Flimsy thread that is hope.

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by The Underdark Rises, Sep 8, 2013.

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    The frost tipped peaks of the spine of the cosmos was known for it's harsh environment. A world where Drow, Gnoll, Dwarf and orc battled for supremacy over the scarce food and herds tucked away under the heartless stones. Here the dominion of man and mer had no influence, it was a free and vicious world. Vicariously the mountain slew all unfit to walk on her bosom, showing no clemency to the young, old or disabled. In that world only a single law was accepted as truth amongst the warring factions, Survival of the fittest. Steel clashed, as it's hoarse whisper sent forth a harrowing tale of blood, which like a waterfall ran down the peaks. The bodies piled, yet despite the tension the races respected each others prowess. Chalking up their hate as necessity, not foul bigotry.

    But all of this changed, one day bone wings creaked as a large swarthy shadow blotted out the once crisp cerulean skies. Black smoke danced wildly in the air, only dissipated by the frigid wind. Fire had now adorned the mountain, and acid claimed the lives of many. Three Dragons were the first, flesh rotted as organs petrified and trapped within their bones dangled. These undead behemoths, bringers of death and a ravenous hunger that no blood could sedate. Were but the first to rain death on those around and on the misty peaks.

    Like an endless wave of plague and woe they marched, a sea of the walking dead. Breath riddled with the decayed aroma of life no more, eyes hollow with but the shimmering glisten of the soul that once was. This mindless horde of the dead knew no rest, no pain, no fear and no hunger. They needed no supplies, no support and could turn the populace against their own. Those that lived at the southern base fell first, none spared as those who once fought the undead, now joined them. A foul lich king had risen from the frozen tundra's of the south. Where sheets of ice and frost capable of consuming flesh lingered. He recruited the necromancers of the land, using them as officers n his army as giant crystal towers brithed from foul sorcery stood high and proud.

    On the undead flesh was not snow, nor ice but the ash of those consumed by dragon fire. Pine trees once proud and lush, now like torches erupted burning an orange flame. An omen of what was to come of their world. The species of the mountain ranges united, under a single banner they fought putting aside their differences. But all they could so, was slow the inevitable outcome. In an act of desperation a single representative was sent out into the world, in the hopes of forging alliances and finding the fabled artifact of the God's, the frozen sun. A magical tool that is said to grant the holder any wish they desired.

    This representative of the people was an orc battle matron, one fight to survive the harshness of the realm, and one with enough intellect to stand a chance of wavering through the foolish presumptions of the world regarding the inhabitants of the peaks. Her name is Drucilla Gra'burke, daughter of the chief and heir to the throne. She ventured from the mountains, watching as fire and war swept her home, the cries of the dying echoing deep into the forest along the norther slope. Failure was not an option, and time a luxury not on her side.

    This is where our story begins...In a way like many others, with a series of unforeseen events, and a little luck.

    To the north, thirty miles from the spine of the cosmos; a small and prosperous human town could be found. A thriving community of man and mer alike, where the two had put away their differences and subdued the earth. Hear the sirens of war and it's grinding gears had no place, oblivious of the looming death just south of them. The town of Eirbeck was secured by it's giant stone walls, it's guards well versed in combat ranging from the blade to the composite longbow. A new weapon combining the piercing power of the crossbow, with the speed and grace of the long bow. The locals here knew the orcs as warring barbarians, slaughtering all in their path. A misconception hailing from centuries past. But unlike the Gnolls and other tribal races; the orcs never took slaves and had a sense of honor. A code the dictated their every choice and policies.

    But here in the world of men, such things were not known. On foot she traversed the windy dirt path, boots stained and weighed by the mud of the road. Her toned and defined frame adorned in a set of light armor, a combination of leather, scale and segments of plated iron. Her jet black ponytail violently danced in the wind, as deep blue eyes defiant when compared to her oddly colored skin stood out. Fangs protruded from her full lips, as she used a stick she fashioned to close the gap between herself and this new world.

    Drucilla had heard stories of the world of men, a society of superstition and alien customs. A world where scholars, farmers, blacksmiths, soldiers and barmaids alike could survive. Her kin considered it a weak place, where one chooses their own fate. Marrying the woman they love, where many gods rule. A complete contrast to her own people, where fate is assigned and they love those they marry. The orc stronghold had one god, and one god alone. Yet despite this war driven society, a sense of chivalry and honor did linger within their holds.

