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  • Archmages Wrath

    September 23rd, 2019

    The click of the woman’s heeled boots echoes through the corridor as she marches along it. With a look of cold fury on her face, she storms through the castle, ignoring the yelps of servants that scramble from her path. Rounding a corner, she comes to a set of heavy oak doors. With a wave of her hand, the doors blast open with such fury they slam against the wall chipping the stones. Stepping through she enters a large antechamber and walks towards a giant of a man sitting at a table. Seeing him sitting there, tankard of ale halfway to his mouth fills her with even more fury. Brandishing a handwritten note, she yells at the man as she approaches closer.

    “Commander Marcus! What is the meaning of this? You had no right to interfere! You…” Finishing his drink he slams the cup down onto the table. The sound stopping the woman mid-sentence. Pushing his chair back, Marcus gets to his feet and turns to face the woman.

    “Arch-Mage Natalia please calm yourself. I believe I had every right, My Lady.” At his words she loses her composure, throwing the scroll to the floor. Marching up to him she pushes him back into the edge of the table and renews her shouting.

    “Your men had no right to bar the occularium. And on top of that, you had my mages thrown out of the tower.”

    “Enough!” His shout startles her, making her step back a few paces. Sighing deeply he takes a deep breath before continuing.

    “As we’ve yet to hear back from my man on the situation, I’m sure as hell not about to let you use that infernal contraption to rain fire down on the populace. We still have no idea of the situation. For someone so new to your station, you seem very keen to start making foolish decisions.” Taking a deep breath in she advances on the commander once more when a voice comes from beside them.

    “Wow. You guys should get married or something.” Jumping in fright, Natalia turns, lightning crackling along her arms as she does, to find a man’s head floating in the air on a flat surface.

    “Dante, you idiot. I could’ve blasted you. How long have you been there?.”

    Smiling a mischievous grin, he waves at the man now leaning against the table shaking his head.

    “But you didn’t. Long enough. When’s the ceremony?” At the woman’s glare, the young man holds his hands up in defensive gesture.

    “How’s it going commander? So Nat. I see they made you Arch-Mage. Guess the board really is going senile.” Stepping forward into the light, Marcus address the young man in front of him.

    “That’s enough Dante. What have you discovered?” At the older man’s question, a serious look comes over his face.

    “Well. You’re not going to like it. Me and Gina tracked a small band of orc across the plains of Amarong. They’ve been sacking villages as they go, and not bothering to cover their tracks. When we came across Haverton Bridge, we found a straggler. And what he said was interesting. One sec I’ll get him to tell you.” Moving away from their vision, they can hear him grunting and swearing in the background. A moment later he returns, dragging an orc by the neck. Pulling a dagger out he places it against the creature’s neck.

    “Tell them, what you told me.”

    “You get nuthin from me, stinking human.” With a sigh, Dante holds up his blade.

    “A little help Gina. Seems our friends need some persuasion.” A second later the flames wreath the blade. Holding the orc around the neck he pushes the blade against the creatures back. The sound of sizzling flesh comes through the portal and a moment later the orc starts screaming. Breaking after a moment he cries out loud.

    “Fine. I talk. I talk.”

    “Thank you. Now tell them what you told me.”

    “The big bosses be calling all da tribes to the north. To the Eda Valley. Some new big chieftain is in charge now. But foolish humans will not stop orcs this time. We too many. Your land will burn.” At his last words, the orc starts cackling. Pushing him out of view there’s the sound of gurgling and Dante comes back cleaning his dagger.

    “Sorry about that. So as far as we can tell, all the orc are heading to the valley. Someone has rallied them. You know what this..” His words cut off as a crash and a roar erupts from out of view. Removing the bow from his back, Dante draws out an arrow and knocks it. Pulling the string back, lightning crackles around the arrow before he releases it. The sound of an explosion echoes through the room and for a moment Dante’s face is lit up.

    “Gina run.” As he disappears from view, the window winks out of existence. Turning from its empty spot, Nat looks at Marcus.

    “If the orcs are rallying it can mean only one thing.”

    “Aye. The demon gate has been opened and the Dread Lords have returned. Gods have mercy on us.”

  • Demi-Human Rescue

    September 20th, 2019

    The smell of the earth fills her nostrils as she wakes. Moving slightly causes pain to sear through her right leg. Clenching her teeth, she ignores the pain and reaches over to the sword just beyond the reach of her hand. Gripping the hilt of her blade she drives it into the ground and she pushes herself into a sitting position. Looking up fear strikes into her heart at the sight of the three orcs seated not far from her. The biggest of them catching sight of her. Smiling a fanged tooth smile he gestures to the other two and gets slowly to his feet, drawing his curved scimitar as he does.
    “Should’ve stayed down bitch. We might have let you live if you had.” Ignoring the pain in her leg she pushes her self to her feet and hefts the sword in front of her. A wave of dizziness washes over her as a fresh wave of blood runs down her leg from the gash on her thigh. Staggering backward slightly, she trembles as the orcs begin to approach, all three hefting their weapons menacingly. Closing her eyes and waiting for the final blow, she offers up a silent prayer to the old gods. Hearing the sound of bow twang brings her back to reality. Opening her eyes, she sees an arrow pierce the eye of the left-most orc. With a shout a young beast-man comes charging from the tree line. His ears flat against his head. Mere feet from the orc he draws two small, wickedly curved daggers from his belt. Ducking under the first orcs swing he drives his first dagger into its chest. Using his momentum he jumps up and drives the second into the side of its neck. Ripping it free in a spray of green blood. Dropping his daggers he pulls the scimitar free from the orcs hand and in the same movement swings it at the third orc. Stunned at the young man’s appearance the third orc doesn’t even move as the blade embeds deep into his skull. Leaping away from the orcs, the young man watches as the orc collapses in a heap before retrieving his second dagger. Wiping them clean in the orcs clothes he returns them to his belt and turns to face the woman. At that moment her injuries gain the best of her and she swoons. Moving with incredible speed, he catches her before she falls to the ground. Carefully placing his arms underneath her, he lifts her clear off the ground as if she and her armour weighed nothing. Carrying her to the nearby river he places her down just next to the water. Leaving her sitting there he walks over to the place he appeared and retrieves a small pack from the bushes. As he walks back she sizes him up. The ears on his head twitch as if listening to everything around. Eyes larger than a normal human and a tail that sways behind him. Mesmerised by its movements she stares,
    “Stop ogling my tail, please. It makes me uncomfortable.” His deep voice startles her as he opens the pack. Pulling a clean shirt from it he tears it into strips. Soaking one part in the river he comes over and begins cleaning her wounds with surprising gentleness. When he reaches her face, her eyes meet his as he washes a cut on her cheek. For a moment time stops and her heart catches in her chest. Before sending a wave of heat to her face. Ignoring it she asks him a question.
    “Why did you save me? I thought beast people didn’t get involved in the affairs of other races. Especially humans.” Pondering her question for a moment he stops what he’s doing and sits down on a rock opposite her.
    “Normally we don’t. But I’ve been tracking that party of orc for four days. Their part of a larger force that sacked a village east of here. A village we often traded with. They left none alive. Just left them in the streets for the carrion to pick clean. The rest of the beast people thought it unwise to get involved. But I’m unlike them. Those orcs are from a small clan that resides deep in the southern mountains. Near the Deepspire Cleft. They haven’t been seen this far north in centuries. The fact that they have come from their territories is more than a cause for concern. Orcs roam in greater numbers and places that should have remained empty are once again filling with all manner of dark things. The forest whispers. Something that has not been seen in an age is coming. And what if you? It’s rare to see a woman from the southern isles all the way here in the cold north.” 
    “How’d you know I was from the isles?”
    “Your hair is gold in colour. Match that with your accent and your darker skin. It’s easy.” Smiling she goes to respond but a wave of nausea overcomes her. Tilting to the side she brings up the contents of her stomach onto the ground. Swaying once more she begins to topple but the beast-man catches her once more. Placing his palm on her forehead, he dips one finger into the wound on her leg and licks the blood off. Spitting it back out almost instantly, he curses.
    “Dammit. Poison. Stay with me woman. You’re not dying on me today.” Speaking in his language he yells into the forest. Looking around, her consciousness fades as two more beast people emerge from the trees.

  • Phoenixborn

    September 19th, 2019

    Sitting on a rock the young woman doesn’t notice the rain as it begins to fall. Splashing into the river that she sits beside it drowns out all the sounds of the forest behind her. Staring at her hands, she watches as a drop of water falls from her hood and lands on her wrist. Cutting a trail through the blood and grime. As it falls from her fingertip into the river a sob bursts from her lips. Looking up to the sky she silently shouts out a prayer to gods that have long since forsaken the world. Streaming down her face, she can’t stop the tears as they begin mixing with the rain. Getting to her feet she turns to the trees and screams. All the pain and sorrow tearing free from her at that moment. As silence reigns once more she falls to her knees, landing heavily on the now muddy ground. As her black hair falls free from her hood, she looks to the left seeing her sword leaning against the rock she was just sitting on. The once silver blade now coated in the thick black blood of orcs. In anger, she grabs the blade and moves to throw it. Bringing her arm back to hurl the blade, she stops as crashing comes from the trees behind her. Turning she watches as three orcs come bursting through the trees, the trophies of the hunt clattering loudly together. Catching sight of her the leader smiles a sickening smile and gestures towards her with a barbed whip in hand.
    “Looks like lucks on our side boys. Hello pretty. You’ll make a nice addition to our master’s caravan you will. Pretty face like yours will get a nice price at the market. So, what say you put down that little sticker of yours and come quiet like?” Raising her blade, she grinds her teeth.
    “Orc filth. I’ll go nowhere with the likes of you.” At her defiant words, a sadistic look crosses his face.
    “Well then. Guess we do this the hard way. Bring the human bitch to me boys. And don’t be none too gentle about it.” At his gesture, the two other orcs pull their weapons from their belts. Smiling they begin crossing the distance towards her. Anger surges through her and power wells up within. As her eyes start glowing red, her hair begins to change to a deep crimson colour. A look of terror crosses the orcs face and he screams.
    “Phoenix born! Cut her down fools before it’s too…” Faster than an arrows flight she covers the distance to the leader. With a single slash of her sword, she beheads the orc, black blood spraying into the air and increasing the grim already covering her. Advancing on the two remaining orcs she cuts them down before they have a chance to react. Stepping clear of the last body as it falls lifelessly into the mud, she walks back the rock and collects her pack. Hefting it onto her back she looks back at the three bodies. With a gesture, they all burst into flames. The fire burning unnaturally In the rain. Turning her back on the burning corpses she sets off into the trees. Across the river, a young man watches as she disappears through the trees. As he retreats through the trees he smiles to himself. Climbing onto a nearby horse he sets off through the trees at a slow walk. Beginning to whistle to himself before long.

  • Lone Fisherman

    September 19th, 2019

    Walking down the jetty, a lone fisherman looks on in horror at the town he once called home. Awash in a sea of flame, tears fall from eyes from more than just the smoke. A crunch of footsteps on rubble diverts his attention as a man clad in black armour steps away from the wall.

    “It seems one insect escaped the boot.” As he begins to walk towards the fisherman, a black greatsword, phases into existence. Ignoring the soldier’s sword and advancing, the fisherman removes his hat revealing a middle-aged face with a scar rubbing from temple to jaw on the left side. Letting the hat fall to the ground he reaches into his shirt and begins to talk as he closes the distance to the soldier.

    “Bound by the chains of fate are those who walk the knifes edge. For if they falter in their steps, only the void will await them.” Halting his advance the soldier points his sword towards the fisherman and in his arrogant high tone demands a question.

    “What would a mere fisherman, from haven, know of fate?” Pulling a small plain ring from inside his shirt he looks at the solider, a look of sadness crossing his face briefly.

    “More than most. Shall we see who’s fate rings true here?” Without waiting for the soldier’s reply he places the ring on his right hand. Blue light blooms from it the moment it settles on his skin. Stepping forward as armour coats his body the fisherman waves his hand and a single-edged longsword appears. Grasping its hilt he charges towards the soldier with barely a sound. Shouting the soldier closes the remaining distance and with lightning speed, swings his sword. With the clash of steel, sparks fill the air as the older man stops the blade dead. From behind a piece, timber falls to the ground and both men move, their battle beginning in earnest.

  • Wolfs Fancy

    September 16th, 2019

    Laying under the boughs of an ancient oak tree the man breathes a relaxing sigh. Far overhead the stars shine. Gazing up, a sense of peace settles over him. Leaving back further into the soft undergrowth beneath the tree, he closes his eyes and begins to hum. From the nearby trees comes the sound of a branch breaking, followed by movement. Instantly alert the man rolls to his knees picking up his bow as he does so. Reaching around a root, he draws an arrow from a nearby quiver and with practised precision, knocks and draws It in one movement. Fletching against his check he sights down the bow and waits patiently as the crashing gets closer. At last, the crashing reaches a crescendo and from the foliage, a pure white elk emerges. Taller then a horse, the creatures shite fur shines in the moonlight. Smiling the man lowers his bow, retuning the arrow to the quiver before getting to his feet. Brushing the leaves from his knees, he props his bow back against the tree before turning toward the creature standing in front of him. Intelligent black eyes meet his own and seem to weigh him. Holding his hands to either side in an open gesture he speaks in the language of the elves.
    “Come friend elk. Myself and my companion mean you no harm. We have naught to offer but my company and that I offer freely.” Finishing with a bow the man walks back over to the tree and sits down with his back against the trunk. As he does so an old wolf slowly walks out of the trees and sits next to him. A gentle breeze blowing through the clearing brings a scent of flowers and a slight rustle from the trees nearby. Ears twitching the wolfs hackles rise and he growls. Placing his hand on the wolfs head he talks in the common tongue of men.
    “Easy old friend. Tomorrow is soon enough for chasing fancies. Leave it till then.” With a grumble, the wolf turns on the spot and settles in next to the man. Gesturing to the free space next to him, the man beckons to the elk. Moments later the creature walks over and with a grace belying its size, seats itself on the ground nearby. Grinning to himself the man settles back in and starts to hum once more. Before long the elk’s eyes close and it begins breathing slowly. Soon after the mans humming stops and is replaced by deep breathing. Shifting the wolf moves to be against the man before it too falls to sleep. In the nearby tree, watching the Clearing with a growing level of curiosity the young woman’s green eyes seem to shine in the moonlight.

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