En Dharasha Everae RP thread

[Maverick 40]

Laisren sits on the bench beside the cliff, a steaming bowl of rabbit stew with turnips and stale bread handed him by a white haired monk. "Thank you Tan", he says as his aching joints and muscles try finally to relax. His head falls forward, his soul begging for reverie, but he needed this sustenance to continue on. It had been days since the beginning of the war. With their initial triumph Dharashans now did stay to help secure this vital supply line to Doron and entrench the Hin Village of Gullykin from attack at the behest of Mayor Gandolar.

It was unforgiving and tireless work, digging trenches, carrying supplies and manning patrols. He sat now with his brothers and sisters at the camp they once knew as the home by the valley. They sat on benches round the fire, a cool breeze was letting them know the suns light was soon to set and with it they knew the looming menace of the Black Orc grew. He looked up and out across the valley as the shadows grew.

Laisren's mind began to wander, he was thinking of her again, it had been days with no sign and he did all he could to keep his fears at bay. He thought of her large green eyes contrasted against her dark olive complexion. "Saline", he whispered, "where are you?" and with that his eyes betrayed him and began to close......
_____________________________________________________________________________

"You miss home Laisren?", he heard her say to him. He looked up startled. "Yes, I do", he said in an perplexed tone. "But where is home Laisren?", the woman said to him as she stood beside the fire. "I...I do not know..", he said as he squinted his eyes in disbelief, trying to see if it really was the beloved woman he knew, or a figment of his imagination.

Then the answer came to him, "Home is where ever she is", he told her. "Then you must go to her my little prince", the woman told him matter of factly. "But I must stay here, I am honor bound....", he began to protest but was interrupted. "We are elves Laisren, all things will pass and when they do you must go to the place you have dreamed", the woman told him serenely, placing her index finger under his chin to raise his face up to look at her.

"Do you remember the song I would always make your father sing?", she asked him. "Yes, I do but I always liked it better when you sang it mother", he told her. She smiled at him and taking a step back she began to sing..........


He watched her with tears in his eyes and as her voice began to fade, so did she..........
_____________________________________________________________________________

Suddenly, Laisren heard a new voice. It was his own scratched and whispered voice singing its hymn in rhythm. It was night now, the fire blazed and when he began to listen he heard he was not alone for the Dharashans around the fire had begun to sing with him...............

[Darksider_war]

Luthien finally comes out of the makeshift infirmary tent, her fine armor and beautiful visage covered in splatters of blood and sweat. Glancing one last moment to one of the injured inside, and to the young cleric of Sehanine tending to his wounds, Luthien gives to Amarven a quick nod of approval, before returning to the hin city of Gullykin.

The gold elven priestess always thought of Gullykin as a place cradled with cheerful glee and merryment, with halflings going hither and tither inside their home, caring only about their everyday life. Now, Gullykin was a quite different place from what it used to be. Makeshift fortifications and elves and halflings constantly on patrol spoiled the settlement of its former charm.

"I can only hope that this cursed war will end soon, with us on the winning side", said Luthien to herself.

Walking around Gullykin, Luthien's gaze finally falls upon Laisren, battered and torn after the last fight that ensued a much needed supply line to Doron.

"You look tired Laisren. Would you allow me to cast a spell on you to remove all of your fatigue?"

Laisren stopped eating, giving a quizzed glance at his old time friend.

"Does your goddess allow you to do that?"

"Divine magic is mostly aimed at restoring the mind and the body, while Arcane magic is suited for more...versatile pursuits. So yes, I can. If you allow me to say it, you would really need that spell."

Laisren relaxed, while the priestess used her restorative magics to remove the fatigue from his tired, exhausted body. The spellsword looked instantly better after that.

"Thank you, milady. I'm feeling definitely better now."

Laisren's polite bow of his head caused a small smile to form on Luthien's lips. The two elves had been through a lot in the past, and the simple fact that they will still be through a lot in the future, with new friends and new allies, only made her feel better.

"You know, m'lady, I have always wondered one thing...why did you decide to leave your pampered home in the Green Island and return to the continent?"

