Topic Twilight Patrols ((Closed/Structured RP)) 3
Edited by Molvrasis on 3/5/12 3:18 AM (PST)
To say the situation looked bleak was to be an understatement. His body nearly drained of all strength and mana and the poison spores constantly trying to force him into unconciousness, the mage continued to hold his arcanic prison for however long he could. This kind of thing seemed to happen to far too much, even when he was fighting with others; though he was used to fending for himself he knew of his own limitations and this was undoubtedly too much for him to handle.
He couldn't help but think back to the time something like this happened in Northrend; he was pursued by knights of death and cornered in a dead forest. The outlook seemed just as hopeless as it did here, however that was when he first met the patrol when they came at the last second to-
The loud screeching noise pulled the mage's attention up to a display of chaos and panic as the troggs darted about in several directions to avoid blasts of shadowy death coming their way. His fading vision caught sight of a lone figure in the air raining this unholy power on them; the bird creature that had been accompanying Sylvanora, though his name escaped the prone mage.
Sometimes, only sometimes, the blood elf thought his life was being written as a story; this timing was far too perfect. Not to say he was complaining.
Blessing his luck and nodding to the bird-man, Varonus focused his mana into one last spell as his attackers were still gathered around his shield and (first making sure Kethrilk was out of range) brought his palm forward with what little strength he could muster. The shield over him surged outward in a wide blast, knocking back any trogg unfortunate enough to stand in its path of travel. Before it would reach Kethrilk it faded from view as Varonus's mana reserves were completely depleted and the poison once again began to rack his body. His vision slowly hazed over as he let out another coughing fit, fighting with all he could to stay awake. He wasn't sure he would be opening his eyes again should he pass out.
He fell to a seating position, his back against the rocky wall behind him as he looked up to his bird-man ally, holding a portion of his robes over his mouth to attempt to breath.
Fenris was standing in a small ring of Earthen warriors that he had gathered together, the stone dwarves fighting with a vigor that made Fenris proud to be fighting alongside them. He cut out at another Trogg trying to break their defenses and the stony beast was shattered beneath the combined strikes of a few Earthen and Fenris. Howling in rageful glee, the Worgen Warrior turned to survey the small cluster of warriors he had accumulated and wondered where everyone else was. It was then that the mushrooms again started to fly and the poisonous clouds of gas that they emitted forced Fenris to his knees. Violently coughing the Worgen warrior watched through watery eyes as the Troggs appeared out of the dust riding on the backs of stone basilisks and started picking the Earthen off slowly.
Fenris could do nothing his body starting to die from the amount of poisonous gas that was in the air. His hands groping at his side pouch trying to reach in and grab the anti-venom and anti-poison injectors he had. It felt like an eternity to the warrior as he reached in and grasped the syringe and slowly slammed it into his neck, the green liquid quickly entering his blood stream and as it did Fenris felt his body return to normal. Gasping and coughing, Fenris slowly got to his feet and started getting back in the fight. “Fight on! Show them no mercy!” Fenris howled, roaring non-stop now to try and bolster the dwindling number of Earthen warriors who were with him and to hopefully draw the attention of others to come and aid them. Fenris knew they could not keep this up forever…
1 Human Warrior
After watching Krieg start to tend t the wounded, Jeramayan mounted Lily and the duo began to move towards the front lines at a steady clip. The battle lines were know a good ways away from the earthen city, so Jeramayan allowed himself to relax slightly. As Lily kept up a even paced canter, Jeramayan’s mind began to drift. “Finally!” Jeramayan’s thought to himself. “I’ve almost found the Borean Patrol. I wish I had been able to join with them before my foray into the army.” As his time with the army came to the front of his mind, a sour taste began to build in his mouth.
“Damn nobles can’t stay focused on the big picture,” the young man whispered. “How many good men died against the horde? How many of my brothers did I have to bury on a foreign battlefield when the real enemy soared through the sky laying waste to all in his path….” As the words began to tumble from his mouth Jeramayan grew increasingly angry. Before the anger grew any more however, he was wrenched from his reverie, by the most ear piercing of sounds. As he looked in the direction of the battle lines, the origin of the noise, he thought he was seeing a mirage. As the squeal of stone grinding upon stone ceased, the entire line in front of him disappeared…
After a moment of dumbfounded shock, the sound wave smashed into the young man’s senses. A deafening roar, of massive boulders and plates of stone falling left Jeramayan temporarily deafened. As it wore off the realization hit him. The cliff must have caved in upon itself. With this thought fresh in his mind, Jeramayan whipped lily into a full gallop to cover the distance. Reaching top speed in seconds, Jeramayan reached the edge of the devastation. Vaulting from his horse, Jeramayan was overawed by the carnage he saw. Bodies were strewn everywhere writhing in pain. The groans of the wounded and dying assaulted his senses, but what spurned him into action was an execution.
In what seemed like slow motion, a medium sized trogg, shambled over to a half buried earthen and with a malicious smile smashed in his skull. Rage began to boil in his blood, “Have the beast no honor, no code of ethics?” Jeramayan raged in his mind, “To execute a defenseless man is inexcusable.” With a howl Jeramayan launched his considerable body mass at the trogg. To his dismay, the trogg didn’t shrink away from the mountain of flesh and anger that was barreling down upon it. With the ease of a skilled warrior, the stone enemy sidestepped Jeramayan and readied his defensive on the high ground.
As Jeramayan sailed past, he converted his momentum into a tight roll, which allowed him to spring to his feet facing the trogg. Slowly now he advanced upon the stone devil. The two turned in a half circle, both appraising the other for weakness. What ensued was a beautiful but deadly dance. The two beings one of flesh and one of stone, moved in and out, slashed and parried, but in the end Jeramayan stood over his partner victorious. With a deep breath, Jeramayan turned to the corpse of the earthen. Bending down he placed his hand upon the dead beings shoulder and spoke in a reverent voice. “May the light bless you and watch over you in the afterlife, unjustly was your life snuffed out, but you shall live on in the lives of those who still live.”
