The Final Patrol ((Closed RP))

World’s End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
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A faint warmth permeated the druid's skin, and he knew someone was healing him, but who surely the Patrol hadn't made it through the camp already to fetch him, assuming Spannershield even sent anyone to check on him. If it was the Patrol who had found him, Lynara perhaps, she could have found his collapsed form, and brought him back to the Patrol for healing. The druid could feel his strength returning, and he could hear people speaking, and their voices told him quickly that it was not the Patrol who had found him. Based on gravelly voices he would guess a Horde platoon had stumbled upon the sight, well this isn't good, I may be a druid, but to the Horde I am probably just another piece of, "Alliance Scum." This had not been anticipated by anyone, he had known the Horde, and Alliance were around, but he didn't think they would move so soon, he assumed they would let the Patrol do all the heavy lifting, come in either arrest or kill them, and take the glory for themselves.

He could hear some voices telling someone in orcish that they had done all they could, Thank Elune for needing to learn all of Azeroth's languages, working as a druid he needed to be able to communicate with all of the races. Not knowing their intention the cat decided to play dead for a little while longer, just until he knew what they were up to.
Gaream was staring at the druid, bored out of his mind, and waiting for something to happen. He thought he saw slight signs of movement from the druid so, he is awake, but not showing it. He must be aware of the fact that it was the horde who found him. Good thing for him that most of these grunts don't pay much attention to their soundings suddenly, he heard a sound from the bushes behind him. In less than a second, he had sprinted behind him to the man who had made the sound and grabbed him, putting his knife to his throat

"You cannot stop us! Our master....."

"Oh, shut up" he clubbed him over the head with his free hand, dragging him to the commander "What do you want done with this trash?" the commander grabbed the man’s head and squished it, eventually causing it to burst open from the pressure.

"Such is the fate of all who would oppose the horde! We shall not rest until every one of these people is dead at our feet!" he walked in front of the main horde force, causing them to look away from the spot Sam was at "Victory or death! That is true even more so today than any other! These fools would see the entire world destroyed! They would see everyone you know, everything you value, destroyed in the name of their false god!" he continued on as Gaream quietly walked over to where the druid was laying

"You may be able to fool the average peon, but I know you are awake. Personally, I could care less about you and that patrol, but I know for a fact the commander over there hates your guts. Something to do with necromancy. Shocking as this may be, I do not share his feelings on the subject. If you don't want to end up like that dude over there, I recommend you start running. I know for a fact the commander is going to be doing his speech for a few more minutes, but then they will be back for you. Best be gone when that happens.”
The cat smirked, "Yes, well if I couldn't fool a few orcs I would definitely be losing my touch, and technically I am not a member of the Patrol, our goals just happen to coincide. Based on what I have seen I wouldn't last long in that Patrol before I lost my temper with their commander. I hold no hatred for the undead, at least not the Forsaken, but I hold no love for necromancy either, I am a druid after all. Well I think I am healed enough to at least get away, still pretty sore though, good luck with whatever it is you are planning here." With those final words the druid faded from sight, and made for the nearest bush, he wasn't able to get far though before the pain of his wounds forced him to stop. "Damn, never trust an orc to do a good job healing, they are much better fighters than healers," he did a mental check of his wounds, seems like a few of those spells hit me harder than I thought, think I might have a dislocated shoulder, and definitely a broken rib or two, not to mention those orcs didn't even completely close some of my cuts. All in all he was still in pretty bad shape, and still worn out from not only the battle, but from the "other" trying to force itself to take over, can't just stay asleep can you.

He needed to get back to the Patrol to receive some proper healing, but he wasn't sure if he could make it back, not with the fighting still going on. He didn't have the energy to fight, nor would it be wise in his current condition, perhaps if he could make it to a place he knew the Patrol would have to pass someone would find him. His ponderings were cut short, as a sharp pain emanated from his shoulder, turning around with a growl he saw a cultist with a bow leveled at him, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder, well there is another wound to add to the list. He didn't have time to think as the cultist shot another arrow his way the druid jumped out of it's trajectory, or so he thought, midflight the arrow changed course, and dug into his side. The cat grimaced in pain, so, a magical quiver of arrows, how clever, he couldn't afford to let the man shoot anymore arrows, so the cat did the only thing he could, he charged at the man roaring in defiance, he hoped the sudden change in tactics would throw the man off guard.

Fortunately his gamble worked, as the man fumbled to quickly notch another arrow he dropped it, and before he could even reach for another the cat was on him tearing him to shreds. After the man was dead Sammuroth checked the arrows, " Those are in deep, it would be too dangerous to remove them here, I would probably bleed out before anyone could find me, I guess I will have to hope the Patrol finds me before the pain makes me pass out." He knew the direction the Patrol was headed, and he knew exactly where he could go, making his way through the brush, the druid withstood the pain with a grimace, all of the pain from the previous ambush, and the battle he endured were beginning to compound, and the cat noticed darkness beginning to creep into his vision, "Come on hold it together Sammy your almost there."

A few moments later he came to the edge of the brush, the Patrol should have to pass by here, on their way to Grim Batol. He had arrived at his destination none to soon as an immense amount of pain lanced through his body, he could feel his blood leaking from behind the arrows, and the pain buckled his knees, and he collapsed. He was able to hold onto conciousness for a bit however, but he could see the darkness creeping up on him again, "Damn, just not my day today," the cat chuckled at his bad luck before he once again passed out.
Lynara sighed as they had overcome the twilight camp. She calmed herself and changed the bandage on her chest with a fresh one before she heard the commander give the order to retrieve Sammuroth. "Ok." Was all she said as she began to head behind the camp, the place Sammuroth would be. The Patrol was on the move already. She spent a good while searching for where the wayward druid could have gotten, probably chased down a few runners. Then he saw them. The Horde.

