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Group 28 
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Prophet of Tzeentch
Prophet of Tzeentch
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Joined: Fri May 19, 2006 3:51 pm
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Groaning Carathyle rose up to his knees, the realisation that his defence against magic was now gone sunk in very quickly. Realising that he needed to kill this last opponent quickly the young warrior decided to eschew defence and let his shield fall to the ground and took his sword in two hands as he turned to face the last acolyte. With taunting words Carathyle tried to force the spell singer into a rash attack but the elf seemed to pay no attention instead taking a step back he raised pointed the staff towards Carathyle and spoke a short sentence in some unknown tongue. Pain washed over Carathyle, the same crippling, screaming agony as before. Gasping the noble warrior almost dropped his sword, this time however the pain was not quite so intense, nor quite so surprising and Carathyle managed to keep conscious. Through the pain he could feel the Obsidian blade pulsing in his hands, there were no words but strength and authority flowed through the blade and into Carathyle. Maybe it was this, maybe the pain simply was not as strong as the acolyte had hoped. Staggering forwards Carathyle brought his sword high above his head, startled the acolyte's eyes opened in surprise. Too late he tried to raise his staff to block; the obsidian sword cleft his head from his shoulders. The pain vanished leaving Carathyle victorious.

Jacks too tried to engage his opponent in conversation though in his case he was playing for time rather than trying to prompt an attack. Unlike the warrior Jacks did get a response
"This isn't school runt, we are not playing anymore," with that she launched herself at Jacks once again, one sword slashing high at his eyes while her off hand stabbed at his injured thigh. Blocking the low strike Jacks barely jerked his head back in time to avoid blindness instead suffering a gash beneath his right eye. Within moments they were duelling for real, twin blades against Jacks' one. It quickly became apparent that though Jacks was perhaps a shade more skilful with a sword all of the momentum was with Grisha. Whether for personal reasons, professional ethics, religious fanaticism or some mixture of all three the shade wielded her twin blades in a silver flurry, seemingly desperate to end Jacks' life. The conscientious Jacks however still did not want to kill her. Blood ran down his cheek and after a few exchanges his shoulder, his leg ached but striking down a female, even one such as Grisha, was not something he would do if he could avoid it.

As the second guard closed in however it began to look as though Jacks would not have that option. Seizing a rare gap Jacks parried one blade and rammed his shoulder into Grisha's sending her stumbling back a step. With a moment to spare Jacks turned his handbow on the injured guard sending a flurry of bolts towards him. For the most part they clattered off his armour but one struck his offhand penetrating the thin leather gauntlet and pinning the hand to his spear. Roaring with pain the elf summoned the kind of frenzied rage more usually associated with very different gods and charged headlong at jacks, spear clutched in both hands. In the few seconds it had taken to pepper and enrage the warrior however Grisha had recovered and was now back on the attack. Scissoring both her blades at Jacks' legs she forced him to leap out of the way. One thing was clear though, this was a fight every bit as dangerous as any other.

Recognising that there was some clear connection between the horror and the sorceress who had summoned it Syjahel began looking for some way to dodge around the daemon to get at her. Unfortunately the ever changing creature seemed to realise that she knew and redoubled its efforts to pin her down. Flames bathed her, the skin beneath her null stone beginning to blister with the heat generated in absorbing the magical attacks. Quite apart from these blasts of coloured flame however it was the sheer physical presence of the horror which prevented Syjahel from making any head way. Four arms squirmed their way into existence, thin but muscular and each with a grasping hand. As one reached for Syjahel's sword hand her master crafted blade licked out severing the nimble fingers and causing it to recoil. The other three though took advantage of this distraction; one seized her shield trying to wrench it from her grip. Two others tore at her legs trying to trip her, pull her towards the vast rotating maw. With a sudden jerk the warrior princess's feet slipped and the arms began dragging her towards that hideous mouth. Syjahel did the only thing she could do, taking advantage of her free sword hand she plunged her blade up into the mouth, right up to the hilt.

Somewhere above Syjahel heard a female voice scream but beneath the crushing weight of the stinking daemon it was muffled. She was more than aware however of the horror squirming and thrashing, the sheer weight of the creature was beginning to drive the breath from her lungs but there was little she could do. Then something happened she had not been expecting. Shuddering and wailing the horror's half molten skin began to split apart. For a moment she thought the beast was banished but it soon became apparent that something even more incredible was happening. Tiny hands appeared between the splitting flesh, levering and pushing it apart. With one final heave the horror split clean in two. With the weight suddenly lifted Syjahel sat up and scrambled back to her feet. Where before there had been one large daemon now two stood leering, each half the size of the first. With a chittering snarl one horror released a gout of orange flame at her face, momentarily blinding the mercenary as the second creature leapt at her face. When it came to the forces of Tzeentch nothing was as it seemed.

Far away now Cananatra faced off against the remaining two centigors. Of them the club wielder seemed to be the greater threat. Squaring up across from his Cananatra thought to deny it the advantage of the charge, something it clearly looked for. Instead of his usual defensive stance the warrior charged forward. Over this short a distance two legs were better than four and Cananatra was on the centigor before the beastman could gather any momentum of its own. Slicing low Cananatra sliced a deep groove into the creature's flank. Braying in pain the centigor did not attempt to strike out with its club but rather in an instinctual reaction it reared up, hooves flailing. Cananatra was already moving, slipping around the hooves to the right, trying to put the club beast between him and the oncoming spear. Fortunately the spear gor was already wounded and so not quite fast enough to catch him. Cananatra was more preoccupied by the club wielder who was now battering wildly down at him. Raising his shield Cananatra took the full fury of several blows, the beastman was strong that much was clear. He was not without help though and yet again arrows fell, bringing down the clubman leaving only the spear gor.

-Drainial

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Moding a group of Druchii.net players is much like directing the musical 'Cats' using actual cats. Frustrating, difficult, chaotic but ultimatley satisfying and a great deal of fun.

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Sun Sep 02, 2012 4:05 pm
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Damn this wretch, she seems hellbent on my demise Jacks gritted his teeth as he barely kept up with her twin swords on an injured leg. Shortly after the brief exchange, Jacks begun to bleed. This isn't good, where are the others? Maverick, I know at least you're alive out there.

Jacks was aware he was in trouble, but he wanted to avoid killing Grisha if he can help it. He'll try his damn hardest not to, but survival instincts and the fact he had a personal mission to carry forth meant he couldn't die, these two drives may cause Jacks to kill her. But in the mean time, he didn't have such a chance when he was forced into a two on one fight along with an injured, but enraged Dalvian guard.

Skipping back from a leg severing cut by Grisha, he made space between himself and his two adversaries. "You're right, this isn't school anymore, it's not all just push and shove. You seem to have a liking to severing other's leg from their body, perhaps I should repay the favour?" Jacks taunted.

Talking kept him alive that little longer, talking might allow him to take advantage of a momentary opening. "Why are you so aggressive? Is it because you allowed another Shade to sneak into the camp without being detected? Is it because a child got away from you? And since when were you so weak as to need an inferior to help you in your battles? I might not like killing women, but you still won't have me, not today Grisha."

Hopefully he could take advantage of the fact she knows he won't kill women. It might be why she's fighting so recklessly, but it'll cause her to make a mistake. Right now, Jacks just hopes the parrying and dodges against Grisha's reckless movements has tired her out enough for him to counter attack. She must be, I'm tiring just from dodging her, and I wasn't even moving half as much as she was!. Hopefully the Dalvian guard's heavy armour and injuries is tiring him out too. Jacks wanted to desperately find out how his companions were, and perhaps help them, but if he was to do that, he had to finish up here fast. Naylia needed to be secured, he needed to go relieve his captain from the fight.

To hell with waiting for help. Jacks refocused and hardened his resolve. He now had a reason to turn aside chivalry.

Back up to a tree trunk and keep the two in his front arc, let the first one to swing at him jar his/her hand and weapon against nature and attack the second one. Use his Handbow on Grisha once she's within sword reach, aim for her shoulders. Step past the Dalvian's guard and shoot him in the face, if Jacks is unable to, sidestep a thrust and flick his sword down onto the injured offhand. Trip him whilst he's in pain, that'll keep him on the ground and out of the fight a short while whilst he dealt with Grisha, hopefully.


