter vehicle being forced apart from each other. Now, you're probably wondering--Narrator, how in the world can that be?

Well...When you have one overly excited Orc charging his hulking form a very short distance to his enemy only to stop abruptly, and heave every last bit of his muscled build into a sharp pivot, using one massive fist to connect with a rotting knee the effect is quite gruesome. The knee explodes backwards bending the leg in on itself. And for a moment, it looks as though Ruthgar's fist and the length of his massive arm become fused with the catastrophic failure. But looks can be ever so deceiving. Ruthgar simply tore his arm back through the hole he had just punched. Watching him as he was free to be inherently the brutal creature he was born to be. No restrain or remorse was given when the bone, the cartilage, the muscle all came spilling out both sides. It was enough to make one feel almost sorry for the ogre. But that wasn't going to be the end of it.

Not by a long shot. You see, when an Orc enters a state of frenzy, its damn near impossible to get him to stop killing something. Especially if it gets his blood pumping. And boy, did hurting things get his blood pumping.

Now the creature was forcibly knelt over on its hands and knees--well, knee. It was struggling just holding itself up and though it certainly didn't feel pain it would normally (Thank you Necromancer!) it just meant that Ruthgar could be ever more vicious in his ongoing rampage. He wrapped two meaty arms around the struggling giant's left arm and put a large foot down at where it connected to the shoulder. It stressed the joint considerably, and if the Ogre could feel pain, it would certainly wish it WERE dead. At a moments notice, it seemed like nothing were occurring. Like Ruth's efforts were in vain. However, as the skin peeled away revealing muscle and tendons snapping off the bone like over tense wires and cables snapping away from a buckling bridge. He snapped the limb at the elbow contorting it one hundred and eighty degrees.

Having mangled the limb wasn't good enough. No. He wanted them to know the strength of the Uthgardt. He kept his clinched grip on the limb but as it snapped off with a sickening sound like a tree exploding or falling over from buckling under its own weight--Ruthgar roared vehemently as he slammed his foot down the base of the creature's skull snapping its spine outwards and towards its larynx. The bone continuing to grind against itself as he continued to wrench it in a way it was never meant to be and like it were a lever he just couldn't leave alone. The skull was being pulverized from behind with a lead foot the Ogres face was slamming and grinding into the ground until the skull just couldn't take no more and finally it split apart.

Enthralled he unleashed a roar tearing the arm entirely off, of course it wasn't to hard to do having twisted it at the shoulder joint then snapped it backwards at the elbow. The tendons and muscle couldn't withstand the constant tugging and tore off at the elbow. He gripped the limb as he bellowed before he heard something...call back. It wasn't a zombie or a skeleton, it wasn't another Ogre. He lifted his head slowly, face drenched in blood as a call back to the days when Orcs of his kind tore their enemies limb from limb. His eyes watching the dragon as it descended upon them. He threw the arm he had locked in his hand backwards.

"Retreat!" The call for withdrawal made him all the more eager to fight the titanic beast.

"Come're you fuckin' overgrown lizard! Can't take your hide, so I'll take your head!"

Did I ever say orcs were ever really...smart?

​

 

[lynzy]

"Oh crap..." That was all she said as the sight of it stopped her in her tracks. She knew Ruth and her were dead where they stood if they didn't get the hell out of here now. Tamara looked around them quickly for the church and found it off to their right only a few yards away, what could she say, the thrill of fighting tended to take over and she had lost track of their safe zone in all the fun. Thankfully it wasn't far off, now, how to get Ruth to leave his fun for safety. This would call for creativity...

Picking up her bow and slinging it over her back Tam grabbed Ruthgar's arm and climbed up his body to his head level and planted a kiss on his surprised face. "There's more where that came from if you follow me." She kissed him again and vaulted off his burly frame, looked back to see if he was interested, smiled her most winning smile and tossed her hair back as she ran full-out for the safety of the church.

 

[Apollyon]

Ruthgar stood with some would say insanity, others stupidity and those amongst his race--great courage. You see while people were rushing past him as he stood on the crumpled heap of a body that was once ten feet tall. Now was no more than three. Blood was dripping from his bulky build. When the dragon landed, talons punching holes every bit the size of his arms into stone pallisades as it perched.

"Smug bastard, just you wait--just you wait, I'll take your head. If I don't crush it first." He grunted and then made his way to the tree still wrapped in the hand of the fallen ogre.

He would however, not get to freeing it as something rushed him and as he turned to face this new possible threat. It swiftly took hold of his arm and lifted itself to face level with him. Blinking several times, he realized who, or rather WHO it was. That seductress from earlier, the one that looked damn fine and smelled simply divine. She suddenly kissed him. It was abrupt, unanticipated annnndddd......She mine as well shot the poor guy in the head. He went brain dead for a few minutes. Surprise was not even close to what he was feeling. He didn't actually believe it happened for a moment.

But when a gorgeous woman flips off your shoulder and smiles at you and says "There's more where that came from if you follow me." He could only stand there then look around as if thinking "Am I dreaming? Was I knocked out? I was knocked out wasn't I? Either that or I'm dead..." The orc gave a look he didn't seem familiar with--it told her he was actually THINKING for once. He then looked back at the dragon and pointed at it.

"I'll get your ass one day! Your heads gonna be mine ya hear! Ya smug lizard." He then turned towards Tandara.

"Hey! Miss! You gotta start playin' fair!" He then started running after her.

​

 

[Apollyon]

Ayakashi was having a bit of difficulty reaching the church. The energy he was giving of, ki, was like magic but it didn't follow the same principles. It was an inherent energy, one whose power was not studied in tomes or dusty but learnt over a lifetime of rigorous discipline. And powerful it was. His body could nullify any toxin. He could smash stones no matter the natural hardness like glass with but his hand alone. His mind could see past illusions and his reflexes seemed supernatural. While not totally immune, he was highly resistant to magical enchantment. But one wouldn't simply gleam this from a first glance of this 'alien'.

Cutting down one undead after another effortlessly, the flicker of a curved blue light as both his muscles and the sword itself were creating after images in lieu of the sword and his own body moving too fast for the eyes to see. So fast in fact, that each sweeping arc was displacing the air around the blade as it cut swathes, it made tumultuous like a thunderclap and without ever grazing the ground, sundered the earth leaving behind deep lacerations. At one point he lodged his longed curved blade, shuffled back swiftly as though having a sixth sense about when the putrid creation behind him was. If it weren't for the fact he was slicing through bone and ligament so easily, one could easily see the almost artistic 'touch' his moves held.

Despite how hard he struck, he moved like a dancer of the shadows. His unique clothing, what most would readily dismiss as a consider a "dress". Yet, many would find themselves surprised that this "dress" was in-fact, very carefully pleated skirt-like pants that was a traditional piece of samurai clothing. His body cloaked in fine silk; a kimono of which the pleated pant's tied around the midsection, did not restrict his movements despite the bands of steel strips that ran the length of his thigh like metallic muscle fibers. These were cushioned by thick silk bands. They would clatter but otherwise wouldn't restrict his movements.

He stood with his blade out before himself. Striking the pommel with a focused strike; thirteen necrotic beings exploded in. Their link with Spiritus having failed, necroplasm; a greenish luminescent liquid soaking the earth. Taking the meaty underside underside he struck the pommel of his ancestral sword and suddenly the bodies frozen in place erupted in a deluge of necroplasm as he pivoted and retrieved his naginata walking calmly towards the church.​