She growled in anger as she saw them taking Sammuroth to one of their camps they were setting up a quite the pace. She heard something crack behind her, instinctively she drew her short sword and spun on her heel, blocking a troll's dagger from finding a place in her back. She kicked him, making him stagger back and giving her a murderous look. The horde symbols on his armor were obvious, but she didn't care. He was her enemy and had tried to kill her. More than reason to end his miserable existence.

She ducked under the scout's blade and rolled out of the way of his second dagger, before rushing right up him. She slammed into him, hitting him against a tree. The troll grunted in pain and blood came from his mouth, Lynara had stabbed him right through the chest. She ripped her blade out and stabbed him again, and again, and again, warm blood streaking down her face and armor.

She left the dead scout where he lay and moved towards the horde encampment. Sammuroth was being held by those barbarian bastards and she would rather die than leave a fellow Kel'dorei in their grasp. She crept closer, noticing a grunt patrolling, then she saw Sammuroth leaving. He vanished from her sight, but brushed into a bush. The grunt saw the movement and was going to see what had caused it. Lynara drew her bow back and fired, the arrow striking the orc dead in the eye.

Sammuroth would be able to escape without the threat of the horde on his back... yet. He came under attack by a twilight out runner, but was able to manage. Lynara noticed a second out runner and took him out with her own bow. With two arrows piercing his body Lynara ran to his side. He seemed to be unconscious. "Men, always passing out at the most inconvenient times." She grumbled as she lifted him off the ground. "By Elune... this was easier back when I was younger..." She muttered angrily. Ever since they had lost their immortality Lynara had felt the effects of ageing again, and they were not pleasant.

She kept an eye out as she carried him back toward where the patrol was fighting. "If you could walk yourself this would be much easier..." She grunted as she advanced.
The word “Yes” was all the confirmation he needed.

“Okie dokie!” Jaggo would exclaim incredibly cheerfully. He began to back up further towards the cliff side, whistling up at his creature as if calling one's loved pet. “C'mon, c'mon” he said eagerly under his breath.

The dragon seemed to move accurately enough, however hard one would expect a three headed beast to move at least. It clambered by slowly, carefully maneuvering itself through the unstable terrain around it. The Worgen Mage responsible for its creation began rubbing his hands together in anticipation, sending sparks flying in all different directions.

Jaggo looked out to the battlefield as soon as he stepped along the edge of the cliff, his illusion behind him and out of sight. From here, he had a perfect view of everything going on. The Patrol had made themselves known quite easily, but he supposed it was quite easy to see a rainbow-band of adventurers throwing themselves mindlessly into conflict.

What he was about to do however would make things far, far more interesting. The dragon behind him grumbled impatiently, miraculously showing some semblance of sentient emotion.

“Hush my friend.” Jaggo said with a grin. “This is the best part.”

Letting go of his metaphorical reins for a moment, the mage bent lower, nearly coming to his knees. His hands splayed themselves out in opposite directions, fingers completely stiff. From the ground below, a thick cloud of smoke began to materialize, rolling itself over and over again to create deadly looking clouds.

A crackle of thunder resounded over the battlefield, giving way to the devastating looking storm that was now raising over the mountain. Another rumble sounded out, this time accompanied by lightning streaking out of the cloud formation.

The skies were near immediately completely eclipsed by darkness, the cyclone above the armies battling twisting and turning as if the eye of the storm had appeared on their very doorstep. Thunder sounded for a third time, easily beating the last two times combined. Lightning again struck out, larger and more awe-inspiring than before.

As the thunder died down, a new, far more terrifying noise echoed out. From above the mountain tops, a silhouette emerged. Bearing one neck, and one head. And then two necks, two heads. And finally, three necks, three heads.

The shrouded creature lunged forward, bursting from the storm, its full glory on display for all to see. It let out a deafening roar, quickly accompanied by devastating flames, setting the ground around it ablaze.

The dragon shambled down the mountain, all three heads snapping and spewing fire in random directions. If one looked closely enough, they could see the words “Borean Patrol” carved across it's chest. And beneath that, a disclaimer.

“Property of Jaggo. If found, please return to your mother's bedroom.”

The dragon roared again, this time with all three heads in synchronization. The flames around it seemed to grow even bigger as it did so, large enough to shield some of it's body from view, and frighten any warrior from getting too close.

On the mountain top above, Jaggo stood shielded from view by the storm. His entire body was surrounded by Arcane magics, clearly straining himself keeping every illusion running at once.

“This was a bad idea, this was a bad idea, this was such a terribly horrific idea, oh dear gods whom don't exist, why, why, why.” The frantic mage mumbled to himself.
Inside the horde camp, the dead scout and grunt had been found, and the commander was enraged. Gaream had planned to pin the cat's disappearance on some sleepy guard, but that had been rendered unnecessary. "WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS!?"Gaream walked over to one of the body’s and plucked out an arrow, examining it. Looks like standard issue alliance make. They must have come for the cat. Well, looks like they were too slow. "Sir, these arrows. They look to be standard issue alliance make. Could mean any number of things."
"BASTARDS! They come into MY camp and kill MY men? If that is how they want to play, then let them get slaughtered by the twilight forces! We will move in when they are dead and eliminate what is left." he stormed off

Morons, all of them. Has he even considered we may not have enough forces to take them on our own? Fool can't see past his own pride, and now he puts the entire mission at risk because of the death of some random peon and scout, who amounted to nothing in the grand scheme of things? It may be time to take matters into my own hands here. After all, accidences happen.
Lia and Perfection

Lia stood next to the Commander, her eyes not on her, not on the rest of the patrol, not even on the gates of Grim Batol. No, her gaze was towards the hill above the whole battle field, where the casters would be to launch their assault on the gates of Grim Batol, where Coron would be. She felt nervous, not for the battle ahead, but for him. She didn't trust the Bone Witch, and she didn't know why he decided to go up there to help her with such foul rituals.

Either way, the only thing she could do was pray to what ever gods or goddesses that were listening that he came back safely. "Lia!" a voice behind her broke her thoughts, her gaze turning to see Perfection had ran up to her, standing by her side. She looked into the woman's sea-blue eyes, seeing confidence, seeing strength, seeing the willing to push forward and get the job done. In a way, she was reminded of herself, and she was glad to have a friend like the Assassin to count on.

"Hey Angi..." she said, snapping up her visor and smiling at the woman warmly. Perfecion grinned before looking towards the gates of Grim Batol "You think they can do it?....You know..destroy the gate?". Lia followed her gaze, sighing "We could only half faith...Perfection....Coron is there, all we have to do is wait". The two would stand there, listening, ready, and waiting for the right moment to strike.



The Talon Druid felt a pain in his heart as Virella directed the last comment at him in regards to the Patrol dieing...and he knew exactly what she meant. "Lia..." he murmured silently under his breath "Well played, Bone Witch....well...played". The thought of him losing Lia was not one he wanted to have...he wouldn't know what to do with out her. Taking a breath, he'd walk over and wait for it to be time.

His eyes looked up to the sky. It would soon be sunrise....and when sunrise comes, it will be only one thing: War. He sat down, watching the battle below him, crossing his legs and then closing his eyes to fall into meditation. He silently prepared himself for what was come, and the things that would be done to achieve the goals that the Patrol had set out to gain. His thoughts turned to Lia, her face, her beauty, it brought him a calm that he was going to need before the battle ahead.


Sunrise came to soon for Coron's liking. The Druid took his place amongst the spell casters, taking a few breaths to prepare himself. He felt the blood poking at him, prodding at him, he waited for the spell to take effect. Then, after a few moments, he felt it stab into his back. Power, vasts amounts of power flooded his body. His eyes widened, the sudden rush of energy seem to push the air from his lungs, he stood there, stunned for a moment before he gained control of himself.

"So...this is what it is have such powerful magic course within you...." he thought to himself before smirking "Alright...let's get this over with...". He'd take a stance, extending his arms at either side of him, each hand holding to fingers together on each had. Suddenly, what would have been Wrath started to crackling along his arms and was different. Black and purple, it would crackle along his arm and body.

Slowly, Core would slide his left foot behind him, turning the upper half of his body to the left ever so slightly, the energy still crackling along his body. He'd slowly move his hands together, he energy crackling more violently and quickly. Then, with a sudden movement, he'd thrust his arms forward, a large and violent stream of the corrupted nature energy shooting from his finger tips and towards the gate, where it would strike as he'd start the process to destroy it.

He felt it, the power, rushing through him, powering his magic, empowering him to do so much more with the powers he wielded. He could destroy armies with this, destroy so many things with the powers he now held. However...his power alone would not be was simply one of the cogs in the machine of destruction to get things going...he now waited for Mara and the elder magi to add to his assault, to aid him.
In his unconcious state Sammuroth Stormfury dreamed of a time long before The Twilight Cult, long before the Lich King, long before the orcish Horde. He dreamed of a time before the world was sundered when he was the happiest in his life.

Ten Thousand Years Ago Zin' Azshari

The leaves rustled in the breeze, and though it was a little cold, that didn't stop young Sammuroth from doing his daily sword training. His family disapproved of his choice of professions, they just didn't understand his dislike for the arcane. To him the magical arts were a powerful tool, but a tool that's power could corrupt people, to do things they normally wouldn't. Though he admitted the Well of Eternity's magic that gave his people their immortality was a great boon, but living so long eventually caused people to become arrogant, and sitting in a study practicing spells didn't help. To him putting your life on line in hand to hand combat was the best way to appreciate the long lives his people led. So he trained hard everyday in his chosen craft, but today he was particularly aggresive, his brother Illisidel had once again poked fun at him. Calling him things like a weakling who was too afraid of power, the young warrior had tried to ignore him, but he just kept pushing, and pushing until Sammuroth had snapped, and punched him on his a$$.

That of course had been a mistake as his brother had then gone to their father, and mother who then proceeded to punish him for striking his elder brother. He had been whipped with magical energy one hundred times, every time he bled his parents used their limited knowledge of healing magic to close the wounds, only to open them again. Now out in the courtyard, tears of anger, and frustration streaming down his face Sammuroth swung his sword wildly around. His arm was getting tired, and his swings were becoming slower which was what the figure watching him from the doorway had been waiting for. Walking out into the light revealed the figure to be a beautiful Kal'dorei woman, with long flowing blue hair, which she kept up in a ponytail, beautiful amber eyes wtached the boy with both sadness, and compassion. This was Sammuroth's elder sister, and the eldest of the three children Moriana, she walked up behind her brother, and when he turned to swing his sword she caught his hand.

Sammuroth looked back at her angrily, "Let go of me Mori," she just shook her head, and pulled him into a gentle hug, and that was all it took for the dam to break. As he broke down into sobs, Mori just brushed his hair, tears coming form her own eyes, "I am so sorry Sammy, that I wasn't there to help you with Illisidel, I swore to protect you, and I failed." The boy in her arms just shook his head, he didn't blame her, Moriana was the only member of his family that encouraged him to continue down his path, she was the only one who cared about him. She helped him again on that day, as she reprimanded their brother for his actions, and though he was a cocky little brat, when faced with his sister's wrath he was no better than a child. Of course her reprimand only stopped his abuse for a short time, Samuroth was still grateful for his sister's love, and protection. However, he had lost everything, on that night, when he fled Zin'Azshari, and slain his family to stop them from helping the mad queen Azshara summon more of the Burning Legion into their world. He had not been able to kill his sister though, but knowing him better than anyone she knew his intent, and did it for him, her last words to him still haunted him to this day, those three simple words she said, at the time she should have hated him most, "I love you."

Present Twilight Highlands

The cat stirred just a bit, as he felt himself being jostled around, opening his eyes a bit he saw that he was moving, no more accurately he was being carried, but by who. Though the arms that carried him were strong they were also soft, and gentle reminding him of his sister, which told him it was a woman who was carrying him to what he assumed was safety. Turning his head slightly to see who it was that carried him, he smiled as he saw who it was, Lynara, the only person he had become his friend on this mission, well at least he looked at her as a friend, he had no idea how she saw him. Was he just a comrade to her, or did she consider him a friend, it didn't really matter, she had come to get him, and that was all that mattered to the druid. "It seems I am causing you some trouble again Lynara, I am sorry you have to see me in this state, heh heh heh, I must look so pathetic," he barely said it in a whisper, and he didn't know whether or not she heard him. "I must seem so useless, I couldn't keep myself safe, and I thought to keep you alive through this so you could go home to your children, hah what a useless man I am." Tears slowly seeped out of his eyes, he was always needing saving, and never able to save anyone he cared about, not his sister, not his world, nothing, and it frustrated him, and to top it off he had a demon inhabiting his body trying to use all these feelings against him. He knew he had been holding these frustrations in for awhile now, but he hadn't wanted to seem weak, but now he just didn't care anymore, it was just him and Lynara, and he hoped she didn't see his tears as a sign of weakness. He just let her carry him tears of anger, and frustration streaming down his face, just as they had on that day so long ago, only this time there was no Moriana to comfort him, there was no one at all.

Lynara grunted as she carried the cat druid back towards the Patrol. Once there she hoped that one of the healers could mend his injuries. She had decided to stay off the main road in order to avoid any more horde scouts or twilight out runners. The bushes were annoying, but the trees were thinning as she approached Grim Batol’s entrance.

"It seems I am causing you some trouble again Lynara, I am sorry you have to see me in this state, heh heh heh, I must look so pathetic,"

Sammuroth was awake, but was clearly weak as his words barely carried to her ears. She merely grunted as she spotted the rather imposing entrance to Grim Batol, still a ways away, but they were getting there.

"I must seem so useless, I couldn't keep myself safe, and I thought to keep you alive through this so you could go home to your children, hah what a useless man I am."

“Don’t worry about it. Today has been a long day already. It will only get worse once we actually get inside of Grim Batol.” She said. “I left the arrows in, it would be dangerous for me to remove them… sorry, but you will have to make it back to the healers.” She said as she neared the site of the battle. Calling it chaotic would be an understatement. She approached where she thought the priest Sydric was and laid Sammuroth down. Taking bandages from her bags she put a hand near the first arrow. “This will hurt. I need to remove these so you can be healed.” She said, her voice as calm as it could be in the situation before she grasped the arrow. If Sammuroth allowed her she would remove them.

She gave it a light tug and noticed something. “This is bad, the arrows are hooked… I will have to twist them out… I’m sorry.” She said before grasping the same arrow, pushing it in she twisted the shaft and pulled the arrow out, immediately covering it with a heavy bandage to hold back the blood. “Are you ok?! There is still another arrow to go.” If Sammuroth allowed her to continue she would remove the second arrow and bandage it as well. “There, they were deep, but I think you will be alright once that priest heals you. These bandages are strong, but you are bleeding quite heavily from your wounds. I will have to keep pressure on your wounds until they are healed or cease bleeding.”
Sammuroth smiled a bit through his tears at Lynara's words, though they were in a different context, they still reminded him of something his sister would have said. He could hear the sounds of battle as they neared what he assumed was the area where the Patrol was engaging the cultists. He felt Lynara lay his body gently down, though he was sure she wanted to hurry she knew doing so could endanger his life.

“This will hurt. I need to remove these so you can be healed.”

She said this as she gripped one of the arrows, he nodded slightly, and she gave it a light tug, and pain lanced through his body, growling against the pain Sammuroth knew the arrows were hooked.

“This is bad, the arrows are hooked… I will have to twist them out… I’m sorry.”

He could hear the legitimate concern in her voice, and he appreciated it, "Just do what you need to," he told her preparing for the pain to come. As she twisted the same arrow the cat could not hold back a moan of pain ,normally a wound like this would be nothing, but it combined with his weariness, and soreness from his previous battles had worn down his pain threshhold. He felt her put a bandage over the hole where the arrow had been to stop the blood from pouring out of his body.

“Are you ok?! There is still another arrow to go.”

The cat chuckled a little, "Well I would be lying if I said I have never felt better, but as I said do what you need to do, I will be fine." The second one felt much worse than the first, but Sammuroth grimaced through the pain, but the tears pouring from his eyes, were no longer of frustration, and anger, but of pain, and they gave away how much pain he was actually feeling.

“There, they were deep, but I think you will be alright once that priest heals you. These bandages are strong, but you are bleeding quite heavily from your wounds. I will have to keep pressure on your wounds until they are healed or cease bleeding.”

Through his pain the cat was able to mutter a few words, "Thank You, it seems my life... is in your... capable hands." He had to pause for breath every few words, the pain he was feeling was almost too much for him to bear. He though about telling her that she could leave him, and rejoin the fight, but he had a feeling she would do no such thing, in fact she would probably scold him for saying something so stupid. The druid smiled, though it was more of a grimace, "I know you... were probably... just following orders... but I am glad... it was you who... came to my rescue." The pain was too much, and the blackness was closing in on him again, "I hope you... don't mind... if I take... a little rest," though even if she did he could do nothing to stop the blackness of unconsciousness from taking him.
The battle seemed to have hit a lull and Sydric looked around for anyone needing aid. He saw Lynara carrying the cat druid, Sam, and hurred over just as she was covering the second arrow hole with bandages. "Hang on druid, I am here. Good work, Lynara, but I can manage here if you wish to clean up." He looked at the bleeding wound and called the Light to his fingers.

Gently touching the bleeding holes, Syd let the healing energy fill his senses and start healing the wounds. The cleansing might have stung a bit, but it was necessary. He pulled the bandages off the seeping wounds one at a time and used clean water to wash off the blood and gore. "Sam, this is going to need stitches..." he began and then noticed the druid was out cold.

"Good, maybe he will not be in so much pain. I can work faster knowing he is under..." he did not waste time but concentrated on cleaning out the wound and stitching it up. His healing magic was able to slow and finally stop the bleeding.

Syd looked at Lynara if she was still there and smiled slightly, "If he wakes would you do me the honor of knocking him out again? Oh not necessary to hit him, just use this bottle of ether. Here is a clean cloth, just a drop on the cloth and hold it over he breathes it in. Leave it there only long enough for him to relax and go back to sleep and then take it away. And do not take a breathe of it yourself...don't need you asleep too."

He worked as fast as he could, but it would take a few minutes to check and make sure there was no internal damage that needed help. Using his training he delved into the wounds with his healing sense and repaired what he could. Torn tissue and slashed ligaments would knit back together. It took him about an hour to thoroughly inspect and heal the two arrow wounds. When Syd was done the wounds would be closed and a scar would be visible on the cats pelt where each arrow had gone in.

Syd sat back against the rock he was near and took a long drink of honeymint tea, restoring his mana pool and helping him to relax. He had made Sam as comfortable as he could and now it was only a matter of keeping him safe until he woke up again. He looked over at Lynara. "You were brave to rescue him. Did you sustain any injuries while you did this? Forgive me if I did not notice anything, I was concentrating on Sam, as he seemed the worse for injury."
He was tired, exhausted both physically and mentally. The tough jerky he had been eating and the delicious biscuit gave him some much needed energy, but he wasn’t sure if it would be enough. Closing his eye, Valdemir tried meditation, however that was not to be. Before he could close his eyes, the bone witch ordered for them to assume positions.

Standing, valdemir did his best to shake the cobwebs from his mind and his limbs. The matrix had taken its toll on the older man; however he didn’t have the luxury o accept the toll. The 4 magic wielders slowing took their position in their various runes. The intricate seal still writhed, its lines intertwined by green fire. Soon he would be immersed in power unimaginable. Something he had south for most of his younger days, was he wise enough to avoid its sirens call? He would just have to wait and see.

He watched as the Virella shed her robes and stepped fourth into the center of the matrix. Behind her prisoners lay alive and dead, all covered in multitudes of small cuts. A sinking feeling filled Vladimir’s gut as what the bone witch planned to do sink in. Quickly she dispensed words of caution and warning before throwing herself into her spell work. As she began Valdemir’s eyes drifted towards the sky. The scene itself was breath taking. Oranges and red gouged the sky, their vivid colors the last gasps of the sun before it too fell into slumber.

As the sun slowly faded, Valdemirs attention returned to the ritual. A single strand of blood started to float through the air, like a strand from a robe pulled loose by a pair of invisible hands. The stream of blood danced around Virella almost caressing, like a lover, but soon it turned its attention to the others. To each in turn, the stream tined and writhed, leaving traces of blood everywhere it passed. When it drew near, whispers of power, of dark magic and terrible deeds echoed through his head. This was not to be trifled with. Upon returning to the it started.
The captive’s blood culturing screams assailed the elder gilnean forcing his eyes to lock with frantic human cultists. The anguish in his eyes, the fear that filled him, that consumed him, had this been anything other than an old god spawn, valdemir would have forced the rituals end.

Blood erupted fourth, from every cut and scratch on Virella victims, their life force flowed like streams. The blood enveloped the bone witch became one with her, completed her. Then without warning the 4 bolts of blood shot forth from Virella striking each caster. The connection was almost instantaneous, and when it turned on, Valdemir was left agape at the pure raw energy that he wielded. Any thought of weakness left him, there was no longer any need for invigoration, and he felt young again! The last image he saw before he turned his attention to the field below was small tendrils branching out, connecting him to each of his fellow magic wielders, Like a spider weaving a web, Vierella's spell connected each of them to each other, valdemir shuddered to think of what would happen if one were to fall.

In the distance he saw Jaggo’s monstrous creation wreaking havoc on the cultists below drawing their fire and giving away their positions, fools. As he scanned the field a great force began to push outwards from the middle of his chest. Fear gripped the mage monetarily before he realized that this sensation was magical feedback. He needed to cast now. His eyes fell upon his first target, an ettin approaching the patrols flank. Egged on by its handlers the unintelligent beast began lumbering forward beating its chest in challenge, not for long. Extending his left hand Valdemir closed his eyes as he sent fourth an arcane explosion. As the power left his arm, it was immediately replaced by more. “Never ending power,” the old man whispered to himself, his eyes veiled, “Let’s see what we can do!” His eyes open and alert, he barely recognized the ettin’s twitching corpse, a 2 meter hole gaping in his chest.

Everywhere the forces of twilight advanced, as he watched them a voice spoke softly in his own head “so many to kill, so little time….” A puzzled look crossed the gilneans features for a brief moment before he continued with his work. Channeling the energy of the blood witch, Valdemir summoned fourth a blizzard upon the rear guard of the twilight hammer. The poor fools were caught off guard as gnome sized shards off black ice fell from the heavens skewering any whom were unlucky enough to be without significant cover. Valdemir watched as a dark magus through a potent defensive shield over the area. “Tisk tisk tisk, this will just not do,” Valdemir chided as if he was talking to a child.

With a but a portion of the power that Virella bestowed upon him, Valdemir projected himself fourth, examining and prodding the shield. “Powerful,” Valdemir commented to himself, “but undisciplined.” Like water seeping through a sieve, Valdemir passed through the magi’s shield and invaded his mind. “You think you know power?” Valdemir taunted the man, “let me show you the power I wield!” Funneling the blood magic outward, Valdemir forced the power into the unsuspecting mage. Like a balloon being filled with air, so too did the magus fill with power. Valdemir could feel the emotion running through the magi's head. Surprise, glee, power, until the magi tried to use his new power.

Due to the power that he wielded it was but child’s play to counter this man’s spells. As he failed again and again, the magi began to feel fear, pain, and then nothing. The man’s body exploded like a mana bomb sending a powerful shockwave outward from him knocking back and wounding his fellows. Returning to his body valdemir start to get creative. Immolate cultists alive; turning defensive positions into sand, turning ascendants into elementally flavored popsicles, it was then that the voice returned “Is that the best you can come up with?” Valdemir felt his anger rise at the taunting in his own head. He embraced it, and funneled it into his spell work.

As the golden-orange gleam of the rising sun caught Vimmi Spannershield's visor, it reflected with a dangerous confidence and a deadly incisiveness that made hot, potent blood rise through her veins and push her forward. It was time to write history, seductive promises of valor ran like excited electricity across her skin, and the weight of her metallic prosthesis pulled her forward to slaughter rather than anchor her to reality and caution.

As the tank let off another shell, its pounding current shook through her bones, momentum fed off of momentum and she felt invigorating pulses of energy rippling through from her heart to her feet, she increased her pace. Her steps were paving a story, a story of heroism and victory. Click-Click-Click. Vimmi felt reverberations of internal movement as her arm transformed and an old gun-barrel broke out from the swell of metal. As she shouted cries of gunpowder and steel, she was answered by defeated screams of bone, blood and broken spirits.

It was a battlefield from legends, an immense (albeit illusionary) dragon, the thunder of gods raining down from siege tank fire, a dark fortress afore which the catastrophic force of Carnifex waged personal war, and all around devastating spells, showers of unbelievable intensity, bolts of immense force, waves of unerring potency. It was mythic, it was glorious. And yet while every little pawn on the cosmic chessboard was a stray bullet short of corpsehood, they fought with a passion and a fury that denied their insignificance.

'Thor' digging in,” crackled a voice over the communication line, “We've got a straight line to anywhere you want a shell.”

Vimmi felt the ground shake, as immense metal claws drove down from the siege tank and plunged themselves into the welcoming earth. She made a few crucial hand gestures to those around her, they were going with the bounding assault. As they approached the gate of Grim Batol the terrain bucked up and down, granting significant cover from the fortified Cultist positions. As the barrel of their Siege Tank rotated into position, the mountain breathed a weary sigh. It knew what was coming.

“Don't stop shelling until you're out of ammo or the mountain is gone!” Vimmi shouted, digging her knee into the grass and steadying another shot with her arm-cannon. Around her, her soldiers followed her orders, fought with confidence and brilliance. This was her battlefield, and she had the cultists right where she wanted them, on the back foot and being blown to dust and debris with every step the Patrol took forward.

Vimmi took another step towards the fortress and grinned behind her visor, the need for words stolen by the whir of her mechanical limb preparing for another deadly assault. It was during this apex of confidence that Vimmi took her first blow, and the scales swung back into place with jarring force. Somewhere distant on the mountain a heavy wooden spear clicked into place on a ballista, purple-garbed hands worked the mechanism and pushed the small siege weapon out into the open. It leered hatefully forward, staring down the battlefield at whatever its target was to be. Out of all the vacant terrain, and the many larger enemies including the nearby siege tank, fate chose the diminutive Commander.

Commander Spannershield swung her arm-cannon up for another shot, her eyes locked on the brittle, empty skulls of the charging Twilight fanatics. She took a breath. Her arm steadied. The air around her compressed, gasped. Trodden dirt and grass wilted beneath her stride. The hammer fell. The spark flared. And just as the gunshot erupted from the end of the barrel, the vicious spear from the ballista tore through the air and swung Vimmi's confidence back into equilibrium.

The keen edge of the spear pierced right through the steel armour of her prosthesis, cleaved into the gun-barrel and sliced with such momentum right through the other side, that it continued into the ground, ripping Vimmi down with it, forcing her onto her knees. Vimmi pulled at her arm, but the spear had firmly impaled her into the dirt. If that wasn't enough, the damage done caused the engineering to malfunction and she couldn't get a grip on the spear to remove it.

Vimmi swallowed her panic and resisted falling into a frenzy, she instead used her jarring awakening to snatch an observational glare at the battlefield.

“Take out those siege weapons!” she roared in anger, “If our tank gets hit we're done for! Move faster, get up to the battlements now! We'll decimate them in a melee! And blast it, some-one get here and help me with this bastard now!” she then returned to yanking at the spear, both trying to free the spear from the ground, and her arm from the spear.
Adrian began to take slow, precise shots. Center mass, preferably, as the tank began to slow. It eventually ground to a halt. Vimmi gave the order for it to dig in. The main gun swiveled towards the main fortress. The claws dug in to the dirt. He pulled the pin that held is rifle in the swiveling mount and grabbed his bag inside the tank, throwing it over his shoulder.

Jumping down, he jogged over to Vimmi and took a knee, his rifle aimed forward pulling security. She ordered for the bounding assault that Adrian had suggested. He nodded and lowered his weapon a moment, looking around.

"We need two teams, made up of half ranged and half melee so we aren't imbalanced, let's go!" he yelled. He wasn't in a place to give orders like this, but he knew how to best coordinate the assault. He was about to get up when the Commander's prosthetic arm was hit with a ballista's spear. The head punched through her arm, and narrowly missed an area between his legs. He shrieked and fell backwards, scrambling away. He went slack on the ground and slapped and grabbed his legs, everything in tact. He sighed in relief and got back up, retrieving his weapon.

He looked to Vimmi, struggling to remove the spear. kneeling next to her, he pulled out his cutting torch. "Watch your eyes, commander." he said and sparked the flame. He increased the tint of his goggles as the flame was bright enough to damage normal eyes. He began slowly cutting through the shaft of the spear, trying to do a clean and precise job.

Finishing his cutting, he killed the torch and put it away. Lowering his goggles, he looked down at the arm and inspected it. It was damaged a bit.

"Do you want me to fix your arm, or coordinate our bounding?" he asked Vimmi. He remained at her side for a moment, keeping his rifle up and pulling security again.
Looking over at the tank, Sydric noticed it had stopped. They were digging in and he knew the battle would start in earnest now. He watched carefully as the units took off for the Fortress. The area he had taken over for a makeshift medical facility was a simple large rock with a tarp thrown over the edge and propped up with a branch. Not much for protection, but at least it was out of the line of sight of the Fortress defenders, he hoped. The boom of the cannon and the hiss and sparkle of the mage bolts flew over his head and he instinctively ducked.

The druid was not awake yet and he worried that the injuries were deeper than he thought. He checked for a pulse and almost chuckled at the thought of treating a druid. It was almost like being a veterinarian. But the principles were the same. The flesh was living and the organs and bones healed the same way. It was far better than attempting to heal the undead, where his Holy spells often caused more pain than the injury itself.

The druid was merely asleep at this time and Syd knew he would recover completely soon. He had to stay there until the cat awoke however. It would not do to leave him alone and vulnerable. He hoped anyone else injured would know where to find him. At least Lynara did.


Marasalle could feel the tremendous energy pulsing through her system. She had no choice but to fire off blast after blast of arcane energy. She directed it at the ballista firing from the Fortress and scored a few hits directly on the ones who fired at the Commander. The debris rained down on field below, bits of wood and body parts fell from the sky. She was concentrating on the artillary and making sure they did not have time to refire. Once she spotted them she took them out.

Overhead the illusionary dragon taunted the Cultists and they scrambled to shoot at it. They ran everywhere trying to escape or turning to aim poorly directed shadow bolts at the incoming Patrol. But there was a few Twilight drakes approaching and she knew they would see through the illusion.

Gritting her teeth she gathered as much energy as she could channel and hurled it at the drakes. That much power had to find an outlet and it did, filling the air with the smell of ozone as it sizzled towards the drakes. The bluewhite bolt had an edging of purple as it slammed into the closest drake. For just an instant it lit up the skeleton of the drake in detail, every bone lit up with incandescent fire. Then it exploded outwards, shattering the drake into a million shards of crystalized energy. The other drake backpedaled furiously and tried to escape.

"Oh are not getting away to bring more of your kind..." she muttered as she sent a second bolt to the drake who was trying to flee. It was a further distance and she hoped it was not out of range. The bolt shot forward and caught the drake, this time the screech was heard all over the battlefield as the drake fell on to the peaks, exploding on impact with the rocks.

But the battle was not over as she saw even more cultists starting to pour out of the Fortress towards the Patrol members. She took to pinpoint shots of arcane at them sending missiles in groups as she spotted the Cultists approaching the Patrol. Trying not to hit one of the Patrol members as she rained fire down on the smaller groups of Cultists.

She was amazed she did not feel tired, only energized. A hint of worry crossed her mind however, this would not last...burn out was bound to happen if they did not get a break.
Carnifex growled and brought its sword down on the cultist, cleaving him diagonally from shoulder to waist. Around it, ghouls leaped and bulled without any thought for self-preservation into the forces of the Twilight's Cult, biting at necks and clawing at vital organs with bony fingers that had since lost most of their flesh throughout the course of the battle. The corpse of the drake provided something of a bulwark, funneling the forces of the Cult into a narrow space in between a high berm and the massive reptilian body. In that constricted killing ground, Carnifex and its undead extensions burned through the cultists like a hot knife through butter. The entity felt something akin to satisfaction at the progress being made in spite of the massive damage it had taken.

Abaddon's eerily wavering form materialized near the pinned Commander Spannershield and the marksman cutting through the ballista bolt. It bowed slightly at the waist, then straightened and spoke.

“Efforts against the cultists near the fortifications are proceeding apace, Commander. However, we have sustained severe physical damage and require in-depth repairs to both armor and organic matrices.” Further up the pass, Carnifex stabbed into the center of a cultist's torso. That particular unfortunate screamed once, spasmed, and expired. The stricken mountain of armor tore into the next band of cultists with renewed vigor, the magic that sustained it having been replenished by the dying life of its most recent victim. As blades and arrows approached it, they seemed to slow down and drop a fraction of an inch away without actually touching the armor. After a few strikes, however, the field wore off. The being clenched a fist and a rune made of solid blood formed in the air, pulsed with a hideous light, and shattered, further fueling the entity.

“Field expedient repairs to the magic sustaining the organic matrices are underway. These are only temporary measures, and further repairs to both systems in conjunction are required. No known force nearby possesses the capacity to repair our armor, and the armor and flesh must be repaired simultaneously. Furthermore, without our guidance, we are not sure how much assistance our component entities will be able to provide. We will direct our attention to clearing as many of the entrenchments as possible for however long we are able to remain in effect.” The being winked out. A few seconds later, as though commanded by some unseen signal, Carnifex's small army flooded out and towards the remaining fortifications.

Abaddon's runeblade copy, meanwhile, appeared near the ballista that had fired the bolt currently causing the Commander no small amount of discomfort. The magic blade effortlessly sheared through the taut cable of the siege device, causing the pieces to lash out with a harsh twang-snap. One of the cultists briefly screamed as a cable tore through his neck and left a fan of bright arterial spray decorating the now-defunct siege device, his partner, and an appreciable portion of the ground. The blade stabbed the stunned survivor a second later and vanished, leaving the mortally wounded cultist to die. Meanwhile, back on the battlefield, Carnifex and the army of the dead were tearing through the cultists and their entrenchments with the voracity of a slavering pack of raptors set loose among sheep.
Lia and Perfection


That was the only work that seem to fit the situation for Lia; Chaos, the chaos of war.

"Lia, look!" Perfection's voice said, pulling her attention from the gate. She hadn't fully taken notice of the black lightning that tore at the gate until now, and she knew only one spell caster that could be capable of letting loose THAT kind of raw power. "Coron..." the name rolled off Lia's tongue so effortlessly, the tone of her voice full of worry and concern. His magic currently, as far as she could tell, was being corrupted by darker magics. What was once beautiful, yet deadly, flashes of orange yellow and green nature energy was now mixed with the foul magics of what the Sin'dorei could only tell was necromancy...knowing the Bone Witch.

Perfection had looked away from the source of the lightning soon enough to notice a ballista flying towards them. Activating her flaming Claws of the Phoenix, she stood in front of Lia and made quick movements with her hands, flame trailing behind her claws. She threw her arms forward, jets of flame erupting from her claws in a dazzling display of searing flame. The flame formed into a fireball in the middle of the air, striking the ballista and destroying it in the sky, snapping Lia back from her thoughts.

The Assassin turned, smirking "Don't worry, got it, just don't day dream as much please? We're in the middle of a battle here...". The warrioress nodded "Right, where's Commander Vi--NO!" The suddenly panic almost startled Perfection as she turned to see that the Commander had be struck by a ballista, and was now being pinned down by it. The aid of the marksman and Einhg's...thing, the ballista was removed. Turning to the human assassin, she pointed at the Commander "GO! Help the Commander, tell her I'm going to try and destroy as many of those ballistas as I can!"

Perfection nodded, one of her claws vanishing as she reached into a waist pouch to pull out what seemed to be a flare, which she would toss to Lia "Take it." Lia caught the flare, not sure what the human had in mind. "Use it and see if you can't get Core's attention. I know he is trying to destroy that gate, but if he can land a few blows on the artillery, then that should make your job easier."

Lia nodded, understanding what the woman meant. The Assassin had a point though, Core in this state of power would be strong enough to land a few good hits on the Twillight Hammer like the other spell casters, which she noticed were already laying some heavy fire on the Cultists. Perfection ran off, leaving Lia to calculate what ever she had in mind, to help with the Marksman and the Commander. Activating her right claw, instead of flame, it turned into a more icy version of the flaming claw she had before.

"I'm not sure if you want help or not, Friend, but let me know if you do.." her left claw vanished, but re-activated again, only this time it seemed to be made of smooth black stone "..I'm going to give you some cover." As she spoke, three cultists charged at the, the Assassin leaping towards them and throwing her ice claw forward, a stream of freezing mist shooting out towards them. As it swirled around them, ice began to appear on their armor, their weapons, and the rest of their bodies.

They looked at themselves confused, frightened, and to late to do anything else as they were frozen in place. In the Assassin's left hand, the stone claw began to form and seem to transform into one large stone blade. Taking a step forward, she vanished, appearing behind the first cultists and cutting through his neck easily with the stone blade through the ice prison she made. She vanished again, the Cultist's head rolling on the floor. Twice more, she reappeared behind the last to Cultists, killing one with a stab to the chest and then appearing above the other one to slam it straight into their skull.

Leaping back, she'd stand by the Commander's side again, waiting for more cultists to come.


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