Mon Sep 03, 2012 2:47 am
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OOC: Since I'm growing bored, I guess I'll just mold Carathyle to the point where it's going to be two against one.

IC:With his sword in his hands, one knee to the ground, and a demonic smile on his feature of triumph, Carathyle looked at the head that was rolling over the ground, seemingly perfect proof of his birthplace's influence. His mind was amazed on how relatively easy it was this time. Surprise was often the best weapon to use, and nothing surprises more then going through the barriers of pain and attack the cause directly. This time, the acolyte had underestimated Carathyle.

The first clearly lacked attention to his surrounding, the steel sword was still in that blasphemer's body, slowly letting its blood poison the dirt underneath. The second lacked response, for the shield bash knocked him off balance and opened his stance. The third one lacked concentration, the still burning cloth of her robes were proof of the ease with which he broke through her defenses. The final one lacked realization, even after the death of his fellow acolytes against the not-gifted warrior, he seemed to think himself the better. Carathyle had to restrain himself from uttering the words "Told you, you don't want me as your opponent.", much to his liking.

Leaving the previous battle behind him, Carathyle now had different options. With his eyes lurking around for possible trouble, Carathyle slowly raised himself to a stance, still flushing the remnants of the agonizing spell out of his system. Even though he could literally go rampage on the corpse of the spell singer, Carathyle's restraints were quite possible of keeping his hatred at bay, however, there was one thing he couldn't restrain, and that was the seemingly ignorant presence of the Witch Sorceress, who played around with Syjahel through the means of two daemonettes.

Now, two sides of him were in conflict. He could storm off at the Sorceress, and leave their group's leader to die, yet he doubted that would happen, or he could let his vengeance wait a bit longer, risking her escape, and go help Syjahel. Both options were quite valuable as to the strategic assets gained, though both did have a negative side to them. Sorceress, would possibly mean the death of Syjahel. Syjahel, would possibly mean the sorceress escaped. Even if you could call him chivalrous for his decision, it was more the sense of companionship that kept him from going after the sorceress. Knowing that, at present, his sword was the only magical Item that wouldn't lose it's power, and that even Daemons were to fear the magic, Carathyle took his shield up once again, before he turned toward Syjahel and took a deep breath. He slowly walked forward, putting his shield in a proper position on his left arm, before he closed his eyes, "Khaine, play my hand one more time, lend me the strength to avenge my fallen brethren and protect those that stand by my side." Praying wasn't a routine for Carathyle, but, against blasphemous foes, it was at least fitting to show them what happens when you go toe-to-toe with a Druchii that isn't afraid of getting his hands dirty, his armor bloodied, and his skin scraped. Slowly, he increased his speed with which he moved, slowly to gain the momentum he needed. Timing was of the essence, he didn't want to be burned to a crisp, or cut by Syjahel's sword.

Carathyle will charge for Syjahel's combat, hopefully assisting her against what ever she's facing.

OOC: Please don't let it be mutating Tentacle monsters ;)

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Carathyle Maveric:(Group 28 Warrior)
Ws:5 S:4 T:3 D:4 I:3
Equipment:
Enchanted* Obsidian Long sword, MC Light armour, Dark Steed(Sephirah), Shield, MC Longbow(89 arrows), 56 Circlets, Maibed Dagger, Asur Spear and Disguise.
Age: 89
Skills: Ride, Acrobatics
*Increased Strength, holds the soul of his father


Thu Sep 06, 2012 1:53 pm
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Syjahel cursed and suffocated under the crushing weight of the dying beast, her sword ripping a hole in its vile innards. Even as it suffered and died, she felt her Druchii steel sever its guts-

Sever turned out to be less accurate than bisect. With a horrid writhing far too like the slither of intestines from a mortal wound, the monstrous thing birthed itself even as it died, splitting out two smaller, obscenely pink offspring.

With a cry of mingled horrror and fury the Dark Elf warrior-woman leapt to her feet, struggling to throw off the soggy hide and blood-stained remnants of carcass. Covered in blood, she resembled one of Khaine's holy Brides and she was no less fervent in her faith, calling on the name of the almightly War God as she surged to her feet and steadied her shield, drawing back her sword to try to sweep the legs out from one of the creeping, capering, gibbering horrors.

At the back of her mind she registered the warcry of her fellow noble and warrior as Carathyle brought his own steel to bear. Good - let these abominations know the might and wrath of true Children of Nagarythe! With a fierce grin at the anticipated slaughter to come she leapt into the fray.

"For Nagarythe!"



Try to focus on taking out the feet/legs of one pinky while keeping the other at bay with the shield. If it looks like Carathyle is taking one, then concentrate on the leftmost. If she gets one to herself she is going to try something new: let it get a good grip on her shield then draw her dagger, letting the pinky overbalance itself so she can jump on top of it and stab it. Aiming for the mouth again in any case since she thinks it's a vulnerable spot.

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Thu Sep 06, 2012 8:05 pm
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Springing forward Cananatra charged the centigor with the club. As he moved forward the heavy plate bounced up and down in time with his footsteps and the pain in his chest pulsed in time with his breathing. The charge had probably been unexpected, that or the beastman simply was unable to match his acceleration, whatever the reason though Cananatra was upon him before he could really move. Slicing low as he reached the centigor he was rewarded with a long cut, the blade sliding cleanly through flesh and though the beast reared it was too late to catch him. Spinning slightly Cananatra dodged to his right, conscious of keeping the club wielding gore between himself and a possible charge by the spear armed one.

Unfortunately this did mean he remained rather close to the first beastman and undeterred by its wounds it spun and began lashing out with its club. The beast was powerful, he had to admit as blows rained against his shield, but it lacked any great skill. Just as he was preparing himself to counter another flight of arrows appeared and made short, albeit bloody, work of the club wielder. As it fell dead Cananatra gazed over its body and looked at the wounded spear carrier. Side stepping slightly he made sure the corpse of the club wielder was directly between them and readied himself.

Cananatra will keep the corpse between them. If the centigor charges he’ll have to jump the corpse and Cananatra will gut him on his way over them. If he doesn’t charge the other elves might get around to shooting him.

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Group 28- Name: Cananatra; Warrior; Follower of Slaanesh
WS:4 S:4 T:5 D:4 I:3
Equipment: MC Long sword, Throwing Axe, Dagger, Heavy Armour, Slaanesh Amulet, Dalvian Hunting Horn, Rations x 7, Null stone x 1, 525 Gold, Dark Steed, Blackpowder Pistol [18/18]
Skills: Defensive Fighting, Ride, Endurance


Mon Sep 10, 2012 9:56 am
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Prophet of Tzeentch
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Things looked desperate for Jacks, Girsha was not letting up, her arms seemingly tireless, and now the armoured guard was coming into play. Giving ground Jacks fought to keep the paired blades from his flesh, retreating a few steps he found his back to one of the petrified trees and knew that he could go no further. From this point the only way out was over two dead bodies. Girsha had followed him all the way, her flashing blades striking wildly, only his familiarity with her fighting style allowed Jacks to predict seemingly unpredictable attacks and keep his intestines enclosed within his flesh. The Dalvian stumbled in, inelegant as a brutish ork but with commendable fortitude. Twisting to one side Jacks narrowly avoided the foot long spear head, the elf's Dranach instead striking sparks from the living stone and staggering him. Jacks however was unable to take advantage of this vulnerability, he had eyes only for Girsha. Her attacks seemed never to let up and his arm was becoming leaden, still he knew he could not relax, knew that eventually she would make a mistake, she did. Lunging high at Jacks' eyes and throat the female shade overextended, her foot caught on an iron like root and she stumbled. It was not much, but it was enough. Pressing his handbow to her shoulder Jacks fired point blank. The kinetic force of the shot knocked her back and Jacks fired again, catching her high on the chest. With a strangled gasp of shock Girsha fell to her knees coughing up blood and grasping at the bolt embedded in her torso.