Awkwardly he stood up and looked around. He wasn’t sure if this being even believed in the light, or if he was even a part of it since he was made from stone, however the words had felt right when he had said them. Before he could think further upon the matter, a opportunistic trogg attempted to strike him while he was in attentive, the stone fiend paid for it with his life.
The stone mace collided with Jeramayan’s shoulder, driving him down to one knee. Reversing the grip on his long swords, Jeramayan impaled the trogg upon it. Turning around he stared deeply into the creature’s eye sockets as the life drained from them. For a moment, he wondered if this creature had felt fear as he died, if he had a family or loved ones… No… it didn’t matter. Now they were the enemy, invading unjustly and attempting to destroy his world.
Sloughing the corpse from his blade, he stood over the dead creature. “I take no joy in your death, but to save my family, I will crush anyone who stands in my way beneath my steel boot. With that Jeramayan sprung into action looking for the next trogg to kill.
Edited by Meep on 3/12/12 3:56 AM (PDT)
Deepholm rallied under the leadership of Fenris, their wounded remnants were rising on weary legs and shambling under his passionate banner. Their lieutenants, their leaders, their generals, most if not all were dead and lost under masses of rock. Therazane had forsaken them, had buried them beneath a storm of rock and fury and left them scattered in a poisonous forest of foreign intruders, dying to enemies they could not see. Yet Fenris, and the Patrol gave them hope, fighting on despite death being the very air they breathe.
Vimmi saw them stand through fractured sight, she was separated through thick oceans of poisonous cloud, great hulking and bending mushrooms and rubble. She stumbled, but still stood and tried to lift an arm, any arm to support herself on but neither would respond. She coughed, she felt blood rising in her throat, acidic disease chewing through her flesh and she felt her legs weakening and it took all her will not to fall.
Her lips would not respond, not even for a single command. The others rushed about, they still fought and they still fell and they did it all not for her but for their cause. They would spend their dying breath fighting for the cause, they would give their life for it. With a growl of defiance, Vimmi forced her living arm up into the air and held a rock to stabilize herself, if they would give their life she would give -ten- of hers.
And then the dam of disease and poison broke open, figuratively, and out poured a torrent of immense fungal giants. Crashing through the forest with enough force to shake the very ground, the monstrous bubbling creatures lashed out at mushrooms and warriors alike, throwing earthen into the air and stomping those around their feet. Wherever one moved, or swung, or died, noxious poison seethed out of them... Vimmi could feel her lungs on fire.
One broke from the forest and charged straight towards her, and at that point it did not matter that Vimmi had shifted her stance to a stronger one. It did not matter that she had raised her shield, it did not matter that she had set her teeth and closed her eyes and prepared for the blow. When the huge mushroom-textured arm slammed into her body, she was tossed like a ragdoll into the nearest wall, and slumped gracelessly to the ground.
It did not stop.
The ground thundered once more, and Vimmi didn't even -try- to roll before the fist came down again. The sound of her bones cracking was mostly muffled under the din of combat, she was just a single gnome in a sea of bloodshed and death. She could not see anymore, her head was spinning and one of her eyes was forced shut or blinded, she could not tell. Hot blood welled up beneath her armour and she tried to shuffle back before the next blow.
Through the haze of poison, she was granted a brief reprieve as the giants fist missed and crumbled a large section of rock to her left, she had a few more seconds to live. As Vimmi slipped one eye open, she felt her very internal organs making their final peace, and she saw the malevolent stare of the monstrous being above her. It rose both arms into the air, and with an inhumane cry tensed up and went to bring them down.
Edited by Meep on 3/12/12 3:59 AM (PDT)
But through battered eyelids, Vimmi witnessed a shadow of thunder cross her prone position, and the furious form of Verra once again saved her from an untimely death. The crackle of wyvern tore open the horrid flesh of the giant and moved too fast for it to catch. Within a series of quick movements, the giant was thrown back against a mushroom and Verra landed on the ground dripping with bile but still furious and healthy.
“Bin mog g'thazag cha,” Verra snapped, her eyes locking with Vimmi's for a long moment. It was then, that the wyvern took her stand between the giant and the gnome, and her fur rose on end and her throat lowered to a hellish growl.
Vimmi could only watch, powerless to lift any of her limbs as the battle played out. Her fingers clasped desperately at her belt but she had no potions to help her. She had no weapon, her shield lay just out of reach even if she could have lifted either of her arms, and her chest lay battered and broken heaving gulps of air, and her whole form was splattered with most of her blood. Raggedy breathes stumbled out of her lips.
Verra fought well, but she was just a simple creature against something almost ten times her size. It eventually got her. There was a struggle, a squirming, as two large fungal infested tree-trunk arms lifted Verra up into the air. Her wounded wings flapped and her body wriggled, but she could not escape its grasp. Her cries were the loudest, not of fear or of defeat but of a pure bestial defiance even in the face of death.
Tears welled up in the Gnomish Commanders eyes as with a moment of agony the fungal giant broke her oldest and closest ally, the snap of her spine ricocheted off the rocks in the area and pierced into Vimmi's heart just a little stronger. Then with a childlike nature, the monster discarded her remains carelessly to the side. The body of the wyvern fell into a dignified yet so damaged slump and the murderer turned its disease and poison ridden eyes once more to the defeated Commander. Vimmi could do nothing, she could only feel her eyelids droop and her body slowly begin to shut down.
The darkness crawled in from all around her, and despite all her will and all her strength, her instincts and her passion, she could not stay conscious. The fungal giant thudded forward towards her body, it's only instinct to kill and to break.
Waraila and Perfection had discovered something eerie, yet there were no traces or paths, breadcrumbs or signs for what they were looking for. The -scene- was crafted by a master, someone who knew what they were doing and knew how to hide their tracks, it was if the cultists themselves too had no idea what was going on as they still patrolled their small hunk of rock carelessly. They would be easy for the talented to avoid.