    It was at this time that the guards noted her approached, with narrow eyes they struggled to make out the stranger. Rarely did they see travelers from the south, unless they were merchants. Yet this lone woman brought no cart, no guards and no wares. Replacing the question of what manner of being approached, with why she approached. It didn't take long for them to note her markings, colored skin and defined form. The grooves of her muscles were impressive, yet never pushing into the realm of amazon or man. Somehow remaining to remain feminine, for an orc she was soft on the eyes. Which caused the guards to momentarily doubt themselves; but it wasn't till they saw her fangs that her identity became clear.

    The bells rang, as the guards manned their stations, assuming her to be an orc scout for a raiding
    party. It had been fifty years since their last conflict, yet the hate and memory of a generation seldom dies with it. Drucilla knew not what to expect, yet the welcoming party of armed guards came as no shock. "What business does a foul orc have in our providence?" An elven guard questioned, the humans by his side having their composite bows at the ready. "I come from the spine of the Cosmos, I come bearing ill news. The world of Orc, Gnoll, Drow and Dwarf alike are threaten by an undead horde. Bone dragons took the skies, as the undead wave now seeks to conquer the mountain."

    The men paused, sensing no deception in her words. Equally shocked that she could speak so clearly and fluid, as they were about the news the messenger brought. "Why should we care about what happens to your people?" A human barked, it took every fiber of strength she possessed to maintain her bearing. Showing anger and rage would only worsen her already flaccid position. "For if you do not help, when we all fall...your world will surely be next. And who will come to your aid honorable guard?" She replied, a bold move that could end with a few arrows being lodged in her skull.

    But rather than violence, the men talked amongst themselves; finding the tapestry her proclamation and observations waved to be terrifying indeed. "You may enter pig, but if you prove a liar or dangerous, we shall cut you down." The elven commander threaten, waving her through. Drucilla found herself being escorted by several guards to the town square, where she was told to wait by the fountain of an elven man and a human woman naked, and in love. The founders of this world, a world in which the two races had become one.

    "Wait here, someone will be with you soon." The Elven commander concluded, the orc war matron offering him a nod of the head as she took root; sitting on the vacant bench. The weary and uneasy gaze of her escorts birthed tension so thick, that no blade could cut through it. Silence now stirred, as all she could do was wait....

    ((OOC: Anyone can jump in, but I humbly request you send me info regarding what role you wish your character to play, that way I can ensure the plot isn't derailed. Thank you and happy roleplayign my friends. <3))
    #1 The Underdark Rises, Sep 8, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 10, 2013
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  2. http://s165.photobucket.com/user/TrinityDemonia/media/Kitten Kaboodle/nightismylover.jpg.html

    Beads of perspiration dotted Ransom's brow as she perched in wait upon the rooftop of the tavern. Each salty teardrop would capture the silvery radiance of the orb which decorated the night sky, beautifully ornamenting her forehead in that of lunar dew. Earlier that day, as she mingled with the populace of the streets below her, She heard rumor of great riches that lay just beyond the massive mountains, the ill-prepared fools which had lost their lives in an attempt to stake claim to the glorious treasures which were guarded by colonies of terrifying dragons, and often other barbaric, humanoid species. Admittedly, fear did reside within her heart, but it could not quell such a strong desire for adventure and wealth. It would not defeat her. Those moonlit peaks beckoned to her, an ocean of silver upon the murky umbra of the dense forests. Orc communities populated those forests, and she felt a deep rooted dislike for them. The coils of smoke ascending the heavens were indistinguishable and became lost somewhere within the stark pitch of the firmament, she was ignorant to the flames which devastated the environment, devouring all life in its path.

    http://s165.photobucket.com/user/TrinityDemonia/media/Kitten Kaboodle/demonhands.jpg.html

    "Ara'hashna." An'iah beckoned, laughter surging up the demon woman's throat. "What will you do for your peoples now?" The horrified visage of the Orc youth was painted upon her milky gaze. "Your peoples are at -war.- The very heart of Orc existence will soon become black and withered, and it will cease to beat forevermore." The woman's unruly tresses seemed to undulate then, her blanched strands falling upon those around her like a scourge. The one known as Ara, for she possessed not the mental comprehension required to pronounce the remainder of her moniker, stared in awe as the baneful being brandished two wooden weapons, expertly crafted in the likeness of dragons. These mahogany mauls would be a medium for her demons to be loosed upon the world.
    #2 Daniella_Belli, Sep 8, 2013
    Last edited: Sep 8, 2013
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  3. The town was buzzing with news of the orc maiden who had wandered into town, both of her unusual intelligence and beauty, but as well as the troublesome venomous words that parted from her lips. Many of the locals considered them lies, finding it easier to accept it as an elaborate orc plot to invade, as oppose to the terrifying truth. As Drucilla remained perched in her bench, her keen sense of hearing could pick up on the idle gossiping. And though she couldn't see them, she could feel their barreling gaze focusing on her form through the stained glass windows of their homes. Like an ill omen she was kept at bay, the people opting to keep their distance out of fear she'd rip off their arms and beat them to death with it. A notion if brought to her attention, would only cause her to muse over the sadist brilliance of the thought