In a way Jacks was sad to do it, he knew he had hurt Girsha badly, perhaps mortally but it had to be done. There were more important lives at stake, his for one, Naylia's for another. If either of them was to be safe however he had to deal with the Dalvian guard. These guards might not be the equals of those retainers who had way laid them on the path to this forest but they showed impressive fortitude. In the time it had taken to put Girsha out of action he had recovered from his impact with the tree and was attacking once again. Injured as he was the attack was slow and predictable but even so Jacks was only just able to step out of the way, his own injuries burned and slowed him down. Firing his handbow bow once again the bolt skimmed off the rim of the guard's helmet, dazing him perhaps but doing no lasting damage. Snarling with inarticulate pain the guard lanced at Jacks again, the shade battering it aside. Warily the two bloodied, battle weary elves circled one another, looking for an opening.

On the other side of the tent Carathyle was faced with a variety of targets. To go to the aid of a trusted comrade or to strike swiftly against a sworn enemy, that was the question. Ultimately Carathyle opted for the more chivalrous option and raced to Syjahel’s side. With a prayer on his lips Carathyle began his fight against the daemons. Syjahel was already deeply embroiled, the two mini horrors proving to be as bad as one large one. Flames wreathed Syjahel in brief gouts, both her armour and the null stone glowing hot, scorching her skin. Though she was no sorceress Syjahel got the feeling her magical protection would not last much longer. Slashing at the newly formed legs of the left most horror Syjahel felt her blade rip through the spindly flesh with ease, momentarily unbalancing it. Three hands formed and wrapped around her shield and shoulder, steadying the horror as new legs formed. Behind her Syjahel felt the burning rush of fire flitter across her armour and a more intense heat flare beneath it as the null stone finally gave out. She had little time to think about this however as she shoved forward hard, letting go of her sword to draw a long knife instead. Struggling both fell to the ground, Syjahel stabbing repeatedly into the mass of pink and blue flesh, the horror scratching and biting, letting out streams of purple flame from which Syjahel was now protected only by her armour.

To the side Carathyle set his sights on the other horror, for the moment its sights, if sights was the right word for a creature with no visible eyes, were squarely on Syjahel's exposed back. Carathyle had every intention of taking full advantage of that oversight. Having left his shield where it had fallen Carathyle sliced with a two handed grip, putting all of his strength and momentum into the blow. The obsidian sword cleaved straight through the daemon, slicing it in half. The blade pulsed in Carathyle’s hand as the two pieces fell to earth. Rather than splitting into yet smaller daemons they melted into a pool of foul stinking ichors. A scream of pain and denial distracted the warrior, looking to his right he saw Aemili staggering with her head in her hands. On the floor Syjahel suddenly fell forwards onto the earth, the horror's struggles ceased without warning and in an instant it shattered, leaving Syjahel face down in daemonic goo, tired and lightly baked but alive.

Cananatra's fight also seemed to be coming to a close, or at least a new beginning. Keeping the felled centigor between him and the survivor like a barricade he awaited the next attack. He did not have to wait long. The wounded centigor charged as best it could with an injured leg, its spear aimed at Cananatra's chest like a lance. It did not have room to get up to much speed though and the elf was able to knock it aside with his shield. Straightening his sword arm out like a spear Cananatra waited for the beastman to plunge over the corpse and onto his blade. Perhaps the centigor realised what was happening, perhaps not, in either case its momentum was too great to turn aside and a foot and a half of good Druchii steel was sheathed in horseflesh. Braying the centigor lashed out with its hooves, one of them clipping Cananatra on the shoulder and driving him backwards but his armour absorbed most of the blow. As it died from the huge stab wound where the horse met the upper torso two arrows thudded in from above, hastening its demise. After what seemed an age the last centigor slammed into the ground. No sooner had it died than the forest elves scampered down from the trees. Three of them went wordlessly to the corpses, looking to retrieve undamaged arrows, the leader approached Cananatra again. The larger elf thought he might have seen a slight look of admiration in these inscrutable grey eyes, but perhaps that was only his imagination. The forest elf beckoned and without a word being spoken they continued on their way.

It was a long trek through the woods though Cananatra had no true measure of how far they had gone or how long they had been walking. The little elves seemed to know where they were going however and he had little choice at this point but to follow them. After a time Cananatra began to see signs that they were not alone, nothing he could put his finger on but a sense that the forest was not quite as undisturbed as before. After a little more he began to see other elves, much like his escorts, flitting amongst the trees. Several stopped to stare as he walked by but as he was clearly under some sort of guard none sought to way lay them. They were clearly now in some sort of settlement, or what passed for such amongst forest dwellers. Coming into a large clearing Cananatra saw tents of many sizes, all made from green-grey cloth of some indefinable origin. More stares followed the huge armoured giant including those of young children and Cananatra began to feel quite uncomfortable but as yet no one was threatening him, which was something at least. In eerie silence he was led to the largest tent at the very centre of the camp. Two elves with bows and spears stood outside and the female with Cananatra exchanged a flurry of words in their strange dialect, too fast for Cananatra to make out more than the odd word. The upshot of it all seemed to be that they were to be let in for the guards stood aside allowing Cananatra and the female to pass, the others remaining outside.

Inside the tent was what looked to be some sort of rustic court a fire burned at the centre spreading warmth throughout, atop it stood a cauldron being tended by a young female (at least Cananatra though it was a female). Other stood around the tent as well, three old warriors with bows on their backs, two other elves more obviously female than the first and quite pretty by the standards of these people. The Druchii's eyes were instinctively drawn however to the figure reclining on what could only be described as a throne of pelts. He was young, probably no older than Maveric. He was also distinctively dressed, or rather undressed for the elf wore no shirt nor anything over his upper body other than several thick gold arm bands. His bare white chest was tattooed with the figure of a running wolf in bright red, a colour almost matched by his flaming red hair. Below the belt thankfully he had deigned to dress wearing a pair of trousers similar to those worn by the other warriors. By the side of the 'throne', propped up against the pelts was a spear of wood and bronze with a leaf shaped blade covered in swirling patterns unlike any blade of Druchii manufacture Cananatra had ever seen.

"So you are outworld-battle born," the young prince began "brought by the wryd and kin to the wryd," his voice was angry, almost triumphant. Looking to the warrior who had brought Cananatra in he said
"Why bring you outworld-battle born into leaf-home? Wyrd kin all to grow new branches at glimpse!"he asked. Cananatra could only guess at the meaning of grow new branches but from the prince's tone it did not sound like a nice thing to happen to someone.

"This battle-born fighting the Wryd kin, with valour," she said defiantly, not cowed by his tone
"Such strangeness required judgement of leaf-home-prince." At this the red headed warrior took on a more thoughtful expression, looking back to Cananatra he said
"So battle-born, why you in leaf? Why you fight Wryd kin if Wryd hard-skin you ware?"

Right, sorry for the delay on this one. Grisha is down though not actually dead, at least not yet but the injured guard is still on the attack. Both horrors are gone, one banished by Carathyle, the other succumbing to instability. The sorceress is still there for the moment. Cananatra is in the middle of a forest camp being interrogated by their prince. -Drainial

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Moding a group of Druchii.net players is much like directing the musical 'Cats' using actual cats. Frustrating, difficult, chaotic but ultimatley satisfying and a great deal of fun.

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Tue Sep 11, 2012 3:30 pm
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OOC: Original planning was to wait for Syjahel to post, to adjust Carathyle to Syjahel. Buuuut... now that you insist on doing this, I guess I'll initialize the wave this time.

IC:Two against one? Now, that isn't the least bit fair... for you! Carathyle hurled himself at the fire breathing daemonette. His sword pulsated in his hand with hatred, hatred coming from his father as well. Within reason, Carathyle actually enjoyed fighting daemons. The thought of killing the immortal, killing the chosen of the Gods they hated, was just the icing on the sweet cake of success for Carathyle.

With the sword in two hands, Carathyle brought it next to his body, and swung it horizontally at the daemon, whose had its will bent on defeating the lone warrior princess, completely oblivious of the magic weapon her... assistant carried. The sword pulsed as it ripped through the soft tissue of the daemonic presence, but the two parts didn't just multiply. Instead of just becoming new monstrosities, the two separated body sections melted into an oozing goo, unlike any Carathyle had to ever witness.

The goo reminded him of the victims to the temple of Khaine, those who were thrown into the Cauldron of blood and didn't come out alive. It was unlike any a Druchii should have to witness, but here it was, before his eyes. How short the minor flashback in his head was, Carathyle quickly regained his awareness of the situation, and turned toward the captain of their lucky warband. With her face lying in the goo from one of the daemons, Carathyle walked over to her and placed his sword with the tip into the ground, as he stretched his hand toward the princess. Her armor wasn't even slightly scratched it seemed. The only thing that was visible on it was the scorching results of the flames in her back, and that proved enough when you reckon her struggle against the daemons.