As Waraila exited the tent however, a figure stepped out of the shadows. It was entirely possible she had spotted it before it moved, and if she hadn't she would definitely notice it as it shambled forward towards her. It was a humanoid, however it was definitely not alive and definitely not acting of its own free will. It was a male, a human too, dressed in peculiar garb. It wore not the purple and runic robes of a typical cultist, but a set of black leather more associated with the SI:7. There was another curiosity to it. It may have been the two crossbow bolts embedded inside of its skull, one through the eye and one execution style through the side of the head. Blood dripped from the wounds, unnaturally slow as if something was keeping it flowing.
It opened its mouth but all that emerged was a hiss. It held out its hand, and inside was revealed to be a crumbled piece of parchment splattered with its own blood. Yet upon opening, a very clear and elegant scrawl would be presented upon it. That is, if the Patrol members had stayed their hands that long in front of the zombified agent. As they read the note, it stared unblinkingly forward, its remaining eye shimmering with what could have been tears or some other internal liquid.
I am not very good at hiding.
After reading or taking the letter from him, the wounded messenger would then turn and point far ahead through the camp towards a rocky rise, upon which stood a large tent. It was similar to the command tent, yet larger. It did not however look as important, perhaps it was a sleeping area or a training ground. It did not matter, the SI:7 Agent simply stood there slack-jawed with one arm pointing towards the tent in the distance.
((3/3: That enough? Get to said tent and I'll give you more to work with. ))
Fenris’ eyes widened as he saw the charging fungal giants and before he could even cry an order to break rank one barreled through their lines and sent them flying. Fenris landed in a heap of black steel and fur, cursing under his breath as he started to get up and took stock of the situation. The fungal giants were not many in number but they were massive and hard to kill, but that was not what caught Fenris’ attention now. What caught his attention was the Commander being thrown like a tiny doll across the swampy ground by a fungal giant and the mighty wyvern Verra coming to her aid. Fenris knew the outcome of the fight long before it started and it pained him to watch a fellow hunter die in such a manner.
When Verra’s roar of defiance pierced the sky, Fenris felt a deep kinship that should not have existed but did simply because he was just as much a beast as the wyvern. As her spine was snapped Fenris realized he would never get to thank and honor the wyvern for saving his life earlier and it enraged the warrior. Standing to his full height and discarding his battle-ax Fenris drew his twin-blades and roared so loud that it echoed across the stone and mushrooms that surrounded the embattled Earthen, Troggs and fungal giants. This was not war, this was a slaughter and Fenris hated slaughters, images of his homeland falling to the Forsaken came to mind and it enraged the Worgen even further.
Charging forward the Worgen warrior was a blur of black against the fungal landscape as he moved to interpose himself between Vimmi and the fungal giant who had destroyed a fellow predator. Fenris pushed past Troggs that were trying to kill the downed Earthen fighters who were even now struggling to survive. But Fenris didn’t care anymore; he was going to bring that giant down or die trying. Reaching Vimmi, Fenris sprang into the air and channeled his rage and choler into the jump so that he went flying heroically to try and land on the giant’s shoulder. “NOW YOU DIE!” Fenris cried as he flew through the air, his swords ready to pierce through the giant’s spongy flesh and tear it apart and turn the monster into swiss cheese.
85 Blood Elf Death Knight
Edited by Distopia on 3/12/12 2:52 PM (PDT)
The rocks came down upon her body, only the small amounts of plate armor providing any protection from the down pour of stone. She felt the stones overcoming her and all went to blackness for Lynara Leafblade. She could tell she was conscious, but she could not see. She had been buried in a rock grave, and it terrified her. Panic began to sink in as she thrashed and struggled to shift the stones, than she saw light. Forcing more rock out of the way Lynara as able to make a hole that she could squeeze through, and she did. She grabbed her bow, thanking Elune that it had not been damaged in the rock slide.
She stood up, cracking her neck twice as she looked over the battle field. She immediately coughed upon inhaling the toxic particles from the mushrooms. She could hardly breathe well, as she wrapped another piece of cloth over her face, she had to tear some more from her shirt off in order to do it.
When her focus returned she noticed the giant mushrooms and the mushroom giants. “By Elune, Commander!” She shouted as she fired an arrow at the mushroom giant that was smacking Vimmi about. The wyvern was dead and now the worgen was attacking the giant. Then she heard a rumbling to her left. Cursing that her eye was useless she turned her head to see a mushroom giant charging right at her as well. It literally ran over he few Earthen in front of it as it came at her. She drew her bow and fired an arrow that had even less effect against them than against the stone troggs. The creature barreled into her, smashing its fist right into her gut, sending her flying against the stone wall. Lynara felt a piercing pain in her back as she let out a gasp of pain.
She watched the mushroom giant grab her and lift her into the air. There was no time for thinking, this monster was more than likely going to rip her in half and she could not reach her bow. She grasped at her arrows and taking two handfuls of them, stabbed them into the creatures body, that is when one of them exploded, causing the fragile pile of rocks above them to come raging down.
As the party fell under the weight of the enraged fungal giants, the poisonous vapor of the mushroom forest seeping over them, it seemed the tides had turned for the worst. The wyvern Verra, having fallen so valiantly and heroically, had only been able to stem the tide of the giants' attacks for a brief moment. Fenris and others of the patrol had charged into battle against them, though their commander was still out of commission from their previous assault.
The massive creatures continued their fight against the patrol, but soon as they stomped their way across the battlefield a new figure appeared in the skies, rapidly approaching them.
Alvanar let loose a powerful roar of battle as he crashed his heavy body into that of a fungal giant about to set upon Fenris and his fellows, wrestling it to the ground and tearing into it with his razor talons. As the bronze drake finished eviscerating his target he lept from its corpse, landing on hunched fours near the patrol, further expanding the line between their assailants and their downed commander.
The drake turned its head to Vimmi momentarily, before returning his attention to the encroaching trogs. Lifting himself once more he let out another great roar and charged into the fray, his body spinning and swiping in powerful, great movements; putting all of his bodily power into each blow.
(( Thought I'd bring Al back in while Varonus is out in another part of the forest. ))
Edited by Sylvanora on 3/13/12 3:11 AM (PDT)
Sekheim squawked in surprise as the remaining troggs (and their fallen allies’ bodies) were sent flying by the elven mage’s ‘dismissal’ of the shielding spell. Kethrilk smirked, a smug clucking sound escaping his throat as the remnants of the energy lazily rolled over him and his mount. Varonus was one of the old guard that he was familiar with, and while the elf had been one of the later joining members of the original Northrend-based Patrol, the birdman still knew him well enough to be slightly more glad to see him alive than if it been some random that he had helped.