"Look around you, Laisren. There are ruins of elven civilizations scattered everywhere. Gullykin too has been built upon an elven settlement. Most of our kinsmen back in Evermeet will fill your head with lenghty speeches about the "glories" and the "achievements" of Evermeet. But what are the achievements of our kingdom? It is but a mere shadow of what we once were. It was built with the toil of heroes and legends, the ancestors of those of us that still remain on this continent, and now it is inhabited by frightened children to whom the glories of the Old Times are nothing but half-forgotten myths, and that prefer to run away from the problems of the world rather than facing them. I have forgotten nothing, and I hope that, in time, many others will follow the example of those of us that left the Island. We may ignore the world, but the world won't ignore us."

"Will you ever return home?"

At that question, Luthien stood silent for a while. That question made her recall a lot of things of her past, especially a song that her mother used to sing to her when she was but a child.



Slowly shaking her head, Luthien returned to reality, giving a determined look to her old friend.

"You know me. I don't leave the battlefield until it's over, for good or bad. As long as we will have to struggle for our survival, I shall remain here. Besides, It would be mortally boring to live in Evermeet without you, Mendel, or Amarven constantly getting into trouble."

Luthien gave Laisren a wink, before returning her gaze to the infirmary tent.

"I should return to Amarven to see if she needs help with the wounded. If not, I'll use my divine magic to create more food and water for us. I wish you a safe watch, Laisren. May the Seldarine protect you, old friend. As for you, Tan, don't drink too much whiskey."

Without even cleaning her armor, which was her original purpose, Luthien returned to the infirmary - a small but significant taste of things yet to come.

[mrieder79]

The dark horde charged across the battlefield, engulfing it like a plague of locusts. Frothing, bloodthirsty howls issued from their dark tusked maws as they bore down on the lone gate guard of the small village. The sound was deafening, and so it was that it appeared that the orcs began to fall of their own accord, the slight twang of bowstrings and hum of arrows being lost in the din. One, three, a dozen, a score of the charging beasts crumpled, holding shafts protruding from their bellies, legs, arms, and necks. The charge slowed, the thundering grew quieter and from the left flank a quiet sound, the sound of blades entering flesh, followed by desperate gurgling was heard as the scouts of En Dharasha Everae plied their trade among the horde. From the right flank, a new sound erupted: the battlecry of the stout kin as dwarves bearing great heavy hammers and axes waded into the midst of the surprised orcs. Kneecaps shattered and skulls were cleaved in twain as the two forces bit deeply into the dark horde.

The orc did not retreat, though. They were organized. They rallied and formed a defensive perimeter with long polearms directed outward to hold the forces at bay. The battle seemed at a stalemate when chanting was heard from the ranks of the dwarves and elves as priests of the Order of the Silver Rose rained divine destruction into the closely packed ranks of orcs. Squealing in pain and rage, they broke formation and charged preferring the bite of blade and axe to the crushing magic of the gods themselves.

Durin Ironfaar spotted a trio of Orcs charging his way. He chuckled, then hefted his axe and shield and dug in his ironshod boots, waiting for them to come. And come they did. The crash resounded across the battlefield and Durin roared as he swung his axe again and again, delivering blow upon blow. His vision became red, then mottled, then he knew nothing other than swing, parry, block, dodge. He paid little attention to whether his blows scored a killing blow. His advesaries came fast and continuous and he knew only movement. Sounds became dim and faraway echoes, sights became a blur of red gore and silver steel.

The fog lifted. It found Durin standing amidst a pile of limbs and gore that may have one time been orcish in nature, but were now indistinguishable from the red mud that covered the garish field that had once been a meadow. Durin slumped to his side, nursing several smashed ribs and a slice across his left thigh. He sat, and remembered, as he often did after intense combat. His vision once again clouded, but not with the red of battle, but the dark mists of memories past.

"Oi! Ye dolt! Yer scared t' go innywhere!" Durthan Ironfaar yelled in his customary mocking tone.

"Aye! Ye better jus go back an play with th' lasses, Durin!" Ruarvin, Durthan's younger brother added.