"You've done well on your own. Unfortunately, you picked the wrong opponent. Come on, get up. Naylia is waiting for you at the Willow it seems, hopefully, Jacks and Cananatra are there as well." Carathyle opted, his voice surprisingly calm as it was. "Leave the blasphemer to me, I have yet to show my gratitude for her effort of opposing us. And it's way overdue."

Help Syjahel up from the ground. When that's done, he'll turn his head toward the Sorceress. Guess the time for vengeance has arrived for lil' Carathyle.

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Carathyle Maveric:(Group 28 Warrior)
Ws:5 S:4 T:3 D:4 I:3
Equipment:
Enchanted* Obsidian Long sword, MC Light armour, Dark Steed(Sephirah), Shield, MC Longbow(89 arrows), 56 Circlets, Maibed Dagger, Asur Spear and Disguise.
Age: 89
Skills: Ride, Acrobatics
*Increased Strength, holds the soul of his father


Sat Sep 15, 2012 1:54 am
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"Sh*t Jacks cursed at the extensive damage he inflicted on Grisha. Whilst he did intend to throw chivalry aside, part of him still ached for Grisha as she knelt there in blood and pain. Turning aside chivalry wasn't so easy after all, especially when it was all over in an instant. Still, it had to be done, but the arrow in her chest wasn't what he had wanted. Conflicted with a dilemma, Jacks was now growing impatient as a number of things required his attention. How he wished he could split himself into multiple bodies of himself to accomplish all the tasks at once, little did he know the irony in it, as his companions battled such an entity as he fought his own in his natural habitat, to an extent.

Jacks was racing for time, he wants to make sure Grisha will live from the wounds inflicted, he needs to make sure Naylia is safe, he wants to find out what's happening beyond this wall of trees. As such, he was still impeded by an injured Guard, and it vexed him because it felt like he has been in here for an eternity. Jacks shivered at that thought, Damn Sorcery. Normally, his mind would be weary and his body would cease to do much more, let alone lift a Handbow, but with so many elves in different places for his chivalry to tend to, Jacks could only remain focused, if not more, and for his mind to only shut out the screams of pain and weariness from his arms and legs. He reloaded his Handbow and switched his short sword for one of his throwing knives instead purely because it was lighter and was easier to embed into the guard of needed.

"Ok, it's time to end this, there are women who needs my attention. Come"

Wait for the guard to charge at him, watch his movements carefully and counter charge right at the moment he starts drawing his spear back for a thrust. Get past his spear point when he thrusts, run the dagger along the shaft to keep it from flIcking into Jacks as he aims to deliver a point blank bolt into his face, neck or any other fleshy part of his head area. Side step away if the guard doesn't hesitate from the counter charge and will seem to continue moving forward instead of reacting. The last thing Jacks wants is to get bulldozed by a wall of armour."

_________________
What's mine is mine, What's yours is mine.
Now that we understand each other, lets get down to business.

Jacks -Shade
- WS 5 - - S 3 - - T 2 - - D 6 - - I 5 -

Equipment
Short Sword, MC Long Sword*, Dagger, RxB & RHB [20/10] MC Shade Cloak, 4 Throwing Daggers, 3x Healing Vials, 451C, [3]Dark Venom, [4]Unseen Chains, Food, Dark Steed- Spike

Skills
Basic Stealth, Awareness, TWF, Suithenlu Khythan, Ride

Magic Item
Eye of the Jabberwock

*Magical properties possibly imbued


Sat Sep 15, 2012 3:52 am
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Malekith's Personal Guard
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The body before him steamed gently as it cooled. Over it he could see the last remaining beastman getting ready to charge. It seemed rather stupid, already wounded, outnumbered and with both all its companions dead. Then again, beastmen were not renowned for their brains. A slightly out of sync drumming of hooves met his ears as the beastman built up speed, still heavily favouring its wounded front leg. Bracing himself Cananatra held his sword out before him. It seemed to be a developing go to strategy against large charging beastmen. Invariably, they charged right up the blade and done your work for you. This time would be no different. As the beastman cleared the corpse of its fallen comrade it managed to neatly impale itself on the longsword. As tends to happen though, its momentum and death throes where significant enough to send Cananatra stumbling backwards with a numbed shoulder.

The rest of the walk through the forest went without incident. Eventually they came to what seemed to be the camp, or village of these strange elves. At first it was just a more used look about the woods, nothing he could put his finger on, but soon shelters came into view. Large tents of some sort. His guides seemed to know exactly where they were going though and led him straight towards a large tent near the centre of the cluster. It was the one he’d of picked; guards outside often signify leaders inside.

Inside was typically tribal, something he wasn’t expecting of elves, almost human like. He held back a sneer. As the prince within spoke it became clear he didn’t like outsiders. Damn this language barrier. I think he’s under the impression I’m one of them because i looted this armour. “Dont let the gear fool you” he said tapping his chest plate, “I took this from one I killed. Better made than mine. Myself and my companions are enemies of those who you call Wryd. We track the leaders who kidnapped a family member of our employer.”

_________________
Group 28- Name: Cananatra; Warrior; Follower of Slaanesh
WS:4 S:4 T:5 D:4 I:3
Equipment: MC Long sword, Throwing Axe, Dagger, Heavy Armour, Slaanesh Amulet, Dalvian Hunting Horn, Rations x 7, Null stone x 1, 525 Gold, Dark Steed, Blackpowder Pistol [18/18]
Skills: Defensive Fighting, Ride, Endurance


Sun Sep 16, 2012 2:25 pm
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Malekith's Best Friend
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Syjahel lunged forward with her shield and the horror seized it with all of its many hands, the disgusting mutant taking the bait perfectly. She snatched up her dagger and thrust her sword forward in a killing blow. Flames from its literal other half engulfed her and this time the amulet flickered and failed, a stinging heat burning her breast. She cursed at the logic that put the burning stone so close to her flesh and gritted her teeth against the pain.

While she had expected - well, in truth she hadn't known what to expect, The pink monstrosity collapsd into a vile puddle of fluids, a foul-smelling goo that she was grateful she had the presence of mind not to swallow, snapping her mouth shut on a war-scream of defiance. Syjahel was aware of a cry from Aemili but before she could get to her feet Carathyle was helping her to rise. It seemed the other section of the beast had perished in a similar way. In fact so far as she could reckon it - much to her dissatisfaction - she hadn't dealt it a fatal blow; the thing had somehow died in sympathy when Carathyle had killed its twin. However, the realisation was gone in the same moment. What mattered was a dead enemy, not how it came to breathe its last.

"You've done well on your own. Unfortunately, you picked the wrong opponent. Come on, get up. Naylia is waiting for you at the Willow it seems, hopefully, Jacks and Cananatra are there as well." Carathyle opted, his voice surprisingly calm as it was. "Leave the blasphemer to me, I have yet to show my gratitude for her effort of opposing us. And it's way overdue."

Nonplussed, the warrior-woman blinked as she took stock of the situation. The traitor Sorceress was stumbling, half-blinded it seemed and overdue a sword through her neck. Where she would normally have argued, or simply ignored the advice he offered in favour of an immediate all-out assault, this time Syjahel paused.

If there was one thing the Druchii of House Vasht understood it was the need for vengeance. Carathyle had always been relentless in his pursuit of the renegade mage, but she had not come to realise how keen his desire was to slay her with his own hands until now. There was a preternatural calmness in his voice when he spoke of her blasphemy and his need to purge her taint from this Khaine-given land. Slowly, Syjahel nodded, stepping back and saluting him with her sword.

"Khaine go with you. Bring her head when you're done. I'll tend to the girl."

With that she turned and strode away, breaking into a brisk run, keeping an eye out for any more opposing forces as she loped back to the willow tree and, Khaine willing, Naylia and the rest of her band.


Allow Carathyle to fight and get his holy vengeance, search for Naylia, and hopefully, the rest of her group. If successful in locating the child and the tree, check her for injuries or any strange boobytrapped devices and such, can't trust these sorcerous types! And prepare to guard and defend.

