Lord Aravar Galdean and Lord Aseiar
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Author:  Aravargaldean [ Sun Oct 31, 2004 1:46 pm ]
Post subject:  Lord Aravar Galdean and Lord Aseiar

hey all u people, both Druchii and Asur alike. Spartan and I have been working on a series of fluff for our characters, listed above. here's parts one and two (sorry they're not seperated)-----

Lord Aseiar walked into the dimly lit antechamber of Loremaster Anyaebar. It smelled heavily of incense, an odor that was popular among Aseiar’s brethren but one that he had never gotten used to. As he continued forward, an aide emerged from a door across the room, carrying a large load of scrolls under his arm.
“The Loremaster is in his study, and I have notified him of your presence; he will see you momentarily. In the meantime please make yourself comfortable,” said the aide, making a sweeping gesture towards the conglomeration of cushioned chairs in the center of the room. Then without another word he walked past Aseiar and disappeared, scuffling down the long corridor with his burden of parchment.
Aseiar chose not to sit down but instead strolled over to the window, preferring fresh air over the thickly perfumed couches. The view from the top of the Loremaster’s tower was amazing; he could see all of Arnhelm, from its pristine, stalwart gates to the west and the bustling port to the east. He could also see his home in the distance, dwarfing the nearby mansions of the local nobles. Aseiar was reminded of many fond memories in that estate, memories of his family and fellow soldiers. But one feeling tore through all of this, one that cast him out of his peaceful reverie: the recent death of his beloved father. Normally such a peaceful death would not cause him this anguish, but these were different circumstances. His family, though residing in Arnhelm for the last several hundred years, was originally from the mystical province of Saphery. Magic flowed in the veins of Aseiar’s line, and it had been studied by every family member up to Asiear himself. Instead, he had chosen to learn the art of combat, a choice which his father had not disputed, but his displeasure was ever evident on the old elf’s face. What was that my father once said? Ah yes, “Saphery is our true father, Aseiar. It nurtured our family from the world’s beginning, and though we may now live far beyond, we must all learn to repay it in our own way. Always remember that, my son, lest we impugn the honor of our dear homeland.” Ever since the moment his father died, Aseiar had pondered that statement. He had always meant to carry on his family’s honor, but up until now he had ignored his heritage completely, being absorbed only in swordplay and serving the army of Arnhelm. Now he was resolved himself to fulfill his father’s only wish of his only son.
“Enjoying the view, I see?” Aseiar whirled around in place, caught unawares by the Loremaster’s sudden appearance. He had always prided himself on his acute senses and was disappointed at being caught off guard.
“Loremaster Anyaebar,” Aseiar said with a low, sweeping bow. “I am glad that you agreed to see me.”
“Yes, yes, Commander Aseiar, I have heard much about your aspirations. You seek training in the magic arts, this I know. Your entire bloodline has followed this path, and I can sense their talents flowing within you, too.”
“Then you will teach me?” Inquired Aseiar.
“Of course not, young fool! Have you learned nothing from your father? I can see inside you, Aseiar; you have neither the strength of mind nor the wisdom to learn the arts of Saphery. Return perhaps when you have wisdom and stability to undertake the study of magic, but not before.”
“But my lord, you must understand that my father–” began the commander.
“Your father had the patience to wait for experience and strength of mind before he so rashly requested training, young commander. If only you had been raised in Saphery, you might know of what I speak….. But never mind. I have made my decision until I have reason to believe otherwise. Good day, Aseiar.” And with that, Loremaster Anyaebar made a quick motion with his hand and disappeared in a brilliant flash of light.
Aseiar resisted the urge to draw his sword and rip the couches of that damned mage to shreds. How dare he speak to me in such a way? I have the same skill as my father before me! Afraid of showing his anger before the loremaster who was undoubtedly watching him through some type of magic, Aseiar began some calming breathing exercises that his father had shown him once. He closed his eyes, folded his hands and breathed deeply, and after several seconds he was beginning to feel more collected already, when suddenly he heard a great blasting horn from the east. Snapping out of his meditations, Aseiar sprinted to the window and peered with his elven eyes at the distant harbor. Cruising swiftly into port was a great armada of High Elven ships, and sailing at the front of the formation was a grand, sleek Hawkship, with its sails unfurled in the wind. Upon these sails he could barely make out a single rune, the symbol the province of Tiranoc. This is the third fleet of this size that has arrived this week, he thought. Who now is this Lord of Tiranoc that has come to aid us?


Aravar walked off the plank from his flagship, The Sapphire Dragon and stepped onto the dock of the famous city of Tiranoc, Arnhelm. Looking around him, he took in the many sights, sounds, and smells of the exotic city called Arnhelm. Gaudy merchants were selling goods at small stands, like long yellow fruits from Araby, or even druchii daggers taken from their masters at the conclusion of a battle. Aravar scowled at that, tinking that it was heresey to be selling Druchii daggers at the same time we were at war with them, even right now, tense fighting in the wraith gate was reported, with both Druchii and Asur casualties rising every day. Looking away fom the merchants, he noticed taverns, some even modeled after the famous tavern of Elendal, where many famous elves, and even loremasters come to drink fine wines and talk of the physical and metaphyisical. Looking up from the inns and the taverns, he saw training halls, where Asur were to be trained in the art of swordplay and commendeering of armies. Word had even reached his ears that the famous Ryo was conducting classes on the use of calvery in the greatest one of those halls, the Hall of Ages. Looking up from there, he saw his final destination. Rising high above the training halls, and the taverns, rose the towers of Arnhelm. The towers formed all the areas of governing and religion. He could barely see the towere of Asuran, with flames rising from every window, and a giant eagle keeping watch at the top. But it was not these towers that drew his attention, but it was a smaller tower, a loremaster's tower of some repute that he set his horse, Maevar, to a gallop to.


Arriving at the base of the tower, Aravar saw the inscription that read that the tower was that of his friend and cousin Anyaebar. Walking inside, he just caught sight of a tall and strongly built fighter elf running out, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, probably out of embarrasment. Walking up the many flights of stairs was a task in itself, but once Aravar got into the plush waiting room, with many couches and a great view of Arnhelm, he decieded that now would be time to see his cousin. Knocking on the door, and calling for Anyeabar, he felt apprehension. "Finally!" he thought "After setting sail from Middenhiem and sailing for two months, I am finally here!" Anyaebar opened the door. He was a kind and lean elf, who could have been a fighter if he had not taken up magery.

"Hello, cousin Aravar, I see that you are well." Said the loremaster, idily stroking a plush drape, "Now, I assume, you have something to ask of Me."

"Yes, my friend. Do you remember the times in our childhood when we would hunt together?" Aravar asked his cousin and friend, "We worked together so well, and I believe that we can do it again."

"That, Aravar, seems like a wise decision. We cannot let the Druchii get even closer to our homes. We must make a strong offensive now, to drive them from our lands forever." And with that, the lean loremaster, and Aravar, a stunningly handsome elf with flowing blond hair, tied up in knots above his head, and both dressed in flowing blue and yellow robes, the colors of house Galdean, walked out into the light, to peace, and to war.