    The locals spoke of her as a brute, standing seven feet tall, ripped like a blacksmith with eyes colder than the unforgiving grip of death itself. They said that in her eyes lingered a savage flame, hatred toward mer and mortal kin alike. A chaotic creature who can only birth dissidence and woe among the people. The visage was baneful, the mental image petrifying as the ignorant and foolish peasants mustered the resolve to push such fears aside.

    Yet within the town were those that doubted the exaggerated tales; not out of compassion or understanding, but out of bigotry in a different light. Many considered orcs to be stupid, incapable of such devious and ingenious thoughts. After all what sort of savage could weave together such an insidious spell, such a ill plot? These folk chalked it up to nothing more than an inflated sense of fear, instigating the primal nature within us all. Even the guards that escorted her now whispered among each other, wondering why the orcs would send a woman with the news? While another retorted with the possibility of foul play, summing Drucilla as a scout sent to infiltrate and evaluate their defenses. This thought birthed a grin, and a soft chuckle.

    Orc's had no need for such treachery, such cheap tricks were considered below them; and against their sacred code. The code of stone, the very order of their society that permitted them to thrive as a people and a culture within the trying mountain ranges. Her people have never used such plots not because of a lack of intelligence, rather because it stood against everything they believed in. A truth that would elude most, if not all within these walls. Unlike this town, her stronghold had no need for walls. Their warriors and shamans were their first and last fortifications, few enemies were bold enough to attack a hold lightly. For the force of an orc war party with their war hounds was terrifying to behold indeed.

    In silence she waited, her foot tapping against the brick road as she pondered how long she would have to wait? Every minute wasted here, brought her people closer to destruction. In truth her kin were not afraid of dying in the battlefield, in fact such a fate was considered poetic and beautiful. What they feared was something else, the corruption of their corporeal shell by tainting it with foul necromancy. As a people Orc's tended to frown on spell casters, finding them to be squishy bag of meat good only for a gutting. The concept of having their able, sturdy and engineered bodies desecrated by becoming a soldier in their horde was the worst fate they could ever endure.

    Something that few could fully understand, let alone the world of man and elf.
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  4. Show Spoiler
    barbarian knight.jpg

    Congruus was visiting a town that was south of where he had normally ventured. It was their that he would look for a job that he felt suited his skill. Of course right now he was just about ready to take anything. His last job was over a month ago and his money was now running out. He just hoped the town would be in need of a mercenary... even if the job was easy and the pay was little. Slowly he progressed threw the town listening to the towns folk talk about some Orc that was ready to attack the town or trying to ask for assistance or... scouting for something or... well their were many things said about this Orcish woman. So many promising things said about this Orcish woman that he decided it was time to meet her. After asking a couple of villagers for directions he found himself at what looked to be the center of town. Off to the side sitting on a bench near a profane founding, was the woman he was looking for.

    Slowly Congruus strolled up to the Orcish woman ignoring the guards who looked at him with eyes full of suspicion. He stopped just a couple steps away from her as a small breeze blew over then. At first he didn't really know what to say, their were so many things said about this woman but most of the stories weren't true already. Honestly she wasn't anywhere near seven foot and her eyes were of worry not death. She wasn't yelling profanities or making a seen, rather she was sitting quite nicely on a bench where she was clearly told to stay. "Well now, you don't seem to be the seven foot monster I was looking for." His voice was ruff and deep from years of war cries as he ran into a battle head first only to have his sword brought around. "So then, whats the truth. You must have heard at least some of the rumors being spread around."

    He may have sounded like he was disrespectful to her but he talked to most people that way. He never thought of himself as better than anyone else or dominant in any way it was just how others used to talk to him and now it was a hard habit to break, possibly because no one ever complained to him. After all the other people he normally talked to were those whom were in desperate need of help or just passing by.