The words stung. They stung because they were true. Durin was terrified of the deep dark places - the tunnels where few travel, away from the warmth of forge and hearth. Blinking back tears of frustration and anger, Durin lied.

"Oi... ah... me ma tol me t' be 'ome afore dinner. Ah... ah've got' t' be goin!"

Durin tried to keep the quaking edge out of his voice, but was unable to. His friends heard it and laughed long and hard. The young dwarf turned his back and made his way back up the hallways, blinking back tears of bitterness and shame. He stopped suddenly when the ground beneath him shifted. It was slight, but noticeable. He turned to his friends, wanting to warn them, but hesitated thinking of the darkness and the terror... then Durin was thrown backwards. The ceiling of the tunnel collapsed and a great shockwave of dust and air drove Durin into the opposite wall, forcing the air from his lungs and clouding his vision with a purple mix of blood and dust.

"Duuuuuuurthan! Ruraaaaarrrrvin! Durin ran and scrambled to the collapse, tripping and falling over great piles of stone and debris. He reached a wall of boulders and began to heave and throw them out of the way. Red clouded his vision and he knew only throwing and heaving and all else became a blur and sounds became a distant echo. Then he stopped. The haze was gone and in its place a crumpled and ruined hand. Rurarvin's hand, for it bore his family's ring on the index finger.

Durin crumpled to the ground. He blamed himself, his cowardice for failing to warn his friends - to save them. His regret so bitter and his shame so deep, he felt a sort of rending or snapping within himself and he heard music and saw visions - A white creature with four legs and a single horn approached him and another beside it, indistince but clearly female. These figures approached him and stood with him. The female began to sing.



The song ended and Durin found himself looking into worried angular faces. Three elves from En Dharasha helped him to his feet and led him toward the healers tent. Durin was silent. Uncharacteristically so as he remembered those lost to him deep beneath the stone.

Durin stayed with the southern contingent then, and assisted in fortifying and preparing for the dark days to come.

[mrm3ntalist]

Mendel rests near the campfire, at their old camp in Gullykin, while enjoying a glass of wine from Tan’s never-ending supply. He seems skeptical and his gaze focuses towards the North. He cant help but think that these forests were what not a while ago he called home, yet the circumstances brought it so they are again on the move seeking for a new safe place they can call home.

A lot has happened the past couple of days that unsettled him. It is not the threat of the Black Orcs, he already came to terms with that. Now they face a new enemy, more insidious and more dangerous. He already had to strike one of his kin because of them, something that he didn’t do lightly. It is a burden that will carry for a long time since it has never happened to him before. What worries him the most is that the war with this new enemy is far from over and who knows what else he will have to do till then. He keeps it together though knowing that their priestesses, Lady Luthien, Lady Elethineth, and Lady Amarven are there to guide him if needed.

As for the current war with the Black Orcs he feels that it will soon be over, for better or for worse. He feels confident now that the Order of the Silver Rose and the dwarves of the North have joined them. They are very skilled in combat and have already proven that by helping to drive the orcs away and keeping an open supply line between Gullykin and Doron Amar.

In the end he cant wait for all this to be over and start moving North again to the place their Faernsuora will choose for their home. As he thinks all that he notices Durin pass by and can’t help but smile. That dwarf is always in high spirits and makes everyone around him feel good. Even their most serious leader, Laisren cracks a smile when he is around. As he sees Tan approaching as well, all those troubling thoughts quickly go away and goes to have a good time, while he still can…

[mrieder79]

It was too late to doge, the angle wrong to parry, and his shield was out of position to deflect the blow. A tall, thick orc brought his club down in a mighty overhand swing from behind and Durgan braced his back for the impact. The Dwarf's ears rang and he dropped to one knee as the heavy club connected. The orc's eyes widended in surprise as his great weapon cracked and splintered in his hands. Durgan rolled to his feet and savagely headbutted the orc in his rough iron breasplate, creasing it. He followed with a quick thrust which drove the spiked tip of his axe into the stunned orc's throat. The brute's knees buckled and it dropped wheezing to the earth. Durgan finished it with a quick overhand chop and charged another orc.

Durgan felt good. The familiar weight of his axe and shield and the sound of battle were welcome companions to the brewmaster. He hummed a tune to himself, almost merrily, as he chopped and slashed, bashed and headbutted his way through the squealing and growling orcs until no more stood to face him. Seeing the battle won and the few remaining orcs fleeing into the hills, pursued by fleet-footed elven scouts, he sat on a nearby rock and propped one boot on a severed orc head. He reached around to his small battle-pack and withrew a small keg with roughly carved relifs of mugs, and maidens, and bawdy taverns. Unstoppering it, he took a long draught. He sighed deeply as the pungent ale warmed his throat and bones. Two more draughts and he returned his keg to his pack and began to assist in seeing to the wounded and retrieving the fallen.

Later that evening, after the dwarves and some of the more raucous elves had settled down from their feasting and drinking, it was explained that a small contingent was to remain in the North, to protect the strongholds of the allies while the main body of the force remained south. Seeing the young and, to his eyes, scrawny elves who volunteered to remain behind, Durgan stood up and bellowed.

"Oi... Ye'll be needin sommat t' keep 'em stinkin' arcs from tramplin' th' lads. Ahm fer comin wit' ye." With that, he gathered his traveling pack and his small arsenal of axes and knives and joined the short column of elves moving out of camp. The night was warm and the breeze gentle, as though the forest had no knowledge and took no notice of the preceding day's savagery. Durgan trudged along with the elves, his keen eyes peering inot the night. Watching for movement. Watching for orcs. There was a sound, though not an orc, nor a beast, that the gentle breeze carried to Durgan's ears. He listened, trodding a little more quietly, as a young elven warrior sang. He sang of return, of home, and the sweetly haunting melody softened even Durgans rocky features. The whole column became silent and marched to ethereal wisps of music.



The spell was broken by Durgan's harsh laughter.

"Bwhaahhaahahha! Oi, Lad. At be th' bes' music ah've been 'earin since me pap made a pet o' a lil wyvern fledglin' an taught it 't be singin!" The stout dwarf clapped the startled youn elf on the shoulder, making him stumble and nearly fall.

"Now lad, what ye be needin' is some o' me Marlin Stout! Tis th' best ale yer' t' be faendin on th' Sward Coast!"

Durgan shoved his small unstoppered keg into the young elve's stunned grasp and all but forced the amber liquid down his throat. The elf swallowed convulsively, coughed, then grew suddenly still as his eyes seemed to focus on some unseeable, far-off thing. Durgan caught the fainting elf in one hand and the falling keg of ale in the other and bellowed a great peal of laughter that frightened small forest creatures for miles around. After being thoroughly shushed by the nearby elves in the column, Durgan chuckled, threw the unconscious elf lad over his shouler and continued the treck north, humming a bawdy, off-key drinking song all the while.

[Maverick 40]

It was near dusk as the last of the sun's heat beat down to his shoulders through his armor, he stood straight and firm, knotching 3 arrows and taking aim upon his target. His head still and his arm steady, he let fly the volley. Before the three arrows could strike in succession, he was already on the move, with blinding speed he dropped his bow and pulled forth his short blades from there holsters. As he ran at his next target he disappeared into thin air, reappearing twenty paces away behind the armored target.

His strikes were precise, meant to expose the weakness it's armor. As his newest blade struck the straw beneath the armor a spark flew and the target lit aflame. Laisren began a dance then, twisting and turning, as if parrying blades and striking other targets. He would disappear from vision, only to reappear striking the now blazing target. Suddenly, a large blade not his own appeared swiping across the neck of the target and if not for gifted reflexes, surely would have decapitated Laisren as well.

As the dummy's helmeted head lopped off and began to roll down the hill, Laisren, whose first reaction was to take a defensive posture now saw it's slayer. "You know, you could have killed me with that stroke Mendel", Laisren chided the Villi of Dharasha.

The large copper elf whom stood looking at the head roll down the hill now turned to look at Laisren while sheathing his elven longsword. "You, never......", the large warrior elf smiled to his friend and one time mentor Laisren.

Laisren gave him a stern look. "Tis not if you can Mendel.....", Laisren retorted but without any real conviction, only to respond with the dry humor they tended to throw toward each other these days. "Nice shots", a voice said from the shadows. Laisren knew immediately whom it was. "Mistress", he said as he bowed in the direction of the voice, pretending he knew it's exact location, though he truly did not.

They all stood on the hill south of Gullykin, in a make shift combat range he had constructed for training. Laisren now turned to the north and over there efforts to fortify the Hin village for the coming of the Orc. The grace of the Faernsoura could be seen even these many meters away as they worked to prepare the triage with their counterparts, the Knights of the Silver Rose. He then saw the Villi's men stationed and patrolling the perimeter while his own ambassadors worked with the Mayor to store supplies. Then, he heard it........

It began as a single beat and with it, his heart stopped as if to listen. Then it was joined, and suddenly the cacophony roared threw the wood north of the Village. The his body went cold, as the last of the suns rays fell behind the canyon and all that could be heard was the beating of hundreds, if not thousands of drums. He sighed once, closing his eyes and his chin falling to his chest. He thought of the fire, the only thing that he knew to rise above the fury and his anger returned.......

He looked up to his friend, "Gather the men and prepare the defenses", he said and the Villi smiled with a wicked grin and marched down the hill toward the village. Bestial screams began to ring the forest and red eyes could be seen glowing within the wood. Laisren sheathed his swords, picked up his bow and began moving for the village...........

[Maverick 40]

The siege over, Laisren had forced himself to the point of exhaustion trying to maintain posts and patrols, is now been ordered to the infirmary to rest by Avowed Teo of Candlekeep. His reverie is filled with terrible thoughts and dreams. He wakes, calling for his wife Saline but the Pro-Consul had stayed behind to protect their northern camp.......

[Hoihe]

Hoihe delivered a message to laisren: "The black orcs have sent a kobold to Doron Amar about giving up the village. They have three days to reply. Sywyn told me they have a plan of an ambush."

[mrieder79]

--

[mrieder79]

Scouts returned to Gullykin with grave news. Siege engines and a bridge were under construction which would bring the masses of the black orc army to the walls of gullykin. A sorceror, Jacho Hardwood, hatched a plan to strike at the orcs before the bridge was complete. A small strike force led by Ares Bloodfist surprised the orc sappers, killed them, and set fire to the entire operation. The raiding party withdrew through the wood of sharp teeth toward the friendly arms inn as a ruse to suggest that mountain orcs had been behind the attack.

The black orcs were not fooled. They came en force to the gates of the friendly arm in and sent wave after wave to break upon the rag-tag group of defenders. The fields rand deep with blood and gore throughout the night. Dawn broke to find a column of Flaming Fist soldiers who reinforced the defenders and drove the orcs back into the wood, leaving the defenders to bury their dead, and rebuild the destruction.

[mrm3ntalist]

Mendel is late to take his post in Gullykin and is nowhere to be found. He was last seen at Nashkel and after that his tracks were lost

[mrieder79]

As soon as Durin's guard shift is over at the north gate of Gullykin, he can be seen running toward the coast south of candlekeep, muttering something about "clearin' out th' damned baggers so ah kin git t' diggin!"

[Hoihe]

Hoihe returned to guarding Gullykin battered, he was covered in blood, grime and tentacles. He muttered about damned abberations. He excused himself and went back to the Friendly Arm's Inn, awaiting the tomorrow with a large stack of Dimension lock scrolls.

[Maverick 40]

Laisren having seen Dharasha's top commander miss his last post, begins searching the camp looking for Mendel. Seeing Durin running off and Hoihe looking weary, Laisren stands watch for Madam Luckyfoot but his thoughts keep going back to his trusted friend.

[mrieder79]

News travels fast and an elven scout finds Durin camped near the collapsed entrance to the old Ironfaar clanhold, pelts of dire badgers and shells of great beetles strewn about in various stages of preparation for selling. Durin is troubled to hear of Mendel's absence and packs his belongings, stashes the beetle shells and badger hides in a nearby sea cave, and heads to nashkel to inquire of his friend's disposition before his next shift on guard duty.