Riding out of the city of Arnhelm, Aravar spied a large camp of elves preparing to assault the wraith gate assembling. He thought to himself if it would be a wise decision for himself and Anyaebar to go there and announce themselves, and then he decided against it. There was no need to, seeing as they would be rendezvousing with his army, the glorious third army of Tiranoc, under the banner of Prince Aravar Galdean, operating under the provincional commander of Tiranoc, Feldarion Nightstar. Looking toward the Asur camp, Aravar also saw the same wiry elf that he saw running out of his cousin’s tower the day before. He was riding, just like they, toward a series of banners declaring him loyal to Enthrendon Anar, like Aravar was loyal to Feldarion. Turning toward his cousin, he asked the sagely mage, “who is that elf? I had seen him before running out of your tower when I was walking in.”
Anyaebar responded with a tactful sniff and he replied, “His name is Aseiar. He is an elf from Saphery, and his father was a famous Sapherian mage that just died. I’m sure you heard of him. He was known as Althienen the Green. As his last dying wish, he told his son, Aseiar, to follow in his footsteps and become a mage. Aseiar had disgraced his family, which had all trained in the Sapherian art to become wizards. Aseiar, who had been a native Sapherian, but who had lived in Arnhelm for the most recent years of his life, came to me in my tower to ask to become a mage. I turned him away.”
“Why would you turn a man away, especially one with parentage such as that?” Aravar asked, perplexed.
“His heart was not pure.” Said Anyaebar. “He had a great potential to become a powerful mage, but his soul was clouded with hate for the Druchii and the training he had taken to become the powerful fighter that he is today. To become a mage, he must let down those shells and let true emotion flow forth.” Aravar sat on his horse and mused about his friend’s words for the next hour until they neared his army. Seeing the light glint off the metal, and his banner, twin dragons entwined around a glaive, with the everlasting fire of Asuryan at its base heartened him. Rank upon rank of beautiful silver helms, nobles taken from the house of Galdean, his cousins and sons and grandsons all, stood ready to fight for him. A score of the silent but deadly shadow warriors, Anyaebar’s personal bodyguard from his tower in Arnhelm, stood ready to defend their master. Twenty members of the elite phoenix guard, gifted to Aravar from the Phoenix King and Tyron, stood silent at the ready, with their leader, a native Tiranocian and a master of the flame, Sethianis, standing in a chariot, his face aglow from the inner fires of his sword, and the holy blessings that the omnipotent god Asuryan bestowed onto him when he rose up to become a master of the flame. Aravar bowed to him, to show respect for his religious status. Looking at all his proud regiments and good friends, all dressed in the colors of house Galdean, blue like midnight and a yellow akin to gold, and all armed and armored with the best that Ulthuan had to offer. With this cursory glance, Aravar trotted towards the head of his army, and with a strong voice, said, “Now, we go to war. Some of us may not come back, but know that each and every one of your deaths must be worth the deaths of a hundred Druchii!” The glorious army of Aravar Galdean let out a throaty yell, and then they were on the march once more.


Lord Aseiar lifted the flap of his tent and stepped out into bloody glow of the morning sun. He and his men had been confined to base camp outside of Arnhelm for over a week now, waiting for his commander’s decision to proceed on to the Wrath Gate. He could tell since the beginning that his troops were ready for action, and feared that they were already losing their concentration. Had Aseiar not sworn allegiance to Enthardon of Nagarythe, who had already moved on to the Wrath Gate, he would have disobeyed his foolish commander and begun the march.
Aseiar strode out into the fresh air and stretched his arms wide, ridding himself of his cumbersome morning fatigue. Stepping away from the nearby tents to the central fire pit, Aseiar unsheathed his keen sword and began his morning exercises. He forced all of his discontent, his frustration into his swordplay, letting him be free of his emotions for those glorious few moments. His motions flowed with practiced ease; a thrust here, a lithe spin, a feint followed by a deadly slash, transformed into a parry and a flip, all as Aseiar combated his imaginary foe. This was his was of maintaining his inner peace, not the solemn meditation of the old loremasters, but the rush of the warrior’s deadly dance. Aseiar’s soldiers knew it was wise not to disturb him during these sessions, and thus he was startled by his subordinate, Elthanai, who came dashing into the sleeping campsite with an urgent look about him.
“Lord, the horns have sounded! Smoke gathers to the west; the Wrath Gates are under attack!”
Aseiar quickly sheathed his blade and listened intently, gazing westward. He could hear the faint yet clarion sounds of High Elven horns in the distance, sounding the call to battle. And, sure enough, the smoke of the fires of war began to seep into the far off skies. “Yes, Elthanai, the battle has joined; we cannot be refused the right to proceed now! Go now, and rouse my men for the march. Young one, it is finally time to go to war!”


Wiping sweat from his brow, Aravar fought to keep atop his horse charging into the thick of the Druchii line. He could see Anyaebar blasting the slanneshi sorceress with a spell where the holy flames devoured her corpse long after she had fallen. Sethianis’ chariot smashed into a large regiment of barely clothed Druchii, the devoted of Slannesh. Needless to say, he decapitated the largest and nudest of the devoted and he and the Phoenix guard ran them down. Looking away from his silent friend, Aravar focused on a target ahead; a regiment of Druchii weirdly mutated by Slannesh, with a Druchii in their midst, an anointed of Slannesh. Aravar’s mouth went into a wry smile, anticipating, and planning out the fight that was to come. He would die before he let another filth of slannesh go free to wreak havok on his land. Bringing his horse to near-suicidal speed, Aravar courted death. Slamming into the unit, he handled his glaive deftly, all the while keeping his eyes on his target, the Druchii anointed in the regiment. He was dodging the blows of the champion of the silver helms unit that he was fighting with, and his sword moved like a snake, darting quickly and stabbing with much force. Finding a weak spot in the defenses of the young noble, the Druchii anointed snarled and stabbed his sword through the unfortunate elf’s heart! The sword grew, and energy from the elf’s soul traveled through the wicked blade into the Druchii’s arm. It smiled, showing elongated canines. It was a shark’s smile. Aravar, dispatching the feeble Druchii closest to him, charged into the anointed, still savoring the soul-stuff that it had inhaled from the champion, but was beaten to it. A young elf, moving like quicksilver, and holding a sword bedecked with Sapherian runes, jumped towards the Druchii lord. Seeing the anointed’s two-faced smile, the young elf bellowed a battle cry and jumped into furious melee. After a few moments of fierce combat, with the young wiry elf barely avoiding the Druchii’s stabs and thrusts, a kick from one of the spectators around sent the elf reeling onto the floor. Not wanting to see any Asur be killed, Aravar dismounted and stepped forward to divert the killing blow. He then stepped into the spot that the wiry elf had left and began to fight. He let the spirit flow through him like a mighty stream, directing the glaive to deadly patters that were blocked by his adversary. Aravar feinted, sending his glaive up high, and pretending to swing it down. The eager Druchii fell for it, and Aravar’s kick to the groin sent him reeling. The prince of Tiranoc, in all his glory, rose up for the killing blow, and decapitated the Druchii. With a smile that was half brag and half grimance, Aravar recognized the elf on the floor.As he was getting to his feet, he said calmly, “Hello Aseiar, I believe I have just saved your life.”


A hail of dark bolts cascaded over Lord Aseiar’s head, darting into the unfortunate regiment of archers behind him. The sky was darkening and the sun setting in the west, but this battle, though it had continued all through the day, was far from over. Aseiar took a moment to withdraw from the main combat and observe the surrounding actions. After a sweeping glance of the battlefield, he had seen enough. On the far left of the battlefield, a great force under the banner of Tiranoc was well ahead of the Asur battle line, apparently separated from the main force some time ago. Wasting no time, Aseiar sat high upon his steed and raised his sword, signaling his accompanying regiment of Silver Helms to gallop toward the Tiranocians. If they pressed the attack hard enough and regrouped with these charioteers, they could turn the entire Druchii flank.
Battling his way through the fray, Aseiar headed his company stalwartly toward his goal. He trampled and sliced a bloody path through the Dark Elves, several times having to dart his steed left and right in order to avoid crushing several Asur that got in the way. He finally turned his head, momentarily halting his incessant hacking through the enemy, and found that almost all of his Silver Helms had stayed with him thus far. He turned around to the front again, but only an empty field lay in front of him; he had broken through the Druchii line and had a hundred yards between himself and the enemy flank. Once a gain raising his sword, he thrust it forward and his musician at once sounded a charge. The Silver Helms–momentarily separated from the confusion of battle and magnificent in their glimmering armor–lowered their lances and charged across the open plain toward the menacing foe. The Aseiar roared as he charged full speed, his voice bellowing a triumphant battle cry; the horsemen company around him braced for impact against the enemy line.
Aseiar began to bring his sword back in a swing–but was halted halfway as a Druchii commander, concealed behind the Dark Elf infantry, snapped a command. A wave of black-fletched bolts erupted from his foul brethren. Aseiar was thrown from his steed as a bolt took it in the knee, but managed to lessen the impact with a deft roll that brought him to his feet. He looked around, but saw nothing of his Silver Helm contingent, only the noble Tiranoc charioteers and a seething mass of Druchii, warped and mutated horribly by the powers of Slaanesh. Forcing his anger into the battle, he became a blur, his lethal blade slaying any foul Druchii brave enough to try and stop him.
Suddenly, though, something caught Aseiar’s attention; a Druchii Anointed, the same that had ordered the bolt volley that had so dispassionately slaughtered his horsemen. Sprinting towards the foe and leaping high into the air, Aseiar flipped and landed directly in front of the startled Druchii. Aseiar struck quickly, bringing his glowing blade in an upward slash that should have taken off the Anointed’s arm. The Dark Elf, however, deftly spun around, using his momentum to thrust his dark blade with incredible force. Aseiar brought his own weapon up to parry the blow, but only partially deflected it; the malignant blade cut a shallow wound in Aseiar’s shoulder, and almost instantly the wound became ice cold and pain coursed through his arm. Tossing his runed sword to his left hand, Aseiar began a swift downward sweep and feigned a thrust, but twisted at the last moment and angled the blade straight toward the Anointed’s heart. He felt victory at his fingertips and forced all of his energy into this one last blow; but, at that moment a sharp kick to the head from a spectating Druchii sent him flying to the ground , and for a few moments all went black.
When Aseiar shook off the unconciousness and opened his eyes, a tall Asur, glaive in hand and adorned with the symbol of Tiranoc, stood over him. The Anointed lay dead in a pool of black blood, the like of which now stained the Tiranocian’s strange weapon. Putting the facts together, Aseiar realized that this new ally had stepped in and carried on the fight for him.
The Tiranocian reached down and offered his hand to Aseiar, and nonchalantly said, “Hello Aseiar, I believe I have just saved your life.”
Aseiar, stunned, could think of nothing to do but rise to one knee and act humbly as his father had taught him. “My thanks, liege. My life and my honor are now in your debt. Upon the honor of Saphery, I….I offer myself into your service, noble one, until my debt be repaid or death take me.”