    As he waited for the answer another breeze blew again, this time lifting up some loose straps of his leather tasset and ruffling is hair again. His fists were curling and uncurling as if getting used to not holding anything in his hands but his eyes were dead focused her hers. He hoped he would have luck in finding a job threw her and if not... well he would just keep looking. Something however told him she needed help... if an Orc was to worry about something... or ask for assistance... well it must be something devastating.
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    The guard station was a buzz with the orcs news, scouts reported seeing columns of black smoke dancing above the misty peaks of the spine. This observation, combined with her sudden entrance only painted a woeful visage. If the undead horde were in fact real, and this was no orc trickery; then their small hold would be next. The brave men of the guard were divided, some denying the evidence chalking it up as another piece of the orc conspiracy, while others were not so quick to dismiss the harrowing tale woven by her words. As the guards became divided, they began to argue amongst each other, the elven commander from earlier only worsening the tension. Creating both an unprofessional and undisciplined environment.

    From the shadows a man stepped forward, wearing the dark leather attire and the dark blue cap of the special police task force of the empire. His emerald eyes as cold as they were rigid. His posture stern, his mere melting presence into the light enough to pause the disgusting display. Everything about this man demanded respect, proclaiming authority and power over all whom were in the room. This display though was not birthed from the frivolity of arrogance, rather wrought with it a sense of merited position. His name was Gerald, the leader of the wolves of Nabanouu. A special forces unit that was responsible for many victories, and assassinations during the bloody years of the revolution.

    "Commander, control your men!" He bellowed, instantly deafening the room as a silence now lingered heavily in the air. Calmly his eyes cautiously evaluated the state of the men, as well as their swift reply to his order. He needn't wait for the commander, for his authority was wholly recognized within this room. This had been the first time he had spoken since sent to investigate the strength and readiness of the hold and it's staunch protectors. "This is troublesome news indeed, but are we so weak as to let unconfirmed rumors destroy the order your fathers died to create? Will you spit on their graves at the sight of death and danger, when they so readily charged into the fray without selfish regard for their own well being? I would hope not..."

    He paused, before continuing to scold them with a tongue as sharp as the keen blade resting on his hip. "Men of the guard, if this ill news be true then we should welcome the chance to die with honor. As oppose to whine with the cards fate has dealt us, I shall speak with this Orc. If her words prove true, if I sense no deceit then we shall decide our next course carefully yet swiftly." Without hesitation, or regard for his life or station the elven commander spoke out against Gerald. "And what if her words prove to be lies?" Those emerald eyes become frigid and defiant, as they locked on the man. Those potent irises seemed to suck the warmth right from his slender, brittle body. "If this is the case...then I will kill her myself."

    His words spoken with conviction, a matter of fact like aura drenching each syllable. It would seem that this man was indeed the wolf of legend, the killer with little o no clemency when it came to dispatching his targets. If war was indeed an art, and battle a dance; then he was it's rightful master.

    Drucilla had grown tired of waiting, yet still kept up the illusion of her patience. Like all orc's she was inherently thin skinned, her tolerance almost nonexistent when it came to such things. Add in the fact for every minute wasted here, more and more of her kinsmen were dying at the hands of the undead horde. Her blue eyes drifting toward a man, who without fear dared to approach her despite her armed escorts. She had never heard of a human with such courage, courage bordering on suicide. The armed escorts brandished their blades;pointing them his way. As the unmistakable hoarse friction of steel grinding against steel penetrated the normal clamor of the town. Despite this both her and the strange man remained unmoved by this display of force.

    Cautiously she listened to his words, her eyes narrowing as a subtle smirk now adorned her feminine face. A monster, standing seven feet tall with the fire of an unquenchable thirst for blood eh? Most might be offended by such claimed, but Drucilla Gra'burke was flattered. For it meant that she had power and influence, enough so to evoke fear in their hearts without so as much as moving a muscle. At the same token this meant that diplomacy would be harder, seeing how everyone already created a false image about her. A heavy sigh dared to part from her lips, as she offered the guards a firm nod. As if to convey the fact that neither her nor this stranger meant them any harm or offense.

    The gesture served it's purpose, as the men now sheathed their blade permitting them to once more to cling to their hips. "I have no interest in idle gossip, my mission is not to win popularity contest. I have come with a message and an olive branch. In the very least, if my people should fall than these folk may still have time to flee." She paused, considering the weight of the consequences her words might birth. "I am not seven foot tall, nor am I a monster. I would like to view myself as an independent, strong beautiful maiden who knows how to hold her mead." She jested, chuckling at the humor of her own words.

    "What of you? Few approach me; why is it you do so nonchalant like?" Her diction, fluid pronunciation of the common tongue contradicted the tales most spun about her kind. For an orc, for even a warrior she seemed well educated and awfully considerate; perhaps too much so.
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  6. The streets, alive with the almost melodic rhythm of chatter, and the cadence of movement upon the cobbled and dirt paths, summoned Ransom from her slumber. She reached for her drab green cloak which resembled the forest floor, and her wooden bowl, in preparing for her routine. She would first guise herself as one of the destitute which seemed to overwhelm the alleyways, soot gathered from extinguished fires as to filthy her skin and clothes, her steely gaze drifting toward the moth eaten, tattered garb she donned to further add proof to the illusion of a sad predicament. She swindled both prince and pauper, offering no discrimination to those which were suffering adversity. Travelers often brought rare trinkets and treasures available only in other regions, sometimes new forms of currency. She wished to obtain a firm grasp upon shining and tarnished coin alike. Surely the newcomers would appreciate her relieving them of some items, in essence easing the weighty burdens they would have to lug about on their ventures.

    Ransom was named for something far more sinister than mere deceptions, when the masses became savvy to her scamming nature, she would abduct the children of those in positions of importance, and would offer their safe return only upon receiving a pretty hefty compensation for her efforts. She purchased plenty of parchment as to scrawl cryptic notes to the dignitaries, showing no preference of race in the children she exploited in such a manner. Ransom realized that Elves, Orcs, Dwarves and Human seemed to display the same desperation in wanting their offspring returned to them without consequence. So, she seemed to be an Equal Opportunist when it came to those kind of dealings. As she made her daily rounds, she heard the buzz about an Orc Shaman's arrival. She found the orc race to be detestable as a whole, but realized that she shouldn't condemn them in haste. She assumed this 'Orc' to be an elder of her peoples, some authoritative figure at least. Did she have any children of her own? Or, was she considered an overseer to all of the youths of her kind? She would have to exercise a clever tongue as to try to score any information from this one. Ransom beheld her reflection in the tiny, oval mirror with a wink.

    "Almost show time." She would occupy her room a few moments longer, piecing together the final touches of her pathetic looking appearance. A truly malodorous aroma seemed to cling to each strand of her once sweet scented tresses, its style mimicking one of careless maintenance. She would not ignore even what seemed the most trivial of details, fashioning her person into the likeness of one suffering ailment because of poverty. In truth, she lived in a lap of luxury, but it only brought her an empty satisfaction. The thrill, the exhilaration that surged through her form whenever she pulled the wool over the eyes of her marks was of greater meaning to her than anything she could buy.
  7. Much to his surprise she seemed to be easy with words so listened to her every last comment. She seemed to be beating around the bush however, she mentioned that they were in danger but from what? After a second or two of thinking he figured she was talking about some big war and as he recalled some one was talking about undead hordes. Her pause gave him just enough time to figure things out, just when he started to pay attention to her again she started off saying how she was no seven foot beast... which quite honestly was true. She indeed was beautiful, for an Orc that is, and was definitely independent. After looking over at her a second time he would tell it was no lie that she was strong and as for her little joke... "Well, we will just have to test that theory." He smiled a little as she chuckled at her own words, for she was chuckling before he even spoke.

    When she went off to ask what he was doing here he answered "I'm a sell sword. Guess I found a good town to be in." Looking up at the guards who were clearly still not pleased that they were talking to one another he sighed, "If you want my assistance we will have to talk later. Looks like your baby sitters still don't like the fact that I'm hanging around." He glanced back up at the guards then walked over to a building and leaned against it, keeping a good distance away from her but also still able to see her in hopes she would be aloud to leave and he would get a pay check for fighting in some war. That was sure to pay good money, especially if he became a 'war hero'. He could probubly accomplish that...
  8. Drucilla could tell that this human male was annoyed by her stubborn will to dance around the true issue. She felt it best to leave out the details to a sell sword, for those that sell their blade can be purchased to fight against you. In her home land such warriors are frown on, a sign of weakness if themselves or their enemy were to hire their blade. So naturally their was a bit of hesitation in trusting this one; though she would be lying to herself if Drucilla claimed she didn't find his first impression to be contradictory toward the tales of her people. A flimsy smirk now crept on her full lips as the male mentioned "Testing" the rumors. To an orc, even a female orc; the notion o proving ones valor was a metaphorical Aphrodite. And the overcoming of such test, no matter how trivial a display of one's worth in the natural order of our world.