_________________
RIP Group 28
~ We Never Slept ~


Sun Sep 16, 2012 9:46 pm
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Prophet of Tzeentch
Prophet of Tzeentch
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Joined: Fri May 19, 2006 3:51 pm
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Location: I am the voice inside your head
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Now at last, after weeks of chasing, searching and being forced to prioritize other duties Carathyle had the chance to go after Aemili. Just why he had taken to hating her with such a passion, beyond that which he held for other enemies, was uncertain but his drive for vengeance was clear as day. Seeking the glory of the kill all for himself the warrior told Syjahel to leave him to, it and secure their objective. It was perhaps a mark of acceptance and respect that on this occasion at least she agreed to do as she was asked. After helping her up Carathyle turned to the sorceress. His shield was still on the ground some distance away and so he took his sword in a double handed grip yet again.

Unfortunately for Carathyle Aemili appeared to be swiftly recovering from whatever pain the death of the horror had caused her. As Carathyle began his charge she levelled her short staff at his chest and began to snarl a few quiet phrases. He was mere feet away when Carathyle remembered that he no longer had any magical protection. Lightening flickered briefly around the crystal head of the staff, Carathyle moved closer. So close now, almost within swords reach, and then the thunder struck. Lightening arced out from the flickering staff and struck Carathyle squarely on the chest. The elf was thrown backwards, electricity sizzling up and down his armour, scorching his skin. After a brief flight arse backwards through the air Carathyle's armoured form smashed down to earth in a metallic clank leaving a dazed but thankfully still alive elven warrior steaming in the dirt. Fighting for consciousness Carathyle's flickering eyes could just about make out the flowing robes of Aemili disappearing into the trees yet again.

Syjahel was only half aware of this, running as she was back towards the willow tree that was their best reference point in this Khaine forsaken forest. The warrior princess was halfway up the slope when she heard a clap of thunder and a tingle down her spine as the highly charged air buzzed and fizzled. Clearly something was wrong and she considered going back but Carathyle’s words mixed with a glimpse of Naylia beneath the petrified fronds prompted Syjahel to continue up the slope. Passing between the frozen branches Syjahel saw Naylia properly again. All in all she did not seem too much the worse for wear. Her hair was brushed, she worse a dress of pale cream with what Syjahel recognised as the sigil of House Dalvar on the breast, entwined with the twisted eye many cults associated with the Chaos god Tzeentch. Most children, even noble Druchii children, would have been panicked and unnerved by kidnapping and rescue but Naylia showed none of that. Then again this wasn't her first time.
"Hello Syjahel," she said, her lilting childlike voice almost maddeningly calm in a world that was anything but.
"We are all in terrible danger here, where are the rest of daddy’s warriors?"

Jacks seemed to be having better luck against his opponent. Badly wounded the guard was tiring, his face a mask of pain. It was to his credit that he continued to fight as a true Druchii warrior should. Ramming his spear towards Jacks yet again the shade was forced to squirm aside. So long as he was at a distance Jacks knew he was vulnerable to that probing spear, more drastic action was required. Stepping forward Jacks moved past the point to engage the warrior up close. A bolt from his handbow clanged off the top of the Dalvian's helmet, rocking the head back and stunning him for a moment. It was all the opportunity he needed, flicking his dagger forward Jacks opened up the guard's jugular. Stepping aside he avoided the fountain of blood and watched as the elf fell to his knees, desperately trying to staunch the blood flow with his hands. Jacks knew from long experience that blood loss would finish him within moments.

Far away in the tribal tent Cananatra struggled to understand the strange dialect of the forest dwellers. From the expression of the prince he guessed they were having similar trouble interpreting him. While the words may not have been the same they managed to understand one another well enough for the moment.
"Hunt you the Wryd Princess?" the prince seemed to muse "For stealing little out-world princess? You will tell of out-world battle-host near south of Leaf-world," the word world was an old one for Ulthuan, he guessed it meant something like 'our land' to these people. "If these battle-born not Wryd, perhaps they aid us in Wryd hunt before princess fulfils ritual and Leaf-World burns."

-Drainial

_________________
Moding a group of Druchii.net players is much like directing the musical 'Cats' using actual cats. Frustrating, difficult, chaotic but ultimatley satisfying and a great deal of fun.

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Fri Sep 21, 2012 11:58 am
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Executioner
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Location: Hell
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Gasping for air, Jacks stood his ground, and watched as the Dalvian guard finally fell, first on his knees in defiance, then slumped face first into the cold grey dirt, still clutching the fatal wound that was staining the ground red. Jacks gazed on for a mere moment longer before putting his handbow away and turned his attention to Grisha, who was still kneeling on the ground clutching the arrow in her chest.

Jacks rushed to her aid, still weary of any last minute backstab from her past time bully as he searched his pouches for one of his few healing vials.
"Don't move, or do I need to knock you unconscious to treat you? Foolish girl, what are you really doing here? I know you to be more ambitious than to work for a few gold pieces when you could just take it. What's the witch up to, this looks more than just a normal forest. Or better yet, this was a normal forest I take it?"

Now that the rush of battle was over, Jacks had time to think again. It struck him that these woods might have been normal woods before they were influenced by foul sorcery. Well, that much was clear really, but for what purpose? The air suddenly vibrated with energy and the hairs on his arm stood on its ends as electricity fizzled around. The source came from beyond this wall of trees, where the screams of battle were heard earlier. It became more silent now, that was clearly sorcery, which meant the enemy is likely still alive. Jacks began to worry, but one thing at a time, he rested Grisha against a tree as he tended to her wounds. Ripping strips of cloth from his sleeves, he got ready to wrench the bolts from her chest then should and legs, whether she liked it or not.

Treat Grisha as well as he can. Remove the bolts from her, use his healing vial(s) on her wounds and help bind them tight with strips of cloth before they become infected. See if he can learn of anything useful about what's going on here whilst patching Grisha up. Then move on out of the forest to see the status of the fight. If Carathyle is alone and the Sorceress is gone, rush to his aid and see what the next step is. I assume Jacks will learn of Syjahel heading back to secure Naylia so Jacks will stick around to help.

_________________
What's mine is mine, What's yours is mine.
Now that we understand each other, lets get down to business.

Jacks -Shade
- WS 5 - - S 3 - - T 2 - - D 6 - - I 5 -

Equipment
Short Sword, MC Long Sword*, Dagger, RxB & RHB [20/10] MC Shade Cloak, 4 Throwing Daggers, 3x Healing Vials, 451C, [3]Dark Venom, [4]Unseen Chains, Food, Dark Steed- Spike

Skills
Basic Stealth, Awareness, TWF, Suithenlu Khythan, Ride

Magic Item
Eye of the Jabberwock

*Magical properties possibly imbued


Sat Sep 22, 2012 8:47 am
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Malekith's Best Friend
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Syjahel made her way at speed from the bloodied clearing where Carathyle faced down the Sorceress whose death he had coveted for so long. The warrior-woman was reluctant to leave her fellow noble to the fight, but it was necessary to protect Naylia. She broke into a run when she saw the familiar outline of the stone willow tree, its slender branches still not swaying in the wind the way a willow should. It was a disconcerting reminder of the unnatural nature of the whole forest, even to a city girl.

Even as she neared the unearthly tree a shudder shook the air, an unnatural tingling running over her hyperattuned, adrenalised senses as there was a sound as of lightning striking something unyielding ... she could only hope that it was not fatal for Carathyle. From her brief time on the Northern watchtowers, Syjahel had seen the effects of Druchii sorcery from a distance, and that was enough to send a fleeting pulse of doubt through her at whether even his legendary refusal to comply with what Fate wanted would be enough. Dismissing the thought with a murmured 'Khaine be with you' she hurried on.

Standing beside the tree in a simple cream shift dress, the almost preternaturally self-possessed young girl was waiting as if she looked for a nanny or a nurse to come and take her home. But this was Naylia: she was a formidable young lady indeed. Not for the first time, Syjahel hoped that if she bore a daughter (suitably dynastic a match having been chosen by herself, this time) she would have the strength of character this child had.

"Hello Syjahel," she said, her lilting childlike voice almost maddeningly calm in a world that was anything but. "We are all in terrible danger here, where are the rest of daddy’s warriors?"

Syjahel quickly scanned the area, looking for threats or signs of imminent pursuit. She strained to hear any sign of the promised oncoming army. Taking up a defensive posture she scanned the stone woods as she spoke.

"Your father is on his way, I am sure of that. We had to split up to find you; he sent us in as advance guard. Tell me what you can of the enemy while we wait." She handed the child her dagger. Normally, Syjahel would not have given anyone a weapon in this circumstance without checking them for signs of sorcerous contol, but this was Naylia.

Squaring her shoulders she glanced in the direction she hoped Carathyle would come from, and pondered why Sultra would beget so many magically-inclined children. A strong bloodline, then, at any rate. A pity it was not tempered by a little more wisdom.



Protect Naylia. keep an ear out for the reinforcements (and daddy... :D actually she remembers Sultra's first disclosure of his daughter to them and does not doubt he would move heaven and earth to save her). Syjahel is prepared to defend Naylia, but hopes the army gets here soon - and she really does not like the fact that 'her' warband are currently all in different locations. But, stay by the tree. That's our best landmark.

OOC: See that there about wisdom? That's 24 karat Druchii arrogance :D I'm aware Sultra is another order of magnitude on the power scale to us. His flaws make him much more interesting, as well.

_________________
RIP Group 28
~ We Never Slept ~


Sun Sep 23, 2012 12:27 am
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With the stench of the oozing goo remainder of their daemonic foes, Carathyle took his most sacred of artifacts - one he'd only abandon in true times of necessity - in his favored combat style. The sword pulsed as Carathyle felt his father's spirit roaming around with him, as if, with each kill blow with the sword, his father's spirit stood next to him, holding the sword along side him and swung it. Every kill was a split one, but every kill brought the memories of his time in training back in Har Ganeth into his mind, as his father, and his tutor Ferion Glaemblade, taught him how to hold a sword in his hands.

However, the time of memories, trickery and deceit was over, at least for now. His opponent, one he wanted to battle since the first day of this strange and surprising journey, was standing mere meters away, and all that was left was for him to get over there and finish her. His words toward Syjahel were strangely accepted, and with a blessing, she wished him good luck, before ordering to bring her head. A smile occupied his feature, tightening the grip on his sword, he muttered, "As you wish, milady." Her footsteps noted her distance increasing, as the two warriors moved away from each other. Carathyle could only hope for Naylia's safety, but his trust in Syjahel was far greater than that which he had toward Jacks, or Cananatra, as his mind quickly erased the worry.

The distance between the sorceress and the warrior-noble from the city of Death was closing, his sword ever so ready to slay, his mind fueled with both anger and hatred, his breath steady as he closed in. However, his eyes registered a far more disturbing sign of incoming doom. The sorceress, first seemingly blinded and hurt, stretched her back again and pointed her staff -how small it might have been- at his chest and muttered words in an unknown language. The acolytes already taught him that, the muttering of words unknown, meant a spell incoming. His charge remained uninterrupted.

Through moments of doubt, the hatred pushed Carathyle to his limits. Normally, he'd broken off, his mind knew too well what damage the magic could do, there was no protection to spare his life. But, the distance was too close now, he had to push on. His sword was ready, his body was ready, his spirit was anxious for revenge, but time told otherwise.

As lightning arced around a crystal skull, the sorceress remained chanting, ever so certain that he wouldn't reach her with the long sword. Her courage was to be admired. Few would dare to chant at a charging warrior, especially when that warrior just slaughtered their apprentices without much trouble.

Carathyle could see it, he could see the upcoming redemption, he could see the blood already flowing as the sorceress didn't make a move to defend, well, that's what Carathyle thought. His lack of knowledge about sorcery proved otherwise. The lightning arced away from the staff, against his breastplate, and Carathyle's eyes widened as his feet come off the ground. The sizzling of the lighting on the armor, the arcing between his flesh and the cold steel, it all came clear to Carathyle.

The moment he landed on the ground, his speed flipped him over, his sword flying the same way, only landing with the obsidian bladed tip in the ground, wedging it in as it didn't fall to the ground. His head was near directly in the dirt, his muscles spasmed with each arc that tried to leave his body. As he lifted his head in the few moments of consciousness that he had, Carathyle could see the sorceress turn around and walk, slowly like there was no threat remaining, into the woods and vanished. Luckily for the noble, she didn't bother to check up on him, and she didn't move toward Naylia and Syjahel either, that much was satisfying enough.

His breathing was heavy, his eyelids were kept only mainly by his refusal to give in. His will to live and fight was ever lasting it seemed, as he started to flex his muscles and moved his arms and legs. He knew his body was in no state of standing, let alone quickly... just yet, but he didn't want to bite the dust without a good, old-fashion fight.

"And you refused... my challenge for a second time..., Aemili, mistress of Tzeentch..., blasphemer of Druchii pride." Carathyle coughed, his lungs exhausted from the sudden force of the sorcery, "I'll see to it that your false God will watch your death. By the lord of murder, I shall not fall before this is done!" He knew he'd be able to get his sword the moment he could stand, but for now, rest was important, and he sure wasn't going to sleep.

His arms moved him, he knew that, if there were still opponents to come, he'd need to remain as hidden as he could, yet he didn't want to lose his sword either. Carathyle stopped, as he moved his hand toward his back and grasped the Dranach from his back. The long pole of the spear would be ideal to support on if he could only stand. The burns on his chest weren't motivating, as they burned with every move he made, yet he pushed on. Pain hardens, death relieves, tears cleanse. His mind chanted, his will to live ever so present.

His consciousness wasn't there completely, as he still stopped moving from time to time and lowered his head toward the ground. But, the spirit within screamed at him, "Stay awake you dumbass! You can't lose to Sorcery! It's a coward's tool!"

Carathyle will move toward the nearest SOLID object and make sure he sits against it. He knows he's in no condition to fight at the moment, his wounds are quite sever so he won't attempt to move other than slightly adjusting himself. Walking is obviously out of the question if he can't lean on someone, or something. When Jacks arrives to assist, order him away, his concern should be with Syjahel and Naylia according to the stubborn youth.

_________________
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Carathyle Maveric:(Group 28 Warrior)
Ws:5 S:4 T:3 D:4 I:3
Equipment:
Enchanted* Obsidian Long sword, MC Light armour, Dark Steed(Sephirah), Shield, MC Longbow(89 arrows), 56 Circlets, Maibed Dagger, Asur Spear and Disguise.
Age: 89
Skills: Ride, Acrobatics
*Increased Strength, holds the soul of his father


Sun Sep 23, 2012 2:16 am
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Malekith's Personal Guard
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The dialect they spoke was infuriatingly obscure. It stood to reason that they would have an accent as they lived out of the way, similar to some of the more reclusive shade tribes, but these guys must have had nothing to do with the rest of elven society for a very long time. At least he’s after understanding that I’m not one of the group he wants dead. I wouldn’t like to try fighting my way out of here.

“The battle host is that of our employer. It comes to help the hunt; we expected large amounts of resistance. He wants the Wryd dead as much as you so he’ll probably agree to join force against them. Understand though, I don’t speak with his voice, so you will have to contact him.”

_________________
Group 28- Name: Cananatra; Warrior; Follower of Slaanesh
WS:4 S:4 T:5 D:4 I:3
Equipment: MC Long sword, Throwing Axe, Dagger, Heavy Armour, Slaanesh Amulet, Dalvian Hunting Horn, Rations x 7, Null stone x 1, 525 Gold, Dark Steed, Blackpowder Pistol [18/18]
Skills: Defensive Fighting, Ride, Endurance


Mon Sep 24, 2012 9:49 am
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Prophet of Tzeentch
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Finally Jacks could breathe again, confident that each breath would not be his last, for a little while at least. Not all of his enemies were dead however, and he did not want them to be. Despite his own injuries the noble shade limped over to the supine Grisha, lying on her back on the dusty ground. Though he was not the healer that Seijl had been Jacks could tell it was bad, not that Seijl would have wanted to help her anyway. Using his own resources to help a fallen enemy, and a longstanding one at that, went against all Druchii principles but not against Jacks'. First making sure to kick her swords away from her hands (one could never be too careful, other elves did not share his gallant nature); he knelt at her side and assessed the damage. The bolt in her shoulder was bad enough, taking the arm out of action and very likely it would become infected given a little time. The real trouble however was the bolt which had strayed a little too close to her heart. Though Jacks had aimed for debilitating rather than deadly he knew that removing it would be risky at best, even for a trained healer. Add to that the barbed nature of the bolts and the task became almost impossible. Still he could but try, his conscience demanded nothing less of him.

As he began to cut away the fabric of her tunic around the bolts Grisha began squirming gently, perhaps trying to throw him off or reach for a weapon but she was already too weak. Her ferocious strength on the attack appeared to have left her and without it she was little stronger than a kitten, though a stubborn one.

"Don't move, or do I need to knock you unconscious to treat you? Foolish girl, what are you really doing here? I know you to be more ambitious than to work for a few gold pieces when you could just take it. What's the witch up to, this looks more than just a normal forest. Or better yet, this was a normal forest I take it?"

Grisha laughed, or at least that is what Jacks thought she was doing. It sounded more like a gurgle but when she spoke she was clear enough, if quiet.
"You never did take to your schooling Jacks, the petrified forest is as old as Naggaroth; it is a place of power older than elven kind." she coughed, blood flecking her lips
"It is a changeless place, an abomination of Malal," as she spoke the word Jacks heard the kind of venom he had never yet heard from her mouth, not the practiced Malevolence of a shade or the violent anger of a psychopath but the kind of rage only religion could produce.

"When the Lady of Change arises all of this will be ashes and dust, as will you. The girl would have made a fine sacrifice, but there are others who will suffice. Why are you here weakling a pet for the citARRRGGHH!" she screamed mid sentence as Jacks used her distraction to snap off the fletching of the bold in her shoulder and ram it the rest of the way through. The female shade blacked out from the pain as Jacks took out the bolt and began to dress the wound, wrapping it in relatively clean cloth and anointing it with one of his last healing vials. She had given him allot to think about and he would try to save her life, but he knew in his heart it wasn't going to happen.

Syjahel too wanted information, though at least she could interview someone not on the verge of death.
"Your father is on his way, I am sure of that. We had to split up to find you; he sent us in as advance guard. Tell me what you can of the enemy while we wait," she said. Naylia shook her head
"We cannot stay to wait for him. There is more going on here than you know, more I think than even daddy knows, though you never can tell for sure." she shrugged, as though her father's habitual lies and deceit were of no importance
"Lady Tachar will be expecting me soon, for the sacrifice. She needs strong magical blood for some kind of ritual, it sounded like something daemonic but it is difficult to get books about that stuff so I don't know much about it. You saw all the beastmen here before, well there are allot more, and other elves as well. If Aemili got away, and from here it looks like she did, they will be coming soon." Looking down into the clearing she added
"I think that warrior needs some help, he needs magical healing if he is to be of any use, I can see the magic in your belt, it smells of life." Without another word the little girl took Syjahel by her shield hand and set off towards Carathyle leaving Syjahel with little choice but to follow.

Carathyle was indeed in need of healing. His armour had spared him but it could only do so much, Aemili's lightening bolt had left him with what certainly felt allot like burns on his chest, arms and shoulders. His hair was also in a hell of a state. Groaning and softly muttering curses he dragged his way over to the altar, not trusting his feet just yet. Sitting up against the cold stone he tried hard to remain awake, reaching round to prepare to use his Dranach as a walking stick when he felt strong enough to stand. As he sat their he saw Syjahel making her way over to him being led by their small charge. At almost the same time Jacks emerged from around the back of the tent, covered in blood at least some of which was clearly his own. He looked sad rather than triumphant was one might have expected of a victorious soldier but that was Jacks for you, always a bit odd.

Ignorant of all this Cananatra still fought in the unfamiliar field of diplomacy, an arena in which he was far from comfortable. Understanding at the very least that the elves here were enemies of the Dalvians and that they had swiftly grasped the principle that my enemies' enemy is my friend he said
“The battle host is that of our employer. It comes to help the hunt; we expected large amounts of resistance. He wants the Wryd dead as much as you so he’ll probably agree to join force against them. Understand though, I don’t speak with his voice, so you will have to contact him.”

At this the red headed prince's eyes lit up,
"Then it shall be. Before the world burns seek I shall out-word-prince." This seemed to be addressed to the room in general rather than Cananatra. Turning to one of the elder warriors the prince continued
"Must all battle-born for the hunt and begin, time dwindles. This one," his finger jabbed at Cananatra "Will take me unto out-world-prince and we shall bargain strike. Bring mounts unto, with small guard we shall ride." Apparently this decided matters and Cananatra's consent assumed for immediately the assorted elves leapt into action. Two of the elder warriors and the younger female warrior who had 'escorted' him immediately vanished out of the tent flap, shouting orders in their rapid jabber. One of the other warriors went out of another flap shouting something about mounts while the fourth was handed an ornate leather cuirass which he then helped the young prince to put on. Taking his elegant bronze spear in hand the prince swept from the tent, the elder warrior lingering just long enough to leave right behind Cananatra who saw little option but to go along.

For all that they were unsophisticated these elves certainly could move at a pace when there was need. Emerging through the side flap Cananatra saw six horses, each perhaps a shade smaller than the usual dark steed but all healthy, sleek and strong so far as he could see. They were harnessed in leather, even the princes horse showing no ornament. Already the prince was mounted along with three warriors, each with spears in hand and a bow across their back. The warrior behind Cananatra saw his hesitation and pointed to one of the two remaining horses

"Up onto, we ride," shrugging his armoured shoulders the warrior approached the horse. By and large he didn't do horses, rarely having had the money to think about buying one and being more used to ships besides. Still over the decades he had been on horses a few times. Hauling himself inelegantly into the saddle he took the reins, a little relived to be off his feet for the first time in many hours. No one seemed inclined to speak, kicking their horses into action the riders set off away from the camp. Cananatra's horse followed, seemingly more of its own accord than at his behest from him. Within moments he found himself at the centre of a diamond, the savage prince at the tip with warriors ranged out to all sides of Cananatra, clearly they didn't want him riding off any more than those who had brought him to the camp.

The woods flowed by once again, faster now. Without the need to concentrate on where he was putting his feet he could better appreciate just what an incredible place the petrified forest really was. Unmoving oaks and elms blotted out the sun with their marbled leaves along with several trees he had never before seen. Following along with this new group of un-trusted possible allies they soon covered much of the ground back towards the edge of the forest and the other mercenaries. At least he assumed that was where they were going, it was almost impossible to tell. All at once the stillness was broken, where once there had only been the soft patter of hooves on lose soil a brazen war horn split the air. No beastman calls followed however, the roar that preceded a rush of warriors was a little more refined. Not much but a little. From the trees ahead and from the left came a rush of human warriors; half naked and armed with axes and swords of crude design. Within seconds the lead warriors fell to a shower of arrows from the mounted bowmen, all but the very first to emerge. Unlike the others he was swathed in thick armour, thicker from the look of it even than his own and spiked at the shoulders. Painted in garish blue and yellow the warrior was an imposing figure. Even with the first few dead still more than a dozen of his follows charged in. Nothing in the forest was ever easy, nothing in Naggaroth.

Right these are how things stand. Carathyle is badly wounded and sitting up by the alter leaning on it at the centre of the clearing. Both Syjahel and Jacks along with Naylia are joining him there. Grisha has unfortunately died despite his ministrations (-1 healing vial). Jacks is also quite badly wounded. Cananatra is at the centre of the elves on horseback. The chaos marauders and warriors have emerged from the trees in a semi circle stretching from the left of them around to directly in front. The Warrior is directly in front. There are somewhere between a dozen and fifteen marauders, it is difficult to tell. -Drainial
[/color]

_________________
Moding a group of Druchii.net players is much like directing the musical 'Cats' using actual cats. Frustrating, difficult, chaotic but ultimatley satisfying and a great deal of fun.

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Tue Sep 25, 2012 8:32 pm
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Despite his efforts, Jacks failed to save Grisha's life, he felt weak and helpless because of that. He laid her to rest, she was beautiful when her creamy white face wasn't scrunched up with anger and concentration from trying to kill him everytime they met. Her fiery red hair matched her temper perfectly, and even in death, her chestnut brown eyes still looked like they wanted to kill him. He closed her eyes, her expression now looked more relax and lady like. "Foolish girl." he muttered again, her bloodlust for him was always a mystery for Jacks. He never found out why she wanted him dead so much, he concluded women were just complicated, but that's why Jacks finds them so attractive. Never predictable, always with a temper greater than a Manticore, it piques his interest everytime. Perhaps it's one of the driving forces to Jacks' chivalry? He cleaned Grisha up, both because she's a woman, and because she was a fellow peer. Murmuring a silent prayer to the Dark Mother for Grisha, he gave her one last look before he checked his gear and carefully made his way out, always alert for signs of danger.

Out on the battlefield, it did seem like his companions came to back him up. The young brash noble sat on the alter, he looked to be in bad shape but alive. On the other end of the field, his captain was making her way over with their charge, much to Jacks' relieve. Looking on, he couldn't find the corpse of the Witch he spotted earlier, not could he spot Cananatra either, and that worried him. Pushing aside his saddened face, Jacks snapped back into attention and jogged briskly to the alter to meet with their group.

"Good to see we're all alive still, captain, master Maveric." He addressed the two rather formally. "What happened here? and where's our Corsair warrior?"

Interaction time whilst our ambassador is busy killing more Chaos stuff.

_________________
What's mine is mine, What's yours is mine.
Now that we understand each other, lets get down to business.

Jacks -Shade
- WS 5 - - S 3 - - T 2 - - D 6 - - I 5 -

Equipment
Short Sword, MC Long Sword*, Dagger, RxB & RHB [20/10] MC Shade Cloak, 4 Throwing Daggers, 3x Healing Vials, 451C, [3]Dark Venom, [4]Unseen Chains, Food, Dark Steed- Spike

Skills
Basic Stealth, Awareness, TWF, Suithenlu Khythan, Ride

Magic Item
Eye of the Jabberwock

*Magical properties possibly imbued


Fri Sep 28, 2012 2:12 am
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The pain, it pulsed through his body with every heartbeat. It was near unbearable, even for one of such... masochistic nature such as Carathyle. Pain is something he is accustomed to, from birth, it's something Druchii nobles experience through intense training. Carathyle on the other hand, his usual way of threating wounds was burning it so it's closed, then keep it clean and protected. The only thing more dangerous is an infection of the wound, and that's something he couldn't afford.

With his back against the Altar, something solid to lean against, Carathyle had a bit more trouble of remaining conscious, even though he wasn't on the ground with his entire body, it was still difficult. The lightning had sucked his energy dry, his wounds ever crying for more. The Dranach was placed tip first in the dirt, standing vertically. With his eyes half shut, Carathyle moved his arms, his right hand grasped the straps around his chest and loosened them, before he loosened the black leather pauldron's straps and took it off of his shoulder. His right side was completely unharmed, not a single part of the lightning had touched it, the need of loosening that side was completely absent.

At least... I need to... know the damage. he bit his tongue as he removed the pauldron from his shoulder, the damage done by the lightning was already visible, as the khaitan had disappeared on the place. The only thing that kept the sleeve to the torso of the Khaitan was a small strain around the armpit. Nothing else was left around the shoulder.

Carathyle didn't look, he just removed the pauldron and moved on toward the chest piece. He knew that, if he was to be healed, he needed to lose his armor, and since he felt like his final hour was going in, he figured that if Jacks or Syjahel would come, the speed with which the healing balm could mean the difference between life and death. Aemili, the name of the sorceress, I'll make you pay for this. You only gave me more reasons to hunt you down and kill you, you paralyzed me at the beginning, I'll make you pay for that, just like all your subordinates! Your retainers paid dearly for their mistake, your Jabberwock paid dearly for the minor scratch on my face, your bird paid with their lives for Seijl's death, your acolytes died the most gruesome death for defying me, your Daemon paid dearly for messing with our captain, you're next! Carathyle thought as he loosened the straps of his chestplate, but more he couldn't do. His ear caught the sound of a war horn in the distance, taking it could be from only one person, Cananatra.

His head tilted toward the ground, his arm dropped to his lap as his eyes closed. His eyes opened within seconds though, as he moved his head around to look. His vision was blurry at best, he saw everything double. Luckily for him, which made him smile within himself, Syjahel was returning, lead by their little charge by hand. "Never... thought I would see Syjahel being taken... from place to place... by a little girl." Carathyle chuckled but coughed half way. He had little energy to spare for fun. He grasped the chestplate firmly this time and pulled it over his head off. Immediately the damaged was visible. Not only on the chestplate, where a huge impact spot was visible, but also on his chest.

Even through the metal, the scorching of the lightning was visible, his skin was severely damaged, third degree burns were visible around the area of his heart, second degree across his chest and left shoulder, little was first degree. He could hear Jacks coming from his side.

"Alive? Barely." Carathyle replied short, not willing to spend too much breath at the moment. "Assuming we're all here," Carathyle took a short pauze, before continuing. "the war horn would mean either Cananatra is in trouble...," Carathyle placed his hand across his waist and the other hand on the ground, pushing himself up a bit. "or the army has finally arrived."

Carathyle will remain seated, temporarily remove said pieces of the armor for healing(Since the lightning struck him left, I assume that THAT exact spot is where the third degree burn is at), answer the questions as best he could, otherwise keep his mouth shut to save energy to survive. Carathyle might be stubborn, he's still mortal, and extremely lucky.

OOC: I'm not so much into writing drama, but this was hell of a fun to do. :D I never disappoint when it boils down to fluff :P

_________________
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Carathyle Maveric:(Group 28 Warrior)
Ws:5 S:4 T:3 D:4 I:3
Equipment:
Enchanted* Obsidian Long sword, MC Light armour, Dark Steed(Sephirah), Shield, MC Longbow(89 arrows), 56 Circlets, Maibed Dagger, Asur Spear and Disguise.
Age: 89
Skills: Ride, Acrobatics
*Increased Strength, holds the soul of his father


Sat Sep 29, 2012 10:30 pm
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Syjahel was relieved to see their charge was safe for now and still very much the alert little girl - a little girl with an almost frightening intellect. What libraries her father had could only be guessed at but if the resourceful child had failed to find anything on the daemonic then most likely Sultra either did not possess it, or he kept it firmly sealed away in some vault. The news of a ritual sacrifice of a magical nature was no surprise, but still it was not good however expected. Naylia's summary of the situation was accurate. If Sultra's army did not get here quickly, Syjahel's brother Tanathrys had any number of phrases for just how screwed they were. The life of a Corsair has always furnished colourful metaphors. Privately, she settled on as a whore at the end of raiding season and allowed Naylia to direct her to what she could see in the clearing she'd left behind her.

What she saw then caused her to pick up to a run and almost outpace the child. Along with the couple of bodies strewn over the clearing (and never once did she consider that Naylia would be troubled by these, the child had caused more than a few bodies herself), she could see Carathyle slumped by the altar and in the act of taking off his armour. Smoke and the smell of charred flesh tainted the air. From the direction of the camp, Jacks was jogging over, hurt but still mobile. Her own stiffness and bruising forgotten, Syjahel was already reaching for the vials in her pouch.

"Never... thought I would see Syjahel being taken... from place to place... by a little girl." Carathyle chuckled but coughed half way.

"Good to see we're all alive still, captain, master Maveric." Jacks addressed the two rather formally. "What happened here? and where's our Corsair warrior?"

"Alive? Barely." Carathyle replied short, not willing to spend too much breath at the moment. "Assuming we're all here," Carathyle took a short pauze, before continuing. "the war horn would mean either Cananatra is in trouble...," Carathyle placed his hand across his waist and the other hand on the ground, pushing himself up a bit. "or the army has finally arrived."

"Master Shade," Syjahel nodded to Jacks, her expression one of concern for both her companions were sorely in need of assistance, and the third was nowhere in sight. "I am glad to see you back with us, though I see you are wounded. I will aid you with that if you will allow it, but I am afraid Lord Maveric here has the greater need." As she spoke, never one to waste time, she was already kneeling beside her wounded fellow noble and preparing to use some of her precious healing balm. It was strange, but the refuge they were all taking in formality helped her to concentrate, to keep track of the situation at hand and not to panic. Somewhere out there was an unknown enemy, but here were two of her command, one bleeding, the other charred like a sacrifice.

Trusting to the Autarii's instincts to keep watch while she worked, she took off one glove and gently examined the wounds on Carathyle's chest and arms. The pattern of the lightning strