Hoihe wrote: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.
Laisren turned to regard the Dragon Warrior. He took the man's features in for a minute, "No, tis alright, go and offer the men some time from this war, they deserve such", Laisren states in a hushed but serious tone.
He turned back to lean on the wind mill's rail and looked out across the wood. Just days ago his love Saline had come to visit and his spirits had been lifted but now she was gone again. He longed for her spirit and in it's absence there seemed as a hole at the center of his very being.
He had never partaken in a war of this magnitude, at least not one that so directly effected his people. Yet, it was not resolve that he felt but rather concern. He had been raised to fight for his own survival and that of only his people's. Yet, now he stood within Gullykin, a halfling village and fought alongside these people, humans and other races all for the preservation of an elven village which had shunned him.
Laisren was tired of fighting, he had been doing it his whole life and now he just wanted to care for the ones he loved. This war was changing him in ways he did not fully understand and he stared out amongst the wood looking for answers to these questions that plagued.
He wanted to be with his wife........
Laisren Ua Tiernan:
The heart must die, so thy loving progeny may live.
A bleary-eyed and wild-bearded Durin staggered his way up the steps. His eyes were bloodshot from the ale of the night before. Seeing Laisren, he trundled toward the elf and noted the grim expression in his eyes as he gazed into the wood of sharp teeth. Durin clapped him on the shoulder.
"Aye lad. Ah' knew how yer feeling. Ah coudn'a believe they ran out o' ale after only twenty five kegs neither. But ne'er ye warry lad. They be bringin' more kegs on th' morrow. Aye! More kegs on th' morrow!"
Mendel, Durin, one of his kinsmen, and a strange hulking armored monstrosity ventured into the Wood of Sharp teeth on a scouting mission. Moving cautiously as a unit they soon met with resistance from several sentries. Mighty blows from the hulk, named Clang by the elves, and dwarves combined with Mendel's hail of arrows soon left the orcs lying in pools of their own blood.
Word spread quickly and a unit of champions and bezerkers were sent out. Mendel made first contact and wounded several before withdrawling and waiting for the others. Clang and the dwarves soon surrounded the frothing orcs and exchanged blows until the mighty orc warriors lay broken and bleeding upon the forest floor.
The small scouting party tended their wounds and pushed deeper into orc territory, succesfully reaching their goal and gathering valuable information on their advesaries. In addition to the intelligence gained, the foray taught the group that the mighty orcs were vulnerable and that they could be defeated through use of discipline and tactics.
Mendel and Durin returned to En Dharasha Everae with their information.
The sun elven priestess, clad in a sturdy armor of blue dragon plates, had just finished applying the staples to the wound of one of her group of elves. Even if she was doing a good job at treating a very deep cut - that would have been fatal, had it not been for the timely intervention of her and her sister Amarven - the elf couldn't help but writhe in pain as the cut was being sewn back in place.
"Why not a regenerate or any other healing spell, priestess?"
Luthien slowly wiped away a few droplets of sweat from her forehead. Days and days of prolonged fighting had left her with a dangerously low reserve of divine energy, but nevertheless, she was still a decent healer. Her emerald, gold freckled eyes simply gazed at the deep wound, while she was answering such a question.
"I have already used all of my healing spells for today. You will be given the utmost care as soon as I will have prayed for my spells, but for now, you will have to settle with the staples."
The elf simply nodded in return, without actually saying anything, while two other elves of her group arrived at the triage area. With them, a body she couldn't immediately recognize. At first glance, it looked almost human, but a long series of details, like pointed ears, lither features, and no beard made her realize that it was, in fact, the body of a half-elf. A partially bitten away ear, most importantly, made her realize that she was pretty familiar with that deceased one in particular...
The two elves laid the lifeless body on a stretcher, while one of them stepped forward, addressing the priestess with a grave tone.
"Priestess, we brought you the body of the now-deceased Councilor Sywyn of Doron. We hope that you or someone else of the clergy will be able to perform the appropriate last rites to his body."
Luthien couldn't help but feel disheartened at the sight of Sywyn's lifeless body. Sure, she had already been informed of his demise, but she didn't expect to see his body in such a shape. After slowly nodding to the other elf, she took a deep breath. By the Seldarine, she wouldn't have allowed herself to show any weakness of discomfort to her peers. She was supposed to set an example to the others. Personal feelings were irrelevant.
With a perfectly trained countenance, she simply nodded to the elf before answering back.
"Thank you. I am not a priestess of the dead though, that honor belongs to Amarven and to Elethineth. I cannot perform his funeral, unless the direst of circumstances requires otherwise. Besides, we cannot honor him at the present moment. Not with this war raging on. I can, however, mend his body and protect it from decay, so that we will be able to give him a proper funeral when this war will be over."