Author:  Aachil lathanast [ Mon Nov 01, 2004 9:09 am ]
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Interesting story and colourful description of characters involved. I see that you had also posted it in the Asur.org. Are you basing your stories on the games that you have played ( some sort of a battle report ) ir is it purely fictional. If you want to succesfully continue this story your character will have to loose a battle or two in the future - many fluff writers make that mistake and make their characters undefeatable. In this way story becomes predictable and less interesting.

Author:  Aravargaldean [ Mon Nov 01, 2004 9:10 pm ]
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thanx so much for the input. I never really thought of making them lose a battle.

and yes, this is totally fictional. I've never really even met Spartan in real life

Author:  Spartan [ Mon Nov 01, 2004 10:45 pm ]
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yes, thank you very much- and we'll see if we can work up a little twist in the future.

Author:  Deathraider [ Thu Nov 04, 2004 7:23 am ]
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Very nice fluff . It sets the background on who the characters are. Good job.

Is more coming?

Author:  Beastmaster kurlan [ Thu Nov 04, 2004 7:41 am ]
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very well written. keep up the good work.

Author:  Spartan [ Thu Nov 04, 2004 10:56 pm ]
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yes, more is on the way!

Author:  Aravargaldean [ Mon Nov 15, 2004 10:40 pm ]
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now that you all have waited so patiently *hides crowds mobing outside of door* this is the next installment of our fluff so without further ado:

Lord Aseiar, astride his new steed that Aravar had graciously donated, plodded along through the labyrinth-like mountain pass with his new allies, the Tiranocian warhost. Fortunately, the pass was surprisingly flat, allowing the charioteers to make their way through with relative ease. In lieu of the sealing of the Wrath Gate, Aravar Galdean, the leader of these warriors, had been ordered by his commander Feldarion Nightstar to march through this pass and regroup with the main force now at the Sixth Gate. Aravar now trotted onward on his steed at the fore of the small army. Aseiar noticed him looking back ever so often, as if observing the young Sapherian; however, he could not fathom what the lord of Tiranoc might be thinking. Suddenly, though, Aravar dropped back and fell into step beside Aseiar.
“Good day, Aseiar of Saphery. I hope that this arduous march has not bored you too much.”
“No, my lord; I have been on harsher marches than this.”
“Ah, good. May I ask you, young commander, why you have deigned it necessary to pledge your service to me? A simple thanks would have sufficed, I assure you,” he added with a smirk.
“It is a matter of honor, Lord Aravar. You saved my life, and in the name of Saphery I must return the favor as best I can. Or so my father said once. I–” Aseiar’s sentence was cut short, as he heard a sharp thud close by and whirled around, only to see an arrow stuck quivering in a nearby pin tree. A black-fletched arrow!
“Druchii!” yelled Aseiar.
Aseiar expected the scene to turn into turmoil, expected the horses to bolt off down the pass and the men to lose all coordination, as was common with these Druchii surprise attacks. However, this was not the case; Aseiar stared wide-eyed as the chariots expertly turned on a dime in the narrow confines of the pass, their steeds under complete control. From the back of these fast moving chariots, the crewman drew their bows and took seemingly random shots into the woods, but Aseiar was astounded when he heard impacts and screams of pain as the arrows hit their targets. Shaking off his surprise, he drew his sword and charged into the woods. Dark Elven shades were all around, closing in to wreak havoc after the shock of their surprise attack wore off. A quickly shot bolt came up from the shades Aseiar was headed for, but he deftly deflected it with his sword, a trick that he had always been adept at since he was a boy. Aravar, galloping in behind him, gave a grunt of amazement as he saw this feat.
Then Aseiar was upon the shades, with Aravar and his retinue close behind. Aseiar reveled in the rush of combat, turning his body into a blur of motion as he clashed with the Druchii around him. He could see Aravar at the edge of his vision, his glaive impaling a fleeing shade in the back. Suddenly, the glint of sunlight on metal caught Aseiar’s attention, and he quickly ducked. A jagged blade stabbed overhead, right where his neck had been. With a low sweep, Aseiar slashed at the legs of this treacherous shade; however, the Druchii leaped into the air–right into the waiting halberd of the Master of the Flame, Sethianis. Aseiar began to give a nod of thanks, when he saw motion in a tree above; a hiding shade drew his crossbow and snapped it up to eye level, taking aim at Sethianis’ head. In one fluid motion, Aseiar reached down to his belt, drew his small dagger, and threw it upwards, praying that it would find its mark. The dagger hit the Druchii in the arm, throwing off his aim and making him lose his balance; the fired bolt flew far off target and the shade plunged from his tree branch onto the ground below. Drawing in a breath of relief, Aseiar looked back behind him. The small Druchii ambush force was fleeing, their numbers decimated. Then Aseiar caught the eye of Sethianis and, although the silent warrior said nothing, Aseiar knew he had gained his respect.

Guiding his horse through the rocks and debris if the pass toward the site of the building of the third gate, Aravar was utterly confused. “Why would Aseiar do that?” His lieutenants heard Aravar ask himself. “Why would he pledge himself to me? I had only saved him. By Asuryon,” Aravar thought, “Why can’t life be easy?” Reflecting on his thoughts, Aravar did not have time to notice his surroundings. They were riding through one of Naggaroth’s few wooded glades, in a deep crevice filled with rocks from the deluge of a recent battle of Druchii against Druchii. Aravar shook his head, thinking on how foolish and how vain these Druchii were. Why fight over gods? There are many of them, and even though Asuryon was Aravar’s patron god, he was content to let others worship their own gods. There is no point to this war, Aravar thought. The Druchii will only weaken themselves, and even if one deity wins, it will rule over a shattered kingdom, like what happened in the sundering years ago. Remembering a quote from a old tome he had read once upon a time, Aravar quietly said to the open, misty, chill air, “War is beneficial to neither side, and in a civil war, neither side wins. There can never be a winner in any civil war, only a victorious loser.” Looking up, hoping with mixed feelings of anxiety and hope, to see the sun once again, the sun of Asuryon, of light, hope, and the Asur, Aravar was disappointed. There was no sun up, not even the sun of Naggaroth, as cold and chill as it was. It was a cloudy night, without a star in the sky, which reminded Aravar of the grim deeds he had to do in the name of Asuryon that still haunted him to this day. With a shudder, Aravar turned his hours around, blue cloak fluttering in the breeze, and galloped up to Aseiar, who was looking at him with a strange mixture of fear and acceptance. It must have taken a lot out of him to pledge his service to me, thought Aravar. With that thought, Aravar finally talked to Aseiar for the first time since he had pledged his services.
“Good day, Aseiar of Saphery. I hope that this arduous march has not bored you too much.”
“No, my lord; I have been on harsher marches than this.”
“Ah, good. May I ask you, young commander, why you have deigned it necessary to pledge your service to me? A simple thanks would have sufficed, I assure you,” Aravar added, wondering what his next answer would be.
“It is a matter of honor, Lord Aravar. You saved my life, and in the name of Saphery I must return the favor as best I can. Or so my father said once. I–” Aseiar looked around, and what he saw seemed to chill him. “Druchii! He screamed, “Druchii are attacking!”
Looking toward the army, Aravar was satisfied that Aseiar’s warning was taken seriously. The charioteers, expertly driven, turned to face the coming threat. To Aravar’s amusement, Aseiar was surprised by the punctuality of the Asur army’s reaction to the attack. However, Aseiar seemed to recover quickly, and he reined his horse to charge the shades near the treeline.
“Asur! With me!” Aravar yelled. “For Ulthuan, for Tiranoc, for Asuryon!” With that battle cry, Aravar and Aseiar, comrades in arms and battle, leapt into the conflict. The elves’ horses outran Aravar’s bodyguard and Army, and accompanied by Sethianis’s chariot, they smashed into the shades. Aravar leapt at the Druchii shades, parrying the shades’ arrows with his glaive. Working his glaive in complicated patterns of attack, Aravar was always on the offensive. Without the support of his army, however, Aravar was pulling back, until Aseiar entered the fight, sword swiping and decapitating the leader of the shades, and stabbing a Druchii assisin that held a dagger.
Unnoticed by all, another assassin had crept behind the master of the flame, Sethianis, and was about to fling a poisoned dagger at him. Aseiar, seeing the threat, turned about, and with unparalleled speed and grace, flung his sword at the assassin, who caught it in the heart, and fell like a stone. Their combined armies were routing the vile Druchii. Before Aravar turned to chase his vile cousins, he saw a look pass between Aseiar and Sethianis, one of understanding, respect, and thanks.