It was now that he got the chance to glance around, finally taking note of the toxins and fine spores in the air nearer to the ground, and how they swirled about Sekheim’s wings as she disturbed them with her landing, unable to maintain a stationary hover like a gryphon or wyvern was capable of. The birdman narrowed his eyes. After that debacle with the mushrooms being used as virtual bombs beforehand, even considering that fact that none of them had been aimed at him, suspicions began to flit through Kethrilk’s mind - he didn’t like what he saw.
“I hiv no idea whet the story is with this ‘ist stuff, but I don’t fink it’s good. You betther grab a leg or the rigging an’ hold’n,” he turned to Varonus and pointed down at Sekheim’s feet while speaking, his voice coming out at a higher (though not quite comical) pitch than normal due to speaking with his beak closed. He didn’t want to take any more of a risk with this stuff than he already was by just being here.
Sekheim seemed to agree, because the giant kaliri opened her beak to do what seemed to be a sound-slash-motion somewhere in between sneezing and spitting.
Another shot from one of the catapults shook the ground, but this time it didn’t originate from where the Vindicators were being pushed back far behind him. Barzulo yelled out as the ground seemed to fall away beneath his hooves, but deep inside he knew that he had been knocked off balance, a fact confirmed by the very sudden and very painful slam of the ground against his side. Other cries of pain called out to his right, hinting that he hadn’t been the only one bowled over by the siege engine’s deadly payload.
The Dreanei coughed and rolled over onto his stomach so that he could clamber back to his feet, shaking his head. Can’t afford to have delays! This has to look like we’re genuinely fleeing as if we’d been caught of guar-?!
That thought shriveled and died in his mind as he suddenly found himself confronted with the same foul, red mist that had completely engulfed the Lower City, billowing out of a small crater in one of the cliff faces that Shattrath had been built into. He had no idea what the stuff was and had been trying to avoid it for that very reason. But it now it was covering their only escape route. The anchorite-in training froze, paralysed as he tossed up the risks of the unknown substance in front of him and the orcish Hordes behind.
The unmistakable sound of coughing from within, and shouts and yells as his fellow Draenei tried to find each other within the cloud made the decision for him. He plunged in, yelling for everyone to follow the sound of his voice.
Voices sounding out his own and other familiar names swirled around as he tried to hold his breath for as long as he could, but his lungs and their need for air failed him just as he knew they would, forcing him to suck in a mouthful of the gas. Immediately the air caught in his throat and he was coughing just as much as the others, but still yelling between gulps of sickly air, making sure his friends and comrades had something, anything, that they could latch onto and follow.
“Barzulo! Tago ka!”
He had no idea what that meant, and a chill ran down his spine at the thought that the orcs could have somehow followed him in here.
No. Wait. No orc knew who he was, let alone his name.
Oh great. This is a Light-darndest dream!
Edited by Sylvanora on 3/13/12 3:16 AM (PDT)
With a groan, the Kurenei forced his eyes open as he returned to the present, the grim realisation that history had repeated itself with him not being able to hold his breath for long enough filtering through his mind like the faintest trickle of water through thick, dry mud. His vision was bleary for a long time, unable to focus on any one object while the voice speaking in Orcish continued to fuss over him, undecipherable.
It was about now that he was starting to realise that his eyes simply weren’t focusing on anything.
A surge of panic shot down his neck and through his chest. Had that mushroom blinded him? Or was he still unconscious but in another dream? A sick feeling crashed over him like a wave, an experience of deep-seated terror at the thought of never being able to see again!
Then something moved across his field of vision, accompanied by the realisation that it was extremely cramped in here, stuffed into a confined space with Brent and the coppery smell of blood.
Something big had happened while he had been passed out. And if had been enough to literally entomb him and the wyvern underneath who-knows how many feet of rubble and stone, this predicament suddenly extended far beyond just his own wellbeing. But this time, unlike all of those years ago back in Shattrath, he wasn’t in a position to be the one doing the saving.
Brent was still grunting and growling on in Orcish, and he figured it was likely that the wyvern was so panicked at being shoved underground that he had forgotten that Barzulo understood only very little Orcish. He told the beast the calm down, but it fell on deaf ears and resulted in him yelping as one of Brent’s claws caught him in the foot while attempting to shuffle about in their rocky prison. It was the exact same foot that had been constantly stumped, stepped on, used for target practice by Kethrilk and rolled over by wagons during the past four years no less. Figures.
There was only one possible way out of this now, and being a shaman with a good idea of the limits of his abilities, Barzulo did so accordingly. He closed his eyes and prayed to the spirits.
Only one metre above where the pair was buried, which happened to be roughly ten metres up the length of the settled rubble from where Fenris and his ‘crew’ of Earthen were now charging toward the critically wounded Commander, a bunch of rocks started jumping up and down in place, almost as if trying to get anyone’s attention.
Even higher above that, Sylvanora, Avielian and a dangling Gretta didn’t notice. They had zeroed in on where the giants were barreling out of the spore-filled haze. While their heads spun and their limbs felt heavy under the shock of what had just happened, they still had an obligation to keep the enemy away for as long as possible.
The gryphon circled and started flying toward the fighting at the base of the debris mound with a half-hearted croak.
The elven mage looked up to his ally and the mount he rode on as they landed near him. His vision was just clear enough to make out the birdman pointing towards his mount's paws. He had gotten the message, the harder part would be maintaining a strong enough grip whilst have his upper body was broken.
He forced himself to his feet, stumbling closer to the two and falling against the giant kaliri, slipping his working arm through the rigging of the bird creature's harnass, looking up to Kethrilk.
"My thanks.." he let out another coughing fit, "Go.. while I can stay awake.."