    "Perhaps one day we will..." She purred, musing over his words once more. A fire erupting in her eyes, but before much else could be said the male was gone. Retreating to a nearby wall where he'd perch himself. Undoubtedly to avoid unnecessary bloodshed with her kind escorts. Who to be frank, were a bit annoyed by his presence. In their eyes it was bad enough they had to watch over the pig, now they also had to keep a keen eye on this mercenary. "See what you've done...you've scared off my company." She jested, her words evoking not even a flinch in their facial muscles.

    The once lively men froze in their place as they saw both the commander of the guard and a the representative exit from the mouth of their headquarters. Casually the orc battle matrons eyes averted their gaze toward them, finding the frigid and stern posture of the strange man to be foreboding. Despite his tiny frame when compared to the males of the mountains; Drucilla could sense that his muscles were honed to kill. His sol one drenched and tested on the battle field countless time. "Who is he?" she dared to question; as the wolf of Nabanouu spoke at great lengths with the commander of the guards outside.

    The armed escorts slowly looked at her, not knowing the best way to reply. "Well is his presence alone enough to remove your once sharp tongue, and balls?" She questioned, the men clearing his throat before weaving an appropriate response. "That man is Gerald, he is an elite soldier within the empire. They say he is the only survivor of his clan, the last great slayer of men to draw breathe after the great civil war." The way he spoke of the man, both of fear and admiration; made the orc ponder a great deal. Did this human see him as a monster? Or perhaps, just maybe as something more, something along the lines of a God?
  9. "Relinquish the ownership of your valuables!" The quite disheveled Ransom stepped out into view, separating herself from the wall of shadows which seemed a living entity, as her own vessel was but the sentience, the heart and soul of the essence of darkness that seemed to permeate the the venous-like network of streets and alleyways of the town. "Don't waste your efforts. I've naught that would warrant attraction of a greedy gaze, penury makes for quite a sufficient ward against the likes of pilferage." The youth sighed, as the airy tendrils of the umbral veil retreated from him and a few stray rays of sunlight made a rather welcome appearance onto the scene, streaking his pudgy face in a varying degrees of illumination. "I've only the hat on my head, dingy and lice -riddled, and the fraying fabrics which clad my nakedness." He announced in truth, attempting to repel any further action she may take against him.

    "I've not truly supped in days, save for random crumb. It makes for an inadequate sustenance, for certain. Wrestling your vittles away from the rats, well, quells the appetite for a while so I suppose such a thing exists as small miracles." The child turned away, and a stern gust of wind would pluck the garment which crowned him as its prize. He looked on with astonishment, which would then wane to a sad resignation. He felt no particular reason to give chase, as this would result in him becoming fatigued and sweaty. The hat wasn't worth all the trouble, although its aerobatics were rather comical. He let out a another sigh, turning his head over a shoulder as to spy Ransom. "I suppose the wind beat you to the punch." He chuckled some, before leaving her company as to amble toward the townsquare.

    "Wretched breeze, why must you thwart my endeavors?" She growled under her breath, the deepening silver of her gaze would hide beneath the narrowing of her eyelids. Ransom would then reflect on the child's words, as they seemed to hold the truth and wisdom of someone that exceeded his age by many years. "Vapid vacancy of wealth, why do you haunt these streets so?" Her voice would assault the heavens, her hands thrusted toward the vastitude of azure hue above her as in a pose of supplication. "I admit, that such a plague was provoked of my own doings, but I cannot continue my trade without riches to beckon me!" Sinking to her knees, she would weep in open palm. Her melodramatics seemed to entertain none but the Gods, for no other stirred about in her vicinity, that she knew of. "Oh, the egregious errors of frivolously spent funds, such an atrocity has befallen me! Abhorrent and unforgivable to bring such deficit upon myself!" Her wails would reverberate against the unyielding stone which walled two buildings, crashing upon itself and overlapping as the cacophony began to grow in decibel, taking residence in the space between them.
    #9 Daniella_Belli, Sep 12, 2013
    Last edited: Sep 12, 2013
  10. Her cries reverberated throughout the alleyway, resonating like a whisper to most within the center. Casually the wolf shifted his eyes, as his ears twitched to the influence of her plea. The armed guards by his side seemed far too busy worrying about their fate, to so as much lift a finger for her cause. But Gerald was not one to ignore a plea, for it is as his brothers said during the war "Slay Unnecessary Evil." If he were to turn around and act as if nothing transpired, then he would become the worst of men...a Hypocrite. "You act as if you can't hear her plea?" He whispered, the commander of the guard turning to face him, his face riddled with confusion. "Do we not have bigger issues?" He rightly retorted, pointing out the obvious. "Soldiers who fail to fulfill their duties during trying times are nothing more than children dressed in armor, swinging their sword as if life were a mere game." His words frigid like ice, sucking the color from the elven male. Without so much as waiting for a response the wolf of Nabanouu stepped off from the men, making his way toward the woman. "Halt!" The commander ordered, hoping to impart his authority over Gerald. "A man who betrays his principles has no power over me, wait here like a coward; I shall return momentarily." He replied, flicking his wrist toward the man as if shooing a fly.

    There he found her, dropped to her knees as tears ran down her porcelain cheeks. The beads of her lament doing little to flatter her ivory like skin, which seemed rather youthful for those that inhabit this region. From the shadows he'd melt into her sight, his right hand grasping the hilt of his blade. As his fingers dared to drum against it. "Such a sight can not be permitted to exist. Whatever your plight stand; use your strong legs to carry on." His words harsh, like a scolding father with little empathy toward her fuzzy wuzzy feelings. Gerald had always been the type of man to say it like it appeared before him, with little regard toward personal feelings or beliefs. "People often claim woe and misery...the only problem is people often are full of shit. If you have no purpose than follow me; I assure you will find a reason to rise." He concluded, offering the stranger a sly ol' grin. Not knowing whether she'd follow or remain on her knees he'd step forward, making his way back toward the commander of the guards; whose face seemed red with rage.

    "Why did you not do as I ordered!" He barked like a ravenous hound, undoubtedly offended that his men looked up at the wolf rather than their master. "Stay your tongue mer! A mongrel dog without the backbone to bite, has no right to bark. If you wish to control me, then draw your sword and let us see which man remains standing alive. Otherwise I suggest you still your wailing tongue, the stench of your hot breath nauseates me." With eye lids closed he'd chuckle, painting with his mind the visage of a small pup barking at a alpha wolf. The commander looked toward his comrades for support, but not a single one dare get involve or even look his way. With disgrace he closed his flapping lips, keeping his emotions bottled up for the moment. "Wise pup, now shall we be on our way to this "More important" business you seem to care for so much." He concluded, ignoring the elven commander entirely from this point till they closed the gap between them and the orc.

    Drucilla watched as they approached, she observed as the visible display for authority had transpired. She would be lying if she said she didn't respect Gerald, or if she had no fear toward him. In truth she admired him; finding his unwavering resolve and intoxicated presence to be reminiscing of the strongest orc chief; a rare compliment to be bestowed on any human. "Is this she?" he questioned, one of her armed escorts nodding his head. Unable to muster the strength to speak aloud. "And the male?" He continued, gracing the sell sword with a rigid stare; the likes of which any man would be hard press to ignore. "He is just a sell sword, no doubt here to cash in on the upcoming battle." Another guard managed to blurt out, As the wolf's eyes locked on him. "Are any of us different?" He questioned, causing the escort to arch a brow. "Yes, we are different. We do not fight for whoever offers the most coin, we don't fight for profit!" The fool spoke with conviction, all the meanwhile Drucilla could only watch as what was surely to occur enveloped the scene entirely.

    "Oh? So you fight selflessly? Fool! Some men fight for coin, others for glory and honor. It makes no difference, all fight for some payment." He concluded the debate with a profoundly truthful statement; that left his adversary dumbfounded and mute. "Battle Matron, weave your tale one more time if you don't mind." The title he spewed forth may seem unimportant to most. But Drucilla understood that it was his way of informing her of his knowledge regarding her people. As if he had danced with them before in combat. "Some time ago the Lich of the frozen tundra stirred. An insipid army of undead, necromancer and dragons marched through the region...Slaying all in their sight." She paused, flinching as the imagery of her home being burnt flashed before her minds eye. "I doubt the Orcs have fallen, and I pray not." He spoke, as if to comfort her. One of the Escorts questioned aloud, "What makes you say that? They are just savages; hardly an organized army!" His bigotry turning both Gerald's and Drucilla's stomach, the wolf out of disgust and the orc out of anger.

    "If the Orc's have fallen, then your town will as well. Next to their military yours is a militia of farmers." He counter attacked, speaking matter of fact like before averting his attention where it belonged, toward Drucilla. "Please continue and Pardon the bigot." Drucilla mused over this man, how strange and different he seemed compared to most of his kind. In his eyes she could see a warrior, one who had buried himself in the bosom of death many times. Yet there was a sadness about them, like a blade that was cracked full of regret and woe. But she dared not lose track of her mind for long. "They took out the town at the base, slaying the dwarves, mer and humans who inhabited it's walls. Within a few days their army blotted the once crisp scenery of my home land. United we now are, but I fear without aid we stand little chance at pushing them back."

    An orc rarely crawls for help and even more rare do they admit a fight may be beyond their means. This painted a baneful story, a daunting tale corrosive in nature eating away at the resolve of not just Drucilla, but even the human and Mer guards. Gerald glanced at the mercenary, waving for him to come forward and join them. "If you will...Please join us." He paused, knowing that they'd need every hand trained to hold a stick, let alone a sword. "You seek money no? A job, glory and immortality in the pages of history? Than help us, and you will find all that and more." Drucilla glanced at the sell sword, then at the wolf. "You speak as if victory is assured?" She replied, her eyes glancing down at the blades of grass beneath her feet. "Nothing is certain, only death. Whether it be us, or the undead and their Necromancers I do not know; nor care. When faced with a lion you must fight." The Wolf of Nabanouu stated. The commander now interrupted Gerald's words, trying to seem wise. "But the odds are against us. Would it not be better to let her kind fall, use the time to flee. So through their deaths we may live?" His words causing the other guards to whisper amongst themselves, divided on this point.

    "I never knew women, Children and their men can out run a horde that needs no rest, food or isn't impaired by the elements? Flee, and you will surely be hunted and gutted like the cowards you are!" Her orc rage getting the best of her, for his plan was revolting in her eyes. "It is as she says; do not fret you can kill a lion with a spoon. You just need to know where and when to strike, as well as a bit of luck." He spoke with a sense of optimism staining his tongue. Albeit false or genuine, Drucilla couldn't deduce.
    #10 The Underdark Rises, Sep 14, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 14, 2013
  11. Congruus looked up when he heard the sobs of a woman but he already figured he had no means of helping her, plus, he might lose out on a contract that he desperately needed, he had no time to worry about others. The commander of the guard, or at least the man whom seemed to be in charge, seemed to answer the same way but... well he at least had means, or could spare at least one man to check on who ever was sobbing in the alleyway. To his surprise a man, whom seemed to be generally respected, even feared, set off himself to see what was ailing the woman. Congruus sighed, he was ready to get a contract and have a warm meal and now this shows up. He hoped the woman was crying over something that couldn't be helped or, at the very least, something that was quite simple to solve.

    When Gerald returned the commander started in on it again but was quickly shut up. The clearly feared man had quite the way with words. He smiled a little, this man certainty was an interesting guy, one he wouldn't mind raising his sword for. Gerald started making his way over to the Orc he had talked to moments before as the commander still shown visible anger. Again a smile managed to creep onto his lip for a second or so. Everything that this man did, did not surprise him but yet at the same time it was unexpected. Gerald then looked up at him and met his gaze. The guard said something about him being a sell sword and went on to talk about how they didn't join which ever side gave them the most coin. It was insulting, yes he joined in causes for coin but he still had honor. Again, however, Gerald surprised him and honestly Congruus agreed with the man fully. No one joined a war for no reason, not even the legally insane.

    The Orc started to speak, after directed to of course, and spoke of an undead hoard, necromancers, a lich, and dragons. This was truly worrisome, such a large and powerful army wouldn't be easy to take down. Still something about the situation gave him excitement. A war, tons of enemies and danger, this was definitely going to pay well and if he makes it back alive he would be able to pick up jobs left and right. For a second time Gerald looked up at him, however this time he motioned him to step forward. It was strange to have a man of such respect do such to him, a sell sword, but honestly he wasn't going to turn down the request. Standing up and walking at such a pace where it didn't seem like he was rushing to get over to them but at the same time he had some swift sense of urgency as well. He didn't have to say a word, as soon as he was close enough the man began to speak. Right away Congruus heard the word money and he was already in. The last bit of it sounded nice, probubly more than just to him, but it was unnecessary. He simply nodded as the Orc began to speak again. This time he paid more attention, it was all about to directly affect him.