"As you wish priestess, thank you for tending to his body."
Luthien slowly shook her head.
"No, thank you for having brought him here, so that I could tend to it. Retrieving his body has been very risky. I appreciate your dedication."
The two elves simply nodded to the priestess, before making a small curtsey and leaving her alone with Sywyn's body. With an apparently emotionless expression, Luthien took great care in cleaning Sywyn's body and wrapping it in ceremonial garments. She would have prayed for her goddess soon, so that she could grant her a spell to protect his body from natural decay. But, as she cleaned his body and prayed, she couldn't help but think about her first calling; a calling that, considering the current war, perhaps was, and could still be, her true one. Shaking her head as to dismiss the notion, Luthien kissed Sywyn's body on the forehead, whispering softly to him...
"I am really sorry Sywyn. You were a good man and probably the only councilor of Doron that has never disappointed me or the others. I will make sure that your sacrifice will not be in vain. I promise it. As for you, sleep well in the glades of Arvandor, alongside your ancestors. May the Seldarine watch over you and your new life."
That said, the priestess carefully placed Sywyn's body inside a simple coffin. There was little time or will left for funerals and official ceremonies. There was only enough time to make war, and probably enough will to win it .
Shamshir wrote:It seems that when coming to RPGs nowadays, common sense is like the Abominable Snowman: everyone knows what it is, but none has really seen it.
Shafts of light from the mid-afternoon sun filtered through the dense canopy of the Wood of Sharp Teeth. The air was warm and sweet with the smell of blooms. The great trees of the wood groaned as they swayed with the wind, and the small creatures of the wood went about their daily foraging. Near a large and deep stream, a brown duck led her line of ducklings toward the safety of the water. They cheeped and hopped to keep up with their mother, charmingly clumsy in the freshness of their youth.
THUD!
A great booted foot swung from nowhere, launching the brown duck twenty yards into the swift waters of the stream where she floated, still and broken, downstream. The yellow specks scattered into the dark places of the wood to find their own demise as hunger, predators, and exposure took them.
The massive orcs chortled with glee as their leader kicked the bird into the stream. It was a mark of pride among the warriors that they could move with suche speed and stealth through their new home that even the woodland creatures were not aware of their coming until it was too late. After watching the brown form of the duck arc into the water, the leader of the company of orc warriors stopped and sniffed the air. His lips curled back from the tusks protruding from his jowls and he hissed a word.
"Elves."
Wicked grins spread across the faces of the orcs. There were nearly a score of them. They were large and strong and although they were by no means the most powerful of their kind, as black orcs, they were still far superior to the foes that had met in battle to this point. Their leader signaled with his hand and the company moved toward the scent - toward battle. Their approach was silent and fast and they soon noted new smells: human, halfling, dwarf! The warriors became more excited at the prospect of slaughter and their pace increased.
Their passage did not go unnoticed as an elven scout, cloaked in foliage and aided by powerful enchantments sat nearby, noting the passage, strength, and equipment of the group. He leapt from hiding and sprinted away, the sound of his passage lost among the excitement and bloodlust of the running orcs. Intimately familiar with this part of the wood, the elven scout easily outdistanced the faster orcs, taking short cuts he had known from childhood. He approached a group of assorted humanoids standing around a fire.
"Villi, they are coming"
A tall elf nodded in acknowledgement of the news and notified the leader of his faction.
"Gather around! To me!" Laisren spoke as loud as he dared.
"War is upon us. Our preparations are made and our plans decided. Now we must display the will, the strength to prevail. We must hold to buy Doron more time. We must hold!" The stern-faced elf looked each of the defenders in the eye as he spoke, boring into them, his gaze bearing the gravity of their position.
They stood on the high ground overlooking the approach to the elf home - to Doron Amar. If they failed, Doron would be hard pressed to repel further attacks and might be lost altogether. Murmers and low grunts of acknowledgement could be heard among the small band of defenders. They were little more than two-dozen. A motley group of elven rangers, human knighs, dwarven warriors, and halfling stalwarts. There were wizards and priests and even a druid who morphed into a massive being of stone and stood still, blending amlost seamlessly with the hillside.
A human warrior in shining armor held up his blade which glinted with divine power. "Front line! To me!"
Hearty dwarves, lithe elven warriors, and shining knights charged to their appointed positions, blocking a small rope bridge that was the only crossing of the deep, swift stream that protected the elven home from the Wood of Sharp Teeth.