Perfection nodded to Wara and smiled "Alright, easy enough, follow me". She reached into her waist pouch to take out the map until she heard something behind her. It was small, but noticeable, they had been so quiet that it was noticeable. Instead, she quickly reached her right hand to tap her left sleeve and turned around to point her hidden gun at what ever had made the noise and probably blow its brains out. Two problems would be caused by this, however; one would be that she could kill and ally, and two would be that she alerts the whole camp.
The assassin pointed her gun at the the source, only to almost scream and find out that something already decided to lodge something into it's skull.
Before her, looking like one of the many zombies and undead from the times of the Lich King up in Northrend, stood what she had no doubt to be a SI:7 agent. His attire was a dead give away. What really took her by surprise was the two crossbow bolts that were lodged perfectly into it's skull...yet blood should have be sprouting from his wounds like a fountain, not slowly drip.
The agent extended a hand towards them, something crumpled and brown was with in his grasp, it was parchment. Perfection eyed the man, then the parchment, then back again before slowly reaching to snatch it and withdraw quickly. Opening it with her right hand, she read the words that were so elegantly drawn onto the parchment.
I am not very good at hiding.
It was then that it hit her. Perfection looked up and stared at the wounds of the mans head carefully. The slow blood drip...that was a sign that the blood was still flowing...then the parchment....the words...
Then the image of the Black Rose, the Bone Witch, entered her mind and she swore.
"Wara.." She whispered as the half dead agent pointed towards another tent in the distance "It's a message, from the Bone Witch, she is here and obviously in the tent up there" she nodded towards said tent before continuing to speak "It's practically obvious. The blood slowly dripping from his fore head and his wounds, it's Blood Magic....and there is only one person we know who does that.."
She kept her gun pointed at the agent, just to make herself feel safer in a way "When you're ready, Wara"
((This is all I can manage for now, might be able to post more tomorrow))
Ein was momentarily taken aback by the sight of a massive trogg carrying his runeblade: it would seem that the pestiferous vermin were not even above looting their own dead in the middle of a raging battle. The Death Knight had been reasonably sure that leaving his two-hander emebedded in in a trogg's corpse would have been enough to deter any would-be looters long enough for him to retrieve it when he had the chance.
The trogg drove in clumsily, using the sword as a club and trying to overpower Ein with brute strength. The Death Knight scowled inwardly at the treatment his blade was being put through, dodging and parrying while he came up with an altered plan of attack for this opponent; the runeblade was one of the few tools the troggs had that could punch through his plating: not the joints, the main plate itself. After a couple of seconds of getting the measure of his opponent, the Einherjar launched himself forward at the trogg at the same moment the beast slowly lifted the sword overhead and brought it downard in a brutal strike: unfortunately for the not-too-terribly-bright creature, it was one of those kinds of strikes that looks impressive but rarely manages to work in real life.
Ein brought his right hand up from around chest height and hit the flat of the blade with his gauntlet, deflecting it away from his helmet and into the rocky ground. The blade sparked against his shoulder-plate before hitting the ground and ricocheting to the side. The trogg's right foot involuntarily moved forward, completely imbalancing it and leaving it vulnerable: the perfect misalingment of the creature would only last for a second or two while it brought itself back into position. A second, however, is a very long time in combat. Against a skilled and experienced opponent like the Einherjar, a second was all it took to reduce an opponent from a threat to a bleeding, quivering heap on the ground. Ein actually took his time to spin around and build up momentum for a blow: something he never would have done against an experienced enemy. The Death Knight's left gauntlet punched through the trogg's gut, tunneling through the rocky flesh and bursting out the back. As the trogg buckled to the ground, the irate Death Knight ripped his hand from the creature's chest and picked up the runeblade from where it had fallen.
Ein looked around the cavern, noting that the running battle had pushed itself into a fungus-filled cavern. As the Death Knight continued searching around for a new target, he saw the fungal giants come bursting onto the battlefield. The ex-human grinned viciously, hefted his runeblade, and bore down on one of the giants with all the unstoppable fury of a a tidal wave. Unstoppable, that was, until the giant swung a fist around like God's own wrecking ball and smashed Ein into the stalk of one of the giant mushrooms. A cloud of malignant spores burst out of the ruptured mushroom, filling the air around the Death Knight with a choking, debilitating cloud that would undoubtedly have been sufficient to kill any normal enemy. Ein, of course, was hardly normal. The spores never entered his unbreathing lungs, were never pumped through his body by his unbeating heart. The Einherjar burst from spore cloud like a thunderbolt, grinning like a madman under his helmet and eager to finally go up against a foe almost as good as he was.
This was probably the longest day she had felt in a long, long time. And that in and of itself was a statement considering how her tour of duty has gone. Was it considered a tour if one was a mercenary? Was she even a mercenary? Or a hired hitwoman, hired to do a job, to take a life, or several? She wasn't a hit-woman, was she? Surely, she had morals, didn't she?
Morals had no place on a battlefield. Morals had no place being brought up in times of turmoil, when life and death were balanced on a sword's edge...the Cataclysm and its bayed horn of destruction had no place for something as small and trivial as “morals” to be discussed when there were larger problems that needed solving.
Another trogg head rolls. Another limb breaks to dust underneath her heels. Her tour, or stay in the unit known as the Borean Patrol had only lasted approximately two weeks, maybe more, maybe less. It had all run together for so long that she couldn't tell anymore, not that it made a difference either way. Her tattered remains of her gray, standard-issue tabard, smeared with blood, sweat, tears, dirt and a myriad of other unidentified stains, rips and tears, was a symbol of her latest banner of war, her latest cause she was fighting for. Was it worth fighting and bleeding for? Was it worth dying for?
Fek it. Her thoughts pulse. Just another day on the job.
She roars a defiant battle cry and slams the decapitated head of one trogg into another, slamming the one in her hand to dust and the other dented into a non-functioning state. “C'mon, you apes! You can try harder 'n that, CAN'T YA?!”
Combat was routine. This combat was beyond boring, unending, unfeeling. The waves of troggs, their stone-like bodies reminding her of the brittle undead she's fought on numerous battlefields, or demons in the scarred, hellish landscape of Hellfire Peninsula.
But no, she was here, in the Realm of Earth Deepholm...fighting troggs.
The only thing keeping her blood pumping in her body right now was the numerous cuts, bruises and lacerations covering her scar-covered skin, reminding her of the very clear and very present danger she was in right now. Soon however, she felt the beginnings of the earth beneath her feet rumble below her.
“KAGH! RUN! FLEE!”
The voice immediately registers in the warrior's brain; Orcish-accented...the wyrven.
She instinctively looks to her left and right, earning her quick blows from the trogg she's currently in the middle of eviscerating, knocking her flat on her backside and winding her. It rears its weapon up and stands over her, a grin on its twisted, stone features. At some point, she punched it in the left eye and gave it a nasty pattern of spiderweb cracks and fractures on the surrounding facial structure, making it have to keep the eye closed to see. She briefly wonders if troggs can feel pain. “You fight good, pink-skin lady. Now you die good too!”
It raises its weapon high above its head and just as it begins to bring it down onto her head, the ground shakes again and then the whole world tilts itself...sideways?
Her boot lashes out and strikes it right between its legs, shattering its pelvic region and distracting it enough to give her enough time to turn the tables, flipping it onto its front face-down and slamming its head in the dirt over, and over, and over again until it eventually stops twitching, all while the ground is still shaking below her.
The ground begins tipping downward. Was the whole damn cliff tipping? It didn't matter anymore; she had to do something, and fast...
She gives the now dead trogg's body a grin, and slings her shield, stating “Hope you know how to surf, Charlie...”
She feels the ground tip once more downward, and she hops onto the trogg's body as it begins sliding downwards, and lets out a scream of delight and slight panic as she nearly falls down the incline to the valley below.
Lowmaine doesn't surf.
Western Plaguelands, Two Years Ago...
“Spread out! Spread the f--k out!”
“They're coming out all around us! We're being flanked!”
“Keep lines men! Keep your Light-damned lines!”
“Take that f--king abomination down!”
“It's tearing through us like Alterac Swiss! We're getting f--ked up the !@# over here!”
Corporal Lowmaine McCormack was not having a good day. She had been in this Light-damned trench for fifteen hours already. Fifteen long, grueling, horrendous hours of ghouls and abominations and gargoyles raining fire and death down on their heads. She hasn't slept, eaten or drank anything. This is not her first taste of combat.
Sergeant Belmont eviscerates a ghoul nearby and kicks it back into the horde of approaching undead flesh. “Back you beasts!”
She slams her shield into the jaw of another, breaking its neck so badly its head is canted at a painful angle. Had this ghoul been a living, breathing person, it surely would be dead now...but instead, it just grumbled and lunged at the warrior again, making her slice into its guts and splatter its rotted innards to the plague-infested ground beneath her boots. “Get back in the ground, you!”
She steals a look at her Sergeant as an abomination charges a group of men nearby, scattering them like ragdolls before eventually being cut down to ribbons by another group of soldiers. “Sir, we're getting annihilated here. Plan?”
Leonardo Belmont stabs another ghoul in its face, kicking its rapidly jerking body off of his weapon and grunts, “Not a good time, McCormack!”
She bashes one in the face with her shield and slices another skeletal warrior freshly risen across its undead chest, still in his now tattered blue and yellow armor of the Alliance. “We can't stay here! Every time we lose a guy he just hops back up and tries to maul our faces!”
Leonardo makes a sound between a grimace and an affirmation and lifts his sword to the sky, shouting “Men! We're abandoning this position to RP ((Rally Point)) Northshire!”
Lowmaine instantly bellows, “Belay that order, move to RP Elwynn! Northshire fell two hours ago!”
Leonardo gives her a sideways look with his one good eye and shouts, “You heard the lady! Follow her to Elwynn and fall back! Matthews, Sulley, Christophs and Smith stay here with me until the rest of the unit's exfil is covered!”
As various replies of “Aye, sir!” ring over the sound of battle, Lowmaine grips his shoulder, briskly stating “Don't you dare pull heroics on me, Leo. I still owe you for Stranglethorn...” She then adjusts her tone to address the rest of the force. “Those not mentioned, we're buggering off and heading to Elwynn! Break lines!”
“Ma'am!” a startled voice rings out. “Gargoyles, to our twelve! Are they...” there's a pause. “Sh!te! They're carrying something!”
Before she can tell the rest to get out of the way and to hit the dirt, various bombs begin exploding around them, causing her and the rest to shield themselves from the blasts, expecting explosives...only these weren't ordinary explosives.
When the soldier next to her started literally crying blood however, her fears were confirmed, and only one word leaves her mouth: “Plague!” she screams. “PLAGUE! Get down, breath when you need to!” She has seen all of this before. She's seen the gaseous plague in action and seen its results first hand, like a lot of the men in this unit...and she has no intention of letting it claim her life, much less the lives of those under her and Leo's command.
She hits the dirt immediately after finishing her order, tearing a piece of cloth off of her tabard and wraps it around her face, daring not to breathe until she absolutely has to...
Her vision swims briefly in blackness and clears, and the first thing that registers, before the fungal giant decimating her fellow Patrol, before the tattered condition of her tabard and armor, or the completely shattered trogg she rode down...or the slightly dinged but otherwise fine and working chainsword that she gave to Turle lying nearby...
...no, the first thing she notices is the spore-filled vapor surrounding them. Gas. GAS! Her hands move before her thought finishes, reaching into her belt and retrieving her rebreather, strapping it to her face and already calming her panicked breathing. She hated gas attacks. She hated them. She hated them ever since that day that she had been dreaming about...
Leo had survived, but he had come back battered, beaten, and alone...Christophs, Matthews, Smith and Sulley had all perished due to inhaling the plague, and had been slain and reanimated in mere seconds...forcing Leo to make a very difficult decision. She hadn't envied him at all.
She pushes the thoughts away, next diving out of the way of a falling piece of rock as more troggs sound a battle cry in the distance, and picking up Turle's fallen sword in one fell swoop. She would have to locate the gnome later and give his weapon back to him, but for now, she was sure he wouldn't mind her using it...after all, she'd made the thing. Guess it was only right that she should give it its first real field test...
Her world bursts into quick clarity as rocks pelt her from a nearby set of detonated explosives: Lynara's arrows. Arrowheads. Wait, why was she bleeding from her face? The warrior jogs over to the fray and sees what's happening...the Commander's beyond down. She looks nearly dead. That fungal giant...it's...the wyrven. It's killed the wyrven. It was trying to do the same to Lynara right now, tossing her aside like a dock laborer tosses sacks of grain off a boat in port.
She revs the sword in her hand and un-slings her shield, screaming at the top of her lungs, so loudly that it's crackling the speakers in her re-breather as she charges it, “GET THE FEK AWAY FROM 'ER YOU TUBBY BASTARD!” She wasn't losing more people. They had lost so many to get here, they weren't losing more, especially not the Commander...besides, she owed her a debt now, didn't she? The gnomish woman wasn't going to die on her watch, not by a long shot...and with that, she's closed distance with the enemy.
She's lost in a haze of fury and rage, but after moments of fighting and wildly slashing and tearing into the thing with her new bladed weapon, the giant had not been defeated, but its attentions were taken away from the Commander and Lynara and now squarely were concentrated on the female warrior...which suits her just fine.
She dodges an overhead smash from the giant, rolling underneath through its legs and grinning savagely, revving the sword and driving it through the monster's legs, evoking a scream from it as she cuts into its body and attempts to sever its leg at the knee joint. It twirls around and kicks for her head, but she's already moving, rolling around it and driving the still-spinning chainsword into its side as deep as she can, the crystal chain-blade spitting chunks of its body out around it like a fountain.
She doesn't see the punch coming from above and is head directly in the face by it, barely avoiding the full brunt of the attack and rolling with it, letting go of the sword as she gets punted away, the mechanism within it automatically shutting off, staying wedged in its skin. She skids to a stop a few feet away and slowly gets to her feet, her breathing a bit ragged and she's bleeding from a few more sc!*!@s on her skin. This is what she's wanted. This is the antithesis to the boredom she was dealing with fighting against those Light-damned troggs...and she was enjoying the hell out of her time.
She cracks her neck, holds her shield up and flicks a switch on her right hand's gauntlet, and a small, almost insignificant whining noise begins, barely audible over the sounds of combat around her...she locks eyes with the giant and grins wickedly, the scars on her face extending its powers of intimidation. “Nice hit, mind if I respond in kind?”
It roars and charges her once more, raising its fists in the air together to hammer blow down above her. She readies her shield once more, muttering, “...Now, let's see if you can ride the lightning, friend...”
Lia and Coron
Core growled at Wulf, anger raising inside of him. He clenched his fist "That's not the point, the fact is that seeing as the troggs also have spell casters, there is a pretty good chance that they can pick up our location....you could have lead them strai--" "CORON!" Core was cut off by the sound of Lia's scream. He turned to see that Lia was twirling her scythe, and in the distance...a fungal giant raged.
Coron growled again and threw the breathing gel towards Wulf "Put that on and make yourself useful, i'll finish scowling at you later!" he shouted before running over to stand next to the warrioress, when he did, he took notice that she had tears streaming down her face "Lia....what is it?". Lia sniffed and shook her head "I-it killed Verra...the wyvern...Vimmi's companion....its killing everyone!". The Talon looked back over to the giant and noticed that she was right, for then he noticed there was more than one.
There was a lot of them.
He counted at least five so far, but he was not sure if there were more, just then he saw Lynara thrown away like a sack of bad potato's, the rage inside of him just kept on growing and growing. He didn't know what to make of the situation, how could he? Before him was a war, a war that decided the future of Azeroth, for the people that he believed were suppose to save it were not being battered and beaten to pulps. As his amber eyes scanned the battle field more, he took note of the warrioress, Lowmaine, getting crazy and taking on one giant by herself.
Lia, who was reaching breaking point, was raising her scythe and was about to scream a war cry before entering the battle herself. Core, however, wasn't going to let her off that easily, for he knew that if the Sin'dorei just ran head on into battle out of sadness and lust for vengance, she will surely die. So to solve this, he raised a hand and grabbed her shoulder "Lia....listen to me" he began softly "I know you're angry, I know you're upset...but you can not just run into battle blindly"
Lia looked over to lock eyes with the man, her eyes shimmering "Why shouldn't I...I'm going to make them pay, Coron, i'm going to make them pay dearly...". Core shook his head "We live in a world of hate, where little peace is found across the lands. Everyday, out of the many lives that are taken, a lot of them are pointless, deaths that didn't mean anything...deaths...that shouldn't have happened" he pointed his free hand towards the fungal giants "If you go now with the mind set that you have at this moment, you will join that list, and i don't want to see you do that.....so get your act together"
Lia was somewhat taken back by the mans words, she didn't expect something like that at this point of time, especially when they were in the middle of a battle. She wiped away her tears and looked at the man once more, and for a split second, she could have swore she saw the spitting image of Al. She couldn't help but smile, here, standing before her, was someone who had the same attitude and almost same personality as Al, some one she could rely on. In a way, she felt like there was a connection between Core and Al.....and that gave her strength, strength she needed to focus here and now.
Straightening herself, she reached into her back waist back and pulled out a small blue glowing rune. She lowered her scythe and looked at a small socket which was located near the blade, then slowly, she began to easy the rune into it, speaking as she did so "I have fought many battles....many wars....but out of all of them, this one I'm getting quite sick of". The rune glowed brightly, and soon enough, the blue light spread across the blade, an outline of what appeared to be a half moon started to shimmer around it.
"I'm sick of this place, i'm sick of these troggs, i'm sick of this war..." Lia continued, placing her scythe on her shoulder. The outline around the blade flashed brightly, what was left was a shimmering blade made of strange blue energy, from tip to tip, the length would be that of what it would be if you laid two male taurens next to it, the symbol that was on the rune would appear in the middle of the glowing blade "And it's time....it ended"
Edited by Liå on 3/18/12 7:46 AM (PDT)
Coron smirked at the woman and nodded "I knew you say that...in a way of course" he said, shrugging before pulling out his own scythe and twirling it. There was a thundering crash as a fungal giant came rushing towards them. Coron raised his hand and summoned the same Starfall spell that he used to get pass the troggs and to their leader, Lia carefully grabbed her charged scythe with both hands and took a battle stance "See if you can cripple it...i'll finish it off" she said.
Core nodded and smirked "I'm going to enjoy this. He charged forward, the stars he had summon flew towards the giant one by one and began to explode against it's body. The giant roared and raised its arms to block the stars from hitting it's face and chest, this was what Coron wanted it to do, for he then ran towards the giant and leaped at it's leg. He manged to cleave at it twice before having to evade an attack from the giant, who had realized his presence and tried to crush him with a large fist.
Coron huffed and ran around the beast, taking cover behind mushrooms to dodge incoming attacks. He slammed his back into one of the mushrooms and waited for a while, catching his breath as the Fungal giant slowly moved towards his hiding place "Man..." he muttered, grinning to himself as he did "Who knew that fighting a fungal giant would be so exciting?!". He heard the giant slam it's foot near by and quickly moved from his hiding place just in time as the giant crushed the mushroom.
He slammed his foot into the soft soil of the mushroom forest and looked the giant up and down, trying to formulate a plan of action "Ok...so here is what we know. These guys are huge and are strong enough to kill a wyvern, but they are slow when it comes to attacks. After seeing it block most of the stars, it's pretty obvious that uses them alone is not going to help much...for the creatures skin is pretty much made like a mushroom in a way, it uses spores as a biological weapon....wait...Spores?" he looked at near by mushroom and blinked, then, an idea sparked in his mind.
"Bingo" he said before running towards the giant, sliding his scythe back into it's holder before raising his hands. Mean while, Lia was just getting into position to cleave the giant when she was given the chance, only to see that Coron was running towards it as if he had some sort of death wish. She was shocked by this, most certainly, but what Core did next was something that she didn't expect him to do. Core threw two Wrath bolts at the Giants face. The giant, of course, raised it's hands to block it. When the giant lowered it's hands, it noticed that the Kal'dorei was no longer there.
It was when it heard a crackling noise that it looked down to see that the Druid had placed his hand on the creatures leg, a sly grin on his face "Ah yes..." he began "How could i forget...Druids are also able to use a certain spell that enables us to do one thing....blow up fungus" with those words, he dug his fingers into the soft material that was the fungal giant's leg and shouted "Ex'thalash!". A druidic magic circle appeared on the giants leg, which Core instinctively jumped away from before the circle exploded.
The beast roared and fell to one knee, clutching it's wound, Lia heard Coron shout "Lia, attack him now, while he is down!". Lia didn't hesitate, she ran from her hiding place, scythe raised behind her. As she ran, she muttered "This one is for you Al, I promised you that I.Wont.Die!". She slammed her foot into the soft mush of the forest floor as she gotten close enough to strike the giant. She brought her scythe in a cleaving arch as she attempted to cleave the giants face off.
The giant raised and arm to block the attack, but it did little good, the blue blade sinking in deep into the soft material of the giants flesh and severing it's arm. When it struck it's neck, however, it started to bite in more slowly, seeing as the power of the strike was mostly lost with cutting off the giants arm. Lia roared as she continued to push the blade in "Eat it!, Eat it damn you!" she screamed. Eventually, the blade slid home, and it was off with the giants head. Lia stood there, panting and gasping for breath as the giants body fell, she couldn't believe what she had just done...and there was no doubt that this one wasn't the last of them.
Edited by Grishmak on 3/19/12 10:08 PM (PDT)
A groan escaped the battered Elf as she took stock of everything that had happened. A series of images raced through her head...
The Naga capturing her, dragging her through the murky ocean water to an unknown destination.
Mining pearls from the great creature she was trapped in.
Being saved by some mysterious group, just before the creature began to kill those inside it.
Collapsing on a beach, tired to the bone.
The ship they finally boarded, just before the crew took them prisoner.
Rushing onto the deck, and finding that they were at the Maelstrom.
Terror at the Druid, Grishmak’s brush with death.
Fighting, more dead, the great tree.
Rest at the Temple, cut short by having to come out here.
And then the battle, the ledge collapsing, pain flaring from the back of her head, and- darkness.
Each image caused her anger to steadily rise, increasing to a white-hot intensity.
Opening her eyes, the Mage found herself lying at the center of a ring of bright-red stone, the air heated greatly by her presence.
She could feel the fire magic, tongues of flame running all over her body, yet they did no damage. Her hair looked like living fire bound in strands, embers jumping from the ends.
She was more than angry - she was totally pissed off at this point. She had been dragged from one horrible situation to another with barely a moment’s rest, people dying left and right, misery all around. And now some rocks were trying to kill her?!
Spotting one of the stone troggs, the mage charged a pyroblast spell, flinging it at the creature and following with a quick fireblast. Concentrating, she threw a simple ball of flame at it, the last spell before the creature came within melee range.
Ducking underneath the wild swing - ignoring the flare of pain as the stone axe clipped her shoulder - the mage pulled out a small red stick. Lighting the string on the end, she stuck it in one of the indentations made by her spells and the recent fall they had taken. Turning, she spotted the rest of the group and blinked closer, ignoring the explosion behind her, as well as the resulting trogg chunks.
A quick check ensured all her electronics were in place, and she rushed forward, eager to help in the fight.
Jozen sighed, pausing in his repetitive motions. He let his head rest against the bars of the cage instead of bringing it forward again. He was trapped, and so far nothing had happened to resolve this. He had seen no one other than the cultists, the strange voice from earlier (which he suspected he had imagined) hadn’t said another word, his gear was still out of reach, and he had no idea where his axe was.
“Great. I’m lost, captured by a cult, and some weird voice in my head told me help was coming. I’ve clearly lost it.”
With a sigh, Jozen closed his eyes, wondering what the cult wanted with him. He ran through several escape ideas in his head, but discarded all of them. Besides, where he would get that many weasels...
“Lost it. Wonderful.” He said once more, sighing.