In the coming days, Aseiar gained much popularity among both armies, for the one who had killed two Assasins and saved the life of a Master of the Flame. Neither Aravar nor Aseiar knew that they were to be tested

Author:  Aachil lathanast [ Tue Nov 16, 2004 5:59 pm ]
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Another great chapter but I have a few suggestion. Since the Shade attacked from forest I doubt that chariots would have played any significant role in this battle. Shades are harassers and would not voluntarily leave the cover of the forest to attack an Asur army. Most likely they would stalk the army and would fire a volley a two when the opportunity was right. And you definately underestimated assasins - they are very well trained killers and I doubt that a lucky throw of a knife would pose any threat to them. In a real situation a character would not be aware of him untill it would be too late - Assasins are disguised to resemble ordinary troopers. True strenght of assasins is in the surprise. Combat beetwen these two characters should be a bit longer. At first your character should have been stuned by an unexpected attack and if had survived these first strikes ans assasin would have stood no chance since he lost his only advantage - surprise.
I hope that this time you won´t keep us waiting too long for the follow-up.

Author:  Aravargaldean [ Tue Nov 16, 2004 8:52 pm ]
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my greatest apologies, Aachil. I'll be sure to next time not underestimate assisins.

I also may edit that part for the final write up.

but you also forget that things do happen, and no elf, not even an assasin, can survive a wound like that

thanx for the comments

Author:  Spartan [ Wed Nov 17, 2004 2:30 am ]
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hhmm yes i guess i should apologize for that, as it was me who wrote that part ;) . however, it wasnt exactly supposed to be an official assassin, just a shade or a shade champion that had snuck up into a tree. and the chariots didnt really massacre the shades or anything; that was the heroes' job. they did, however, protect the battle company for those crucial first moments.

thanks for the input, though! it honestly is greatly appreciated :D .

Author:  Aravargaldean [ Sat Nov 27, 2004 4:10 pm ]
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have no fear everyone! the next and newest chapter in the saga of Aravar and Aseiar is on the way! Alas, it is not complete. have patience, for the mobbing outside my door is getting quite annoying


Author:  Aravargaldean [ Thu Dec 02, 2004 11:53 pm ]
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here it is everyone! the next part will be amazing, with a certain Druchii General even pitching in!

here it is:

A large stone spire rose above the blasted landscape of Naggoroth. It looked old, maybe centuries. It also looked strangely out of place in the desolate home of the Dark Elves. With great buttresses, and huge motifs of elven gods, it looked more High Elven then Dark Elven. This all went through Aravar’s head as he looked at this strange statue, this strange monument for a long forgotten god in Naggoroth. That god was the elven sun god, and a god that Aravar revered with all his heart and soul. Asuryon was a forgotten god in Naggoroth, but not so forgotten as it may seem. Perhaps in the distant past there had been true high elves there, loyal to Malekith, but also still loyal to the true god of the Asur, Asuryon. Aravar sighed and walked past the lonely monument for a forgotten god. Calling over his trusted friends, Anyaebar, Aravar’s cousin and loremaster in Arnhelm, Sethianis, a Master of the Flame, meaning a high priest of Asuryon, and the newly appointed second in command, Aseiar of Saphery. After Aseiar defeated the commander of the shades, and the Dark Elf assassin that leapt at Sethianis, who because of that act has a budding respect for the young prince. It is good to see that they are getting along, thought Aravar as they were approaching, neither talking, Aseiar probably because of nervousness, and Sethianis because of the oaths he took at becoming a priest of Asuryon. It was Anyaebar who spoke first.
“Hail, cousin.” Said the wise sage, “my comrade mage grows weary in this toil through this blasted land. I suggest that we stop and rest for the night. Our army cannot take much more of this.”
“I agree,” concurred Aseiar, looking quickly at Anyaebar, who had recently denied his request to become a mage like his fathers. “My force needs to rest and recover. We also are tired of this constant marching. How long till the sixth gate?”
“We are close, comrade” Aravar said, “I have also found a monument that will interest all of you, especially you, Sethianis.” Nodding, the priest walked toward the old monument, and then stopped ten steps away. His mouth sprang open, and he immediately knelt down to pray. Following him was Aravar, then Anyaebar, and then an uneasy Aseiar, because he did not worship Asuryon as greatly as the others, but worshiped a combination of Asuryon and the mage god of Hoeth, for what the swordmasters he trained with were named for. After rising, Aravar intoned, “We will rest here for the night, and when the morning comes, we will saddle up and go. The Druchii wait for no one, especially Asur.”
An old veteran, he looked like one of Arnhelm’s scouts, like a shadow warrior, bounded up to Aravar, and in a breathless voice said, “There’s a Druchii army coming. Looks like they’re clothed… in pink,” this, the scout said with much dread, for that was the colors of the cult of Slannesh. “They also have…” the scout swallowed, “well, my lord Aravar, it looks like they have Daemons.”
“Go! Put your forces in action! You know what to do!” Aravar screamed over the din of getting ready. He was at a shrine of Asuryon, and he swore by that god that he wouldn’t die today. The Asur needed him too much.

Rising the crest of the hill was a score of Daemons of Slannesh. Aravar fought not to charge at them right away, but Maevanis was straining at the reign. Removing his glaive from the sheath at his back, he became ready. Once the Daemons were close enough, Aseiar smashed into them with is bodyguard of silver helms, killing the first with a single stroke of his rune-bedecked sword. The silver helms fought hard, and somehow they managed to break through the Daemons. Aseiar, with an oath on his lips, smashed into them again, slaughtering many, but losing many good elves in return. Seeing that Aseiar had firmly put his presence in the Druchii’s minds, Aravar launched his attack. Choosing his target carefully, Aravar, along with his trusted friends in his bodyguard of Tiranocian nobles, smashed into the Druchii lines. A devoted was the first to feel Aravar’s wrath. With a fell stroke, Aravar cut from her pelvis all the way through to her navel. With hardly a grimace, he threw her off his blade and went in search of more foes. However, the Tiranocian prince was momentarily distracted when a Daemonette, a lithe creature who was as deadly as she was beautiful, charged at him, riding a steed as daemonic as its wielder. As quick as a snake, Aravar dropped low, avoiding the cut of her razor-sharp arms, and stabbed his glaive into her stomach, and dropping into the beast that she, or rather it was riding. There was a bright flash from above. A Druchii sorceress, in all her gruesome glory, was blasting spells of cackling energy at his people! The spearmen were scattered, running to the four winds. Aravar vowed that she would be his next kill. On the way, he was faced with several young Druchii spearmen. He dispatched them with ease, but not without a twinge of guilt for killing those that could have been good elves. The High Elves needed young ones. Now, finally, the evil sorceress was in his path. Setting his horse to breakneck speeds he jumped off his horse, and with a huge acrobatic feat, tackled the sorceress and pressed his glaive to her throat.
“Why are you here, Sorceress?” He growled. “Whom do you fight under?”
“Aravar Galdean.” said the sorceress with a venomous smile. “General Kala ordered me to look for you on the battlefield. The Black Lotus Brigade defies your attempts to retake the Wrath Gate, and will thwart your Shadow Gate with our last breath. I have hated you, and have heard of you, Aravar.” With that, she growled, and spat at him. Her eyes became dazed and cloudy. “Aravar, I have been watching you for a while now." Her voice had changed to a different pitch, strong but strangely warped by magic. "My name is Kala and I speak through my minion. Know that I hate you, Asur scum, and the rest of your filthy kind. May you and your god rot in your own homeland! LEAVE OUR LAND!” With that, Aravar had enough. Swiftly bringing down his wrist, Aravar decapitated the Slanneshi sorceress. He looked up to see the Druchii force fleeing, with his own in chase. He also saw the dead. It had only been a small victory for his forces. Walking away towards his horse, Aravar looked back only once, too see a dropped standard on the ground. On it was a lotus, black as the night and dripping blood. Aravar then vowed that he would see this "Kala" dead if it was the last thing he did. If General Kala was not stopped Arnhelm itself could even be threatened. With that thought, Aravar closed his eyes, knelt in front of the monument, and prayed.

Aravar, Aseiar, and Anyaebar, conversing in soft tones, stood together near the great monument.
“My force needs to rest and recover,” said Aseiar. “We also are tired of this constant marching. How long till the Sixth Gate?”
“We are close, comrade,” Aravar said assuringly. “I have also found a monument that will interest all of you, especially you, Sethianis.”
At that, the enigmatic Master of the Flame walked over to the monument to Asuryan, drew in a sharp breath, and suddenly knelt down in prayer. The others followed him instantly, and Aseiar himself knelt down after them. A twinge of guilt passed through him; he felt out of place among these fervent worshippers. Aseiar, like all Asur, had always acknowledged Asuryan as his patron god, but he was never very ceremonial about it. Perhaps I should show more faith myself, he pondered. He was contemplating this when he noticed Lord Aravar quietly conversing with a Shadow Warrior who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Aseiar began to approach the two, when Aravar suddenly shouted,
“Go! Put your forces in action! You know what to do!” and, with a dramatic flourish, pointed westward.
Looking over the distant ridge, Aseiar could barely make out a large force moving toward him with great speed. Aseiar noticed that the entire army had one astonishing feature: it was clothed in pink. He sprinted to rouse his men for battle, for Aseiar knew what this meant: the forces of Slaanesh had come!

Raising his gleaming sword over his head, Aseiar urged his Silver Helms onward to the enemy. Many of Aravar’s troops were still forming up, and Aseiar knew that every second he occupied the Druchii would be a blessing to Aravar’s men. He took a quick glance to his left and his right, and assured himself that his formation would hold. Less than thirty yards from the enemy, his Silver Helms lowered their lances, charging at flank speed toward the Slaaneshi force. Then, in the blink of an eye, the Asur were upon them. Aseiar thundered into the Druchii, slashing madly with his sword, fending off any Dark Elves brave enough to challenge him. On the side opposite Aseiar’s sword, a spearman bearing the mark of Slaanesh upon his shield raised his weapon and thrust it towards Aseiar’s horse’s belly. Quickly tossing his blade from his right hand to his left, Aseiar brought it down and cut the Druchii’s spear in two. A look of dismay crossed the spearman’s face just before Aseiar’s mount trampled him beneath its hooves.
Taking a brief respite from the chaos of battle, Aseiar dismounted his horse and looked at the battlefield around him. To his surprise, he saw that his cavalry, although now very much depleted, had driven back the Slaaneshi forces; Aravar’s chariots were now in hot pursuit.
“Glardainal, sound the call to regroup.” Aseiar said to his musician. “We will reform here and turn the Druchii’s flank opposite Lord Aravar’s forces.” Aseiar pointed and waved his finger to demonstrate this hastily made plan.
As the clarion tones of the mounted musician called the Silver Helms in to regroup, Aseiar took a moment to wipe his sword clean on the grass. He bent over and drew his blade when suddenly he heard a thundering noise overhead. Moments later, he heard the warning from a nearby soldier, “Look out, my lord!” Instinctively he threw himself flat on the ground, and in a second he saw a black bolt of lightning sear the air above him. Lithely rolling to his feet, Aseiar whirled around and plainly saw what had assaulted him.
Looming out of the battlefield smoke, a towering Druchii stalked purposefully toward Aseiar, a black-purple aura glimmering about him. As the monstrosity raised its dark sword, Aseiar realized he was looking at the most powerful Druchii Anointed he had ever seen. And now he was facing it alone in battle!
Raising his sword above his head, Aseiar shouted, “Come, vile Druchii! By my sword, you will feel the true wrath of the Asur!”
As if to dispose of this mere annoyance, the Anointed lifted his hand and sent forth a bolt of dark lightning towards the Asur. Aseiar, unprepared for such a feat, knew he had no power to stop this, and as a last act brought up his sword in defiance. A moment later, the bolt struck. To Aseiar’s astonishment, however, the dark energy did not kill him; it stopped and smashed harmlessly into his outstretched blade. Transfixed by this spectacle, he watched as the dark magic seemed to grow brighter and brighter until it looked as if it would consume him and his weapon. He could feel a foul power pressing against his mind, and somehow he instinctively knew that he needed to fight it. He put all of his will into combating the dark magic within his mind, and was surprised at how easily the focus came. With a renewed confidence, he willed his mind to be rid of this evil, to cast down this foul magic. Then, suddenly, Aseiar was nearly blinded as the energy erupted forth from his blade as a torrent of blue flame and rebounded upon the Anointed. Screaming with pain, the Druchii dropped his crackling sword and fell to his knees, his breath coming in gasps. Aseiar, seizing this opportunity, sprinted over to the Anointed and raised his still glowing sword over the fallen Druchii. With a last effort, the Druchii reached out for his dropped weapon, but Aseiar kicked it; it clattered to a stop just out of the Anointed’s reach.
Looking up, the still smoldering Druchii began to speak in rasping tones, knowing his death was mere minutes away. “Know this, Asur; the Druchii are the true power now. Lord Slaanesh grants us strength; look inside you, you know this to be tru–” Hearing enough of this blasphemy, Aseiar brought his blade down and decapitated the Dark Elf.
Still in awe of his weapon’s feat, he stared down at his cooling blade. Obviously, there was much more to himself and his heirloom than he had imagined. Perhaps I truly do have the blood of Saphery in me, he mused.
“That was quite a show of will, young one.” Aseiar had not noticed the mage Anyaebar approach from behind him. “And you say you have never been taught the art of magic before? Ever?”
“Thank you, my lord. No, my lord, I have never been taught.” Aseiar could only look humbly back at the wizened mage.
“Surprising . . . Very well, young one. You should meet up with Aravar; I believe he has just received some rather disturbing information.” Anyaebar watched the exhausted Aseiar return to his horse and gallop toward the remnants of the fleeing Slaaneshi force. “Perhaps I have misjudged this one,” Anyaebar thought to himself. “I’ll be watching you, young Aseiar . . .” he muttered, as Aseiar trotted off into the sunset.

Author:  Aachil lathanast [ Mon Dec 27, 2004 5:00 pm ]
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A great warrior and as it seem a great sorcerer in the making - are we witnesing the birth of another super character? Every talent ( or a gift ) has disadvantages, however that does not seem to be the case with your character. And as I said in my first post I would advise you not to make your character too powerful becouse stories will become less and less interesting as time progresses. Show that he has some weakness, a character flaw ( one which makes him unpopular even amongst his own people ) which will be his undoing ( for example: his growing anger and hatred towards druchii ultimately makes him more druchii than asur ).
Do not take me wrong I like your stories and I would hate if they became to predictable and ultimately boring.

Author:  Spartan [ Tue Dec 28, 2004 6:15 am ]
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a super character? no way! Aseiar is a talented fighter, yes, but he is only an amateur mage (if that). and i actually based the fighter/ mage thing on the Loremaster Honor from the HE rulebook (it symbolizes the character having mastered the art of fighting and embarking upon th path of the mage). end even then, most of that magical feat was due to the magically resistant properties of his sword, which is fitting considering he is from the magical land of Saphery.

but don't worry, your point has already been taken; my character will not be so perfect and composed in the future. just wait until the next installment, and you'll see what i mean ;).

but as always, thanks for the input, it's greatly appreciated :D !

Author:  Aravargaldean [ Tue Dec 28, 2004 8:17 pm ]
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I wholeheartedly agree with Spartan. And yes, our characters will not be anything near "super" next installment. There may be even a cameo by a famous Druchii who you all know...

(oOo... suspense)

Author:  Voodoomaster [ Tue Dec 28, 2004 9:06 pm ]
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once again a great piece of fluff, keep up the good work. i look forward to the next installment.

Author:  Aachil lathanast [ Wed Dec 29, 2004 3:10 pm ]
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AravarGaldean wrote:
I wholeheartedly agree with Spartan. And yes, our characters will not be anything near "super" next installment. There may be even a cameo by a famous Druchii who you all know...

(oOo... suspense)
Who might this Druchii be? Will he be worthy to defend the name of our glorious race? It has been a while since your post so do not let us hang in suspence for too long.

Author:  Aravargaldean [ Wed Dec 29, 2004 8:55 pm ]
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alright, I'll tell

Your very own General Kala will be writing with us for this one part, and boy, will it be a doozy! we've already started writing it now, so it will be out soon

Author:  Spartan [ Thu Feb 24, 2005 3:18 am ]
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ok everyone, i know this is really late, but we decided to write one final part about the last D.net fluff update. this is only part one of the final battle, so just keep in mind that we will sum this last part up some time soon. so without further ado, here is The Final Battle for the Gate, Part 1:


In the dark, cold land of Naggoroth, the war was slowly coming to an end. For good or for ill, it had almost come to its horrible conclusion. The Asur, once proud and valiant, are nearly defeated at the place of their greatest pride, the 6th Gate of Arnhelm. It would be a hard battle from here on out to survive, thought Aravar, as he rode with his warhost, and the warhost of Aseiar, a fellow Prince and a good ally throughout their joint journeys, from their proud yet humble beginning in the battle near the gates of Arnhelm. They had come a long way, both princes, and both had learned something in their journey. Aseiar had learned a patience that he lacked at the start, and Aravar had only grown a deeper faith in the god Asuryon. It prompted a chuckle from Aravar’s dry lips to learn that the hated Druchii had taken to calling him “Aravar the Pure” and “Aravar the Pious.” Aravar was still but a humble Asur prince. He remembered that last battle, against the hated foe, the cult of Slannesh. He remembered the sorceress, spouting her foul words, had pointed him in the direction of his foe; the leader of the Druchii forces, General Kala. She had spat out poisonous ichors as she died, crumbling into the dust from which she came. After routing the daemonic force, Aravar had been a witness to a sight that few elves, if any, ever see. It was, as Anyeabar explained later to him, the birth of a sorcerer, or a high elf “natural” mage, who has the talents of a mage, but yet uncontrolled, and uncontrollable by all except the sorcerer himself, if he had the will to do so. Apparently it was a dangerous task, and any wrong move would send the offending sorcerer into oblivion and insanity.
Shivering at these thoughts, Aravar brought his thick, elven-made cloak closer onto his body. He then remembered, at the height of the battle, the perfect slash of blue light that had pierced across the battlefield like a flame through mist. It had incinerated the grotesquely enormous daemon, and the most of the fleeing army with it. Staggering after this outburst of power, Aseiar had looked around for a few more seconds before collapsing in exhaustion. Anyeabar had carried the fatigued prince to the safety of the warhost. After avoiding the ichors, Aravar walked back to where there was the shrine of his faith; the shrine of Asuryon. Looking down, he noticed something shining in the dust of the unused shrine. It was a jewel, one of extraordinary beauty. It also looked as if any hands, elven or otherwise, had not touched it, and glowed with an inner fire that seemed to burn through his senses. Aravar kept it with him, showing it only to Sethianis, a priest of Asuryon and master of the flame. He had taken one look at the item, and his eyes grew in wonder and awe. Aravar, however, did not know from what. The master of the flame was mute, because of his devotion to Asuryon.
Kneeing his horse toward the two huddled figures, which turned out to be Prince Aseiar and Archmage Anyeabar, Aravar called out “Hail, you two! Care for some company?”
“Come over here, Aravar!” called out Aseiar. “You have to see this!”
“What is it, Aseiar?” Aravar walked over to where the two nobles were standing. He looked out toward the plain. It seemed as if the whole field was a part of Hell. Aravar, shocked as he was, managed to take in the scene. The field looked as if it has craters all over, and there were places where the blasted earth mingled with the melted steel to create a gross composite of earth and metal, where small rivulets of the stuff flowed from one crater to another, blending with the blood of the fallen.
“Oh my god!” whispered Anyaebar, “this is… this is horrible!” Only a wizard of monstrous power, or thirteen greater daemons working in tandem could do this much damage to such a great battlefield!” The mage shivered, then looked toward Aravar with a pained expression on his face and said in a fearful voice, “We have to speed up, we need to catch the General behind this, before he does more damage!”

Anyaebar paused a moment, shutting his eyes and muttering words under his breath, obviously working some sort of magic; even Aravar could tell this. The two warriors shifted uncomfortably in their saddles while Anyaebar conducted the strange ritual. Minutes later, the mage opened his eyes, which seemed to be void of the nervousness they contained before. “Come, my friends,” said Anyaebar, his usual composure restored. “If this catastrophe is any premonition, then greater powers than I presumed now stand in our way. Things have been set in motion that cannot be undone. We must follow the current of Fate; I believe we all know where that leads. Now, let us ride to the Sixth Gate. Kala’s army is not far ahead.”


The three brothers-in-arms galloped to the head of the army column. The unfinished Gate was now in view, pristine and magnificent despite its ragged condition. “Should we send a messenger, milord?” Aravar inquired. “It would be well to gather intelligence on what has happened in our absence.”
Anyaebar looked out on the Gate and then straightened his back with an air of resignation. “Very well, but I fear the messenger will not return in time. We will engage this Kala as soon as we reach the plain ahead,” he decided. “But I suppose it cannot hurt to send word of our arrival to Prince Regulus.” At that, Aravar waved his hand at a nearby horseman, who had been close enough to hear the conversation and knew what Aravar meant him to do. Without another word, the rider saluted and sped off to the distant Gate, eager to deliver news of reinforcements to the tired Asur defenders.
Within an hour the army was assembled on the plain before the Gate. Kala’s Black Lotus Division stood opposite to them, a dark and imposing sight even at this distance. By the looks of it, the Black Lotus was outnumbered at least three to one. Add to this the fact that the Druchii were exhausted from their siege of the Gate, and the three Asur were almost positive the battle could be won without excessive casualties. “Well,” said Aravar, “perhaps we should offer our terms of surrender. Even a Druchii can see how this battle would turn out.”
“Very well, then,” muttered Aseiar. “Let’s get this over with.” And with that, he reared his horse around in a semicircle and trotted off to the center of the field, his personal bodyguard galloping after him. Across the field, he could likewise see the banner bearing the flag of truce coming forward to parley.
As Aseiar got approached the center of the field, he got a much better view of the famed Black Lotus. At this distance, he could now see how torn and ragged the Druchii really were. The ranks of the enemy seemingly heaved as one as the entire army sagged; it looked as if they had just ran a mile. Seems that our armies took their toll on them, he mused. As the enemy entourage approached, Aseiar could see that it was no “entourage” at all. Kala herself had come to pick a fight with the Asur, bearing the flag of truce alone. She was clad in black armor that was ornately gilded in the old style and could have easily been a thousand years old. She did not have the intoxicating beauty so typical of the Witch Elves and Sorceresses. But her face had the distinctive Elven grace that the other races find so enchanting. She was tall for a Druchii, which made her all the more imposing. Her black eyes shone with a malevolent light.
Aravar galloped forward, eager to come face-to-face with the famed Kala. “Greetings, Lady General. I am Aravar Galdean, and these are my compatriots Aseiar and Anyaebar.” Aravar gestured to each of them in turn. “As for why I am here, one of your…servants,” Aravar smirked, “said you sought an audience with me.”
“I am General Kala Kodai of House Velari. I wish to speak to you regarding the terms of our imminent battle.” Her tone was demure, but cold and measured. Not at all like the bloodcurdling power of the voice Aravar remembered being channeled through the Sorceress so many weeks ago.
“Yes, I also wished to speak of that,” he replied. “In fact, I’ve come here to request your formal submission to my army.”
“You ask for my surrender?” Kala inquired. Her tone revealed that she considered this notion almost humorous.
“I’m sure, General Kala, that even you can recognize when you are defeated. Your forces are outnumbered three to one, and even now my chariots are in a position to turn your flanks into rubble. Surrender now, and we avoid end this needless bloodshed.”
“Your offer is most gracious, my lords. As Asur nobility I have no doubt you have been schooled in military tactics. I remind you that numbers are not always the deciding factor. Nonetheless, I confess that I am currently at a distinct disadvantage.” Kala paused and let the silence linger.
“Kala, I admire your wisdom in admitting your disadvantages; that is a trait few Druchii posess,” he added wryly. “But again I must remind you that you have no chance in winning a full battle. Your alliance between rivalries is gone, General. Come, submit to us and we can spare your beloved Black Lotus from complete destruction. You know it is the honorable thing to do.”
Kala slowly lowered her head and cast her eyes down. She sat quietly for a moment as her horse snorted and pawed the ground. When she finally spoke, her words were soft, hesitant, and almost sad. “What of my troops? What will become of the Black Lotus if they become your captives?”
“Do not concern yourself about that, Lady. I assure you that your troops will receive the best treatment we can afford. Only their weapons will be confiscated, and they will be given generous rations. Perhaps their release can even be bargained for. But now, Kala, I urge you to lay down your arms and submit. As an Asur you may trust my word; you only need to hold up your en-”
A note from a horn interrupted the last words. The sound echoed through the valley in the northern hills. It was followed by the echoed war cry of many voices shouting the names of Khaine. From the southeast, behind the Asur position, there came a reply – the Warsong of Slaanesh sung by daemonic voices.
Aseiar stiffened, not only at the sound of a Druchii attack, but at the sounds of both Khainites and Cultists at once. How could this be? The Druchii are supposed to be fighting among themselves, not mounting a combined attack. Quickly Aseiar spun around and looked back at his own troops. Most of them were already adopting defensive postitions and backing up towards the Gate. Suddenly, Aseiar noticed an elf on horseback galloping towards him and frantically signaling him; it was the messenger they had sent to the Gate. It did not take much to figure out that something had gone terribly wrong. Now, full of rage at this cowardly deception, Aseiar whirled and turned his fierce gaze on Kala.
The sad, submissive little girl had disappeared. Now in her place was a Druchii general in all her black-hearted glory. Kala’s head was held high and her shoulders were thrown back. Her face positively glowed with venomous glee. “So now you recall your tactics lessons, my lords.” Kala now spoke with the voice Aravar remembered. It was confident and potent with contempt. Every word seemed chosen to send a chill up the spine. “Lady Vraneth brings her brother’s army from Har Ganeth. Lord Democles brings his warhost from the Southern Reaches. With my help, they have seen the deception that Enthardon laid before them. The Druchii no longer clash in the midst of the Asur. United, we will crush you. The Sixth Gate will fall!”
At this, the entire Asur command entourage took a moment to shoot infuriated glances at Kala, and then without another word they reigned in their horses and sped off towards their doomed armies.
Kala shook the flag of truce off of the tip of her spear and shouted as she turned. “Do not think that this civil war can prevent me from calling down the wrath of BOTH the gods of the Druchii upon you!” Then she began to laugh the diabolical laughter of a triumphant villainess. Like a frozen needle, it pierced the ear of all Asur who heard it.
Aravar reared up on his horse as he reached the Asur battle line. Standing up in his saddle, he began to try and rally the troops, but it was too late. Even the standard bearer had begun to withdraw to the Gate. From the corner of his vision, he could see the messenger he had sent earlier galloping toward him rapidly.
“Lord Aravar! This was all an ambush! Our forces are trapped!”
“Yes, we can see that,” remarked Aseiar as he trotted up to the pair. “Why are the Druchii attacking in unison? What of the civil war?” he asked frantically.
“The Druchii are unified, sir! Kala managed to bring the factions together, and now they launch a coordinated attack!” The messenger took a moment to let the reality of this sink in. “And that is not even the worst of it, milord. Prince Regulus hid his corruption, and now he has betrayed us! Even now he leads the host of Slannesh to the south!”
Aravar briefly glanced southwards to see if this notion could really be true, but the Cult forces were too far away for him to identify Regulus. What he could see, however, was a force twice as large as his howling in rage and stampeding toward his position. From the north also charged the massive forces of Khaine; he knew how dangerous their bloodlust could prove. Seeing no other option, Aravar followed his army back to the safety of the walls; there was no way they could win the battle against Druchii forces of this size. Aravar urged his horse forward, plunging through his troops to get to the front of the column. His mount Maevar skidded to a halt as the Gate loomed up before them. A guard peered down from a tower high above, and Aravar stood up in his saddle to get the man’s attention. Cupping his hands to his mouth, Aravar shouted, “I am Aravar Galdean, and I command that this gate be opened!”
“Forgive me, Lord Aravar,” the guard yelled back. “I am under strict orders from Enthardon himself that this gate remain shut. The Druchii are to near and we cannot risk a breach of the wall while we let your forces in.”
“Are you mad?” screamed Aravar. “My troops will die out here. The Druchii have pressed a combined attack, and outnumber us four to one! You must open that gate!”
The guard, a helpless look on his face, could only reply as he was ordered, although the consequences of it caused a visible pain to well up inside of him. “I am sorry, my lord. There is nothing I can do that will not endanger the safety of the gate. May Asuryan protect you, milord. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.”
Aravar slammed his fist into the pommel of his saddle. Was his army to be slaughtered to prevent the “risk” of Druchii breaching the wall? Moments later, Aseiar and Anyaebar caught up with the distraught general. They had both heard the shouted conversation clearly, as had most of the army. “Aravar, this is not the end,” consoled Aseiar. “There must be another way! Perhaps if I can circle my force around the flank, I can but some time for your troops to-” his voice trailed off as Aseiar was cut off by a silver halberd that suddenly lowered before his face. He immediately turned around and saw that behind this halberd was Sethianis, the ever-silent Master of the Flame. In the midst of all the confustion and panic, Sethianis and his Phoenix Guard retinue maintained an air of calm resolve.
Aravar was shocked for a second, but then he realized the significance of this moment. Sethianis knew where his fate lay– as a Phoenix Guard, a viewer of the Chamber of Days, he had always known it– and now he knew that his time had come.
By now, the entire Asur force was watching Sethianis, standing in the middle of them like one last beacon of hope. He started away from the Gate, heading towards the two advancing Druchii forces. He took one step–but was halted by a firm hand on his shoulder. Sethianis whirled around, and in front of him was Aseiar, still with his hand grasping Sethianis’. Anyaebar winced; he was convinced that Aseiar intended to join Sethianis and make a vain last stand in yet another attempt to “prove” himself to Anyaebar. But just as the Loremaster was about to utter a word of reproach, Aseiar removed his hand from Sethianis’ shoulder and knelt. Drawing his sword, the young Sapherian held it point first in the ground in front of him, humbling himself in the presence of the Phoenix Guards who would sacrifice themselves to save them all. Once again, Anyaebar feared that Aseiar would attempt to make a grand, attention-getting speech, but Aseiar said not a word. While the Asur host chatted in chaos around him, Aseiar remained silent, his eyes closed and his head hanging low. A greater show of respect could not be found among the proud race of elves, who are loathe to humble themselves before others.
At this, Anyaebar felt a surge of gratitude within him. Finally, the young Aseiar has shown the traits he lacked: patience and humility, thought the mage. Aseiar had at last shown some respect and understanding of Fate, and now he humbled himself before it. Impressed at this show of respect, Anyaebar too dismounted and knelt, facing the small band of Phoenix Guard. Within moments, a hush fell over the confused and bewildered army; the sacred silence of it seemed to drive away the war cries of the nearing Druchii forces. Aravar, too, knelt before Sethianis, a single tear falling from his bowed head. Immediately, a ripple of sincerity rippled throughout the entire army as it knelt as one. After a few precious moments of silence, Aseiar let his gaze rise to Sethianis’ eye level, and he stood up. The entire Asur host followed. For a fleeting second the two elves locked eyes, and Aseiar gave a quick nod to Sethianis. As if he could stand the uneasiness no more, Aseiar turned on his heel and strode swiftly towards the Gate.
Aravar then walked forward to the Master of the Flame, and extended his hand. “You’d best not tarry, Sethianis. The Druchii forces approach.” He hesitated for a moment, and seemingly could not bring himself to say more. Or perhaps he was stunned for words in the face of one with a fate so noble. Either way, he knew no more needed to be said, and whirled around and made for the Sixth Gate. His army would be safe for now; Aravar was confident in this, and he was confident that Sethianis and his retinue would buy them the time to open the Gate and retreat in safety. For how could he not be confident? Aravar trusted in Sethianis, and Sethianis knew his Fate. He knew that it lay on these bloodied fields, shielding his companions from harm. And so, in this trust, Aravar strode with confidence back to the Sixth Gate. He would live to fight another day, and by the gods, he would live to see Kala die on that day.

To be continued...

Author:  Aachil lathanast [ Thu Feb 24, 2005 3:57 pm ]
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So the long anticipated meeting beetwen Kala and Aravar has finally happend. Kala in true DE fashion pretended to be weak, when she was strong - nice twist. When did Regulus change sides?
Another great chapter, but you have let us in suspence for far too long. Future battle looks promising - figthing agains impossible odds, vastly outnumbered, a noble sacrifice,...

P.S. Do you believe that after such a long war against DE, HE would still be able to keep such level of "nobility" and restraint?=

Author:  Spartan [ Thu Feb 24, 2005 10:35 pm ]
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yes, i do. it's what makes them better than you !razz! lol j/k ;) .

and once again, sorry for not getting this in sooner. but Aravar and i have been swamped with schoolwork and couldn't get too much done at one time. but i don't have too much work to do now and hopefully we can finish up this battle soon.

Author:  Spartan [ Tue Apr 05, 2005 1:23 am ]
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well, here's the final part, folks. sorry it took so long, but both Aravar and i have been really busy lately. hopefully we will continue this saga sometime in the future, but in the meantime, enjoy:

Wiping a hidden tear off his cheek after watching his speechless friend sacrifice his life for him, Aravar steeled himself, reminding himself that Sethianis knew what he was doing, and knew if he were to live or die, and knew everything else about every high elf in the world. With that thought, Aravar shook his head, barely comprehending. Knowing every little secret and fate of every high elf in the entire world? “No wonder Sethianis did what he did. He knew that he must die now, and I must live, and he chose the noblest fate possible for himself, and me. I must honor that,” said Aravar so softly as to limit anyone from hearing. Louder now, to his comrade Aseiar, he simply stated, “Lets go. We need to warn Enthardon of Regulus’ deception, and of Kala. I will order the retreat of both our armies, led by Anyaebar. After warning Enthardon, we will meet our forces, however decimated they will be, in Arnhelm.” Raising his voice even further, he addressed his noble troops.

“Asur of Tiranoc!” he bellowed. “Asur of Saphery! Today, we make history! History written in the blood of the druchii. Today, we save our kinsmen. Today, my noble Asur, we shine. I don’t expect to see all of you at the end of this road, and don’t expect to see me. We go separate ways now, both as dangerous and perilous. I hope with every fiber of my being that every one of you come out unscathed from this, but I know in my head that you will not, and I may not. The only thing I ask of you, my friends, is that for every Asur that dies today, I want his death to be avenged with the death of ten druchii! An eye for ten eyes! A tooth, for ten teeth!” Aravar looked toward his army and in a whisper that carried across the field, he said, “Now, we part, good fortunes and good hunting, my friends.” With that, he clapped his cousin Anyaebar on the back and jumped on Maevanis. He and Aseiar rode away toward the druchii army, and as they rode, the combined forces of Prince Aravar, known as the Pious, and Prince Aseiar, knows as the Young, rode in a different direction, to break through the Druchii force to reach Arnhelm.

Aravar and Aseiar, like when they had first met, rode together, and fought together. They still remembered the times, at the beginning of their journey, where they had not yet been friends, when Aravar had saved Aseiar. How far things had come! With the two horses in a gallop, the princes finally clashed into the druchii flank, and hit it with all the force of an explosion! His glaive drawn, his face set in a cold expression, lips pressed together in a thin line, Aravar leapt towards the front lines of the druchii spearmen. Filthy and dark-skinned, the well-armored elves mocked Aravar, and brought curses to their lips. Thrusting his glaive forward and with wide sweeps and twists, Aravar skillfully dispatched the many druchii still in front of him. Aseiar, who had jumped off his horse in the struggle, stabbed and cut druchii left and right, his face a mask of determination. His sword slicing downwards, he caught a druchii in the shoulder and chopped into his pelvis. Overbalanced, Aseiar was prone to a druchii spear. After finishing with the last druchii spearman, Aravar while scanning the area found Aseiar to be at the will of a druchii spear. He took a knife from his belt and threw it into the druchii’s throat. He went down with scarcely a gurgle.

They fought like brothers united, the two princes, like angels of death, they cut down any druchii nearest them. As soon as they felt that they were near to the end, and almost to Enthrendon Anar’s forces, they were faced with a horrible threat. A boom thundered towards them, and a Keeper of Secrets drifted towards Aravar and Aseiar.

“Hello…” it slithered, it’s voice as sinuous as a greased snake, and “You must be the two princes. Slannesh has something to… show… you ….” He took out a sickle, and as soon as it was drawn, a keening sound wailed over the battlefield. “Five hundred thousand dead souls…” Whispered the Daemon, almost cooing, “and you two… are about to join them!”

The wail reached a crescendo as the daemon swiped it downwards to cut at the two elves. Jumping aside, Aravar barely avoided it. Panting heavily, Aravar drew his glaive, hopefully not for the last time. With a battle cry, he and Aseiar sprinted towards the daemon. Swerving from side to side, Aravar avoided the fell weapon by only inches each time. As it passed over or into the ground, flames shot up, as if it were a gate to hell. Shivering mentally, Aravar only pressed on harder. Reaching the daemon, Aravar, with a song to Asuryon on his lips, and the memory of Sethianis deep etched into his mind, He slashed the Daemon. His swipe, doomed to miss, was parried by the daemon’s sickle. Suddenly, he felt a power grow through his body, pass through his hands, and towards the glaive As the glowing glaive met the daemon blade, the blade shattered, and the souls, freed of their prison, rushed over the battlefield, towards the heavens, where all souls go when they have departed this earth. Aravar, left exhausted, could only watch as Aseiar summoned, once again, his near-latent powers to cleave the daemon in two and banish him to the hell from which he came.

The ground was flatted where the daemon had once stood, and a barely standing Aravar and Aseiar clasped arms, like the brothers that they had become, and walked towards the army of the Asur leader, Enthardon. Aravar warned him of Kala, and of Regulus’ deception. “Interesting,” the Nagarythian king said, “I will go at once. I can see that after that last fight, you two are in no condition to fight the general. I wish you luck, and hope we can meet again.” With that Enthardon leaped over a wall of druchii forces, and charged their command, which was at the base of the gate.


The rest of the story, you know. Enthardon defeats Kala, but in the end, the sixth gate is destroyed. A possible Asur foothold in Druchii lands was defeated, but not without cost. The forces of Enthardon and Aravar had swept the Druchii army, almost wiping it out. However, Aravar and Aseiar’s forces were badly depleted on the fight home. It was in no way counted as a victory, but a most chilling defeat. With this chapter in Asur history over, the two Princes headed back to their respective provinces, but Aseiar with a goal in mind – to harness the power that he had discovered, and to increase his potential. Who knows, maybe Aravar and Asiear will meet once again?

Author:  General kala [ Tue Apr 05, 2005 1:54 am ]
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...Enthardon defeats Kala, but in the end the sixth gate is destroyed...

So "defeat" is a somewhat relative term in this case. :D

...The forces of Enthardon and Aravar had swept the Druchii army...

Oh really? You should remember what happened to Lonicera when she made similar claims about razing Ghrond. ;)

Still, it's good to see that you decided to see the story through to the conclusion. Hopefully we will get another opportunity to participate in a new fluff epic in the future.

Author:  Aachil lathanast [ Tue Apr 05, 2005 3:57 pm ]
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A long wait would be an understatement in this occasion. I have given up on seeing this finished. Great story as allways but the Demon greeting two princess with "hello" seems a bit out of place ( he would probably use some archaic greeting or a curse of somekind ).

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