Their arrival at the bridge was greeted with a hail of crossbow quarrels. They hissed as they flew, and thunked as they embedded themselves in wood and flesh. The defenders held steady, though. They stood behind the dwarves' massive shields and the powerful magics of the wizards and priests. Some of the bolts found their marks, causing the defenders to wince and even stumble, but they held the crossing.
With a cry, elven, human, and halfling archers rained a storm of arrows upon the attacking orcs. Lacking the protection of magic and shields, the arrows buried themselves deeply in the seams of the orcs' heavy armor. The attacking beasts began to waver and eventually to fall. The brutes were incredibly tough and many continued fighting after being greiviously wounded. Seeing his forces declining, and bolstered by the sudden arrival of several squads of elite orc champions and bezerkers, the commander ordered a charge. Seeing the oncoming troops, the line defenders braced themselves. The orcs charged through the hailstorm of arrows and magic as though it were nonexistent. They loosed unearthly war cries and frothed at the lips as they bounded across the bridge with thier great strides.
The crash of the two forces resounded for miles around. Braced by the massive form of the earth elemental, the defenders held the charge - barely. The dwarves hacked and chopped while above them the elemental's great stone arms crashed into the mighty orcs, setting them off balance and even toppling a few into the water. The fighting was fierce and the blood flowed freely on both sides. Orcs fell and were pushed into the water by reinforcements. Defenders faltered and were pulled back from the front lines to be healed by the mighty healing magics of the Order of the Silver Rose.
After many minutes of intense combat, the flow of orcs slowed, then stopped. The defenders slumped to one knee and leaned on rocks and trees to catch their breath. The wounded were healed and arrows were redistributed. Within minutes more sounds could be heard on the other side of the bridge, and massive forms emerged from the brush. Powerful ogre shamen and warriors burst forth and charged the bridge. Half again as large as the largest of the orcs, these brutes had tough hides that only the sharpest of blades could pierce. The front line wavered, them falterd as a particularly large brute threw a dwarf to the ground, stepped over it, and charged the line of archers.
"STOOOP HIIIM LADS!"
With a crash of stone and earth, the huge elemental leapt from the ground and landed atop the running beast, its massive bulk bearing the ogre to the ground. Archers rushed forward and at point-blank range they fired arrow after arrow into the base of the creatures neck until it was still. At the bridge, the final ogre was cast into the stream by a powerful bolt of lightning that emerged from the mouth of one of the elven defenders. The surprise of the attack as much as the power of the bolt set the great beast on it's heels. It slipped on the slick boards of the bridge and crashed into the water, its heavy armor dragging it deep below the surface, never to emerge again.
The defenders' attention turned to the spectacle of the great elemental atop the dead ogre warrior. It still had not moved. Slowly, the form of the elemental shimmered and morphed back to that of an elf. Then the haft of the spear could be clearly seen. When the great elemental had borne the beast to the ground, its own immense weight had driven the iron spear deep into its breast. Several powerful priests converged around the elf and cast their healing magics. After several minutes, two of the elf's comrade's bore him back to the fire, his fate unsure.
The defender exchanged desperate looks as horns sounded in the distance. How much more could they take? The question soon became irrelevant as two dozen enormous orcs bearing mighty axes as large as a man charged onto the bridge. In their midst was an orc so large that it could have passed for an ogre. About his neck hung a pendant decorated with shrunked heads. He carried a massive axe the radiated energy. He barked orders and spurred the attackers onward. The exhausted defenders grimly formed their lines. With the huge elemental down, four figures strode to the front. Two dwarves, one human, and an elven warrior. They stood shoulder to shoulder against the oncoming horde and when they met, they were pushed back, and back, and back but when their feet met the soil at the end of the bridge, they held - barring the way to the archers and protecting the wizards and priests.
The defender's blows came slowly and they were hard pressed by the size and strength of the attackers' size. As the line began to waver, Laisren sent up a shout.
"FOR DORON AND ALL OF THE SWORD COAST!"
The call was echoed first by the archers, then the wizards and priests, and then by those on the front line. Calling on the divine might of his god, Uriel Honorblade knight of the Silver Rose smote the enormous orc in his in the breast the divine might of his god driving the blade home. Blinding light sprang from his blade and threw the beast back, wounding him severely and blinding several nearby attackers. The two dwarves then worked in unison, swinging their axes at the knees of the blinded attackers and bringing them down. Tomanlor, the elven warrior, then quickly sprang upon the disabled orcs and slit their throats with two precise slashes of his blade's razor edge.
The orcs slowed then, seeing their mightiest warrior fall. The hailstorm of arrows, arcane, and divine magics pushed them back from the bridge.
"Durin, scuttle the bridge!"
Durin Ironfaar and Revenark Stonehold swung their great axes again and again against the coils of rope holding the bridge in place. Seeing their intent, the orcs charged again - but too slow. A final blow loosed the bridge and sent the rest of the orcs along with the enormous one Uriel had wounded to their doom in the rushing waters below.
The defenders collapsed, exhausted from their wounds and exertion. They stumbled back to their camp and tended to their wounded and their dead. No bards were there to sing their praises. No gold was offered them. All they had was a simple hill, and the hope for victory.
In the latter hours of the evening, there was some discussion regarding the enormous orc Uriel had defeated. Some of the more knowledgeable elves and knights speculated that this orc could have been a high ranking leader, perhaps even a chief. The possibility of defeating the leadership of the advancing horde bolstered the hope of the defenders and gave them hope for the following days.
The dark shrouded figure sits atop his perch. Elves, dwarves, hin and humans all rushing around him. They set barricades, secure traps, and pass ammunition out, but the elf just sits within the shadows of a large boulder. He sits staring diligently at the camp fire. His glance into the flame is only briefly interrupted by a hand set before him, offering him a cup.
"It's tea, the way that you like it", his wife Saline smiled down at him. He did not look up but grasped her free hand with his, massaging its calloused fingers and squeezing her palm. He took the cup with his other hand. These were a warrior maiden's hands he thought to himself and a sense of pride overcame his now stoic mood. He looked up, "Thank you my love" he said sincerely before turning back his gaze to the fire.
She knew him well and was not one to spend her time in idle banter either. She moved away, back behind him to greet others he did hear, though he did not pay attention to whom. For now, they were safe atop this perch, looking down on their enemies and the former bridge that sent many of their enemies Vanguard to their watery deaths. These memories moved like vapor through his mind, he felt no pride, no relief.
There was only that which now needed to be done. He set many to the task of raising defenses, bringing in supplies and preparing their allies. He had moved to speak with his one time Councilor, Rhys of Doron and would now erect the great golem to aid in their fight against the horror that was the War Troll. All the chips were in place, but still it did not seem enough. What lie just beyond that river was an unfathomable horde. A horde that would now be bent on one thing, the extinction of all elves from this wood.
There was nothing left to do now but wait. The men are ready, the place of their stand was here atop the ridge. All that would be left to do, is deal death till there were none left, to show the enemy who was truly the meak and to watch them falter. He would watch them burn, he would see them all burn.........
Laisren Ua Tiernan:
The heart must die, so thy loving progeny may live.
Mendel, Durin, and Pate worked long hours into the night preparing a choke point at the fortified position in the Wood of Sharp Teeth near the now destroyed rope bridge. They placed it in the narrow spot at the bottom of the hill. They placed logs, rocks and packed earth to make two large embankments, leaving only a narrow passage that would force attackers to come one or two at a time, leaving them vulerable. The top of the embankments were angled and designed such that archers and spellcasters on the hilltop would still be able to see the orcs gathered on the other side as they were delayed.
The trio met moderate resistance as a group of orc bezerkers and executors attempted to stop them They fought off the group and made their way to the hill to emplace the barricades.
//OOC - The drops represent where the barricade lies. There is a gap on the left only because the walkmesh does not allow movement there, otherwise it would extend to the cliff face on both sides.
The elves and their friends return to Gullykin tired but triumphant. They gather round the fire sharing drink and song. Even Laisren seems pleased, his mouth hurting from all the laughing and smiling, which he is almost never seen doing. He stands up and offers a tribute to Mendel before all those gathered.
((This Friday night, 6pm EST, En Dharasha is to throw a bash and honor Villi Mendel Tel'Dharasha for his service in helping to bring us vicotry!! Our allies are welcome to join us))
Laisren Ua Tiernan:
The heart must die, so thy loving progeny may live.
Hoihe headed immediately for Candlekeep after the war, then his lair on the Cloudpeaks Mountains. He seems weary.
For life to be worth living, afterlife must retain individuality, personal identity and memories without fail - https://www.sageadvice.eu/do-elves-reta ... afterlife/
A character belongs only to their player, and only them. And only the player may decide what happens.
////Funeral event Sunday Nov 18. DM Void will pick a time.
Ele approaches everyone as she travels the regions of Gullykin and Doron Amar.
"Cousins, it is time to honor the fallen. Let us gather to honor and celebrate the Ascension of Elven Spirits to Arvandor. Let us gather to speak of their deeds and character. Sywyn and fallen deserve no less. May Sehanine guide their spirits journey. May the songs of past generations be sung in victory and celebration. "
// (i am unavalable this weekend, but expect to hear about a great victory celebration next week)
Laisren begins making preparations for the return north following Sywyn's funeral. He begins giving directives toward this goal, as now they will be continuing on past their last camp and on to their new home. The road being dangerous and the wood they seek to make their home being unknown to them, they will need to gather supplies for this long journey.
Laisren provides a list:
30 Moon Moss for the lighting of paths.
75 troll hides for leather binding, tent making and carrying sacks.
100 Minotaur Horns, for sale, furnishing, sculpting
125 Bear Hides for rugs, blankets and door coverings
Gems:
20 Emeralds
20 Fire Opals
20 Opal
Any other gems you wish to adorn your homes, spaces, theaters and chapels.
They are to be collected in your travels and turned into Laisren's appointed assistant.
((These materials will be turned into the DMs for the creation of our Guild Hall))
Laisren Ua Tiernan:
The heart must die, so thy loving progeny may live.
Luthien carefully examines the list, taking note of the needed components.
"Hmm....I have 3 emerals with me. As for the minotaur horns and troll pelts, It's not a big deal to retrieve them around. Moon moss isn't too difficult either..."
After mumbling to herself, she limps towards the troll caves south of Candlekeep to begin her work.
Shamshir wrote:It seems that when coming to RPGs nowadays, common sense is like the Abominable Snowman: everyone knows what it is, but none has really seen it.
Maverick 40 wrote:Laisren begins making preparations for the return north following Sywyn's funeral. He begins giving directives toward this goal, as now they will be continuing on past their last camp and on to their new home. The road being dangerous and the wood they seek to make their home being unknown to them, they will need to gather supplies for this long journey.
Laisren provides a list:
30 Moon Moss for the lighting of paths.
75 troll hides for leather binding, tent making and carrying sacks.
100 Minotaur Horns, for sale, furnishing, sculpting
125 Bear Hides for rugs, blankets and door coverings
Gems:
20 Emeralds
20 Fire Opals
20 Opal
Any other gems you wish to adorn your homes, spaces, theaters and chapels.
They are to be collected in your travels and turned into Laisren's appointed assistant.
((These materials will be turned into the DMs for the creation of our Guild Hall))
"Ohooohooohooo! It be time fer huntin lads!"
Durin gleefully takes up his axe and heads north muttering something about poached troll gizzerds.
Ele stepped slowly across the littered ground of the forest. She paused, her eyes viewing the wreckage of war. A Black Orc lay dead where it had fallen. A fitting end to the savages hunger she thought in this month of Uktar, The Rotting. Some vile Orc God must be reveling in this putrescent decay. She knelt, sprinkling her holy water over the beast. Gathering her strength she called on Sehanine's blessing to prevent the dead from rising again. "May the peace of death rest eternal. Let nature be nourished and grow anew," she concluded, lest the SharpTeeth Woods become another macabre Field of the Dead.
She grew weary, performing this ritual again and again, crossing the corriders of destruction wrought by the war. She sat on a fresh stump, recently felled for the savages bonfires, and rested as night fell. Above her the sky turned purple, darkening to black. The first stars of the night winked from afar.
Reading the stars, she considered the constellations above. "The Dagger" was still raised in the sky, but only it's pommel, for Ilneval's blade would not rise above the horizon again this season. "Shaundral, The Drifting Star" erratically pulsed in brilliance, an odditiy among the heavenly bodies. The lore and stories of it always concerned with misfortune. "Osiris" a bright star in the southern sky glowed brightest. Some legends called it the gateway to the Realm of the Dead.
In the southern sky "The Sentinel" stood tall and proud.
It reminded her of Sywyn, the valiant hero of Doron Amar. His Ascension would soon be celebrated.
She remembered now, of his strength, his blond hair and braids, the soft step of his elven boots. His kind words. His office door, kept propped open by his foot while he sat at his desk, ready to share in other tasks at hand. She remembered, how on a mission to Durlag's Tower, she walked at his side, confident she would be unharmed in the upcoming battle, sheltered from harm by his prodigious prowess. How he balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to pounce with the ferocity of a lion. He gentle generosity, sharing items from the armory. She remembered him standing quietly at a fest, arms crossed, his axes hanging from his belt, fondly watching his kin.
His name would be branded in her mind with this constellation. Bards would sing of his deeds. His glory would be celebrated.
Kin would cry and smile and sing blessing him, Ascending to Arvandor. Sehanine would shepard Sywyn's spirit to the gate of Arvandor. Correllon's grace and the First Forest would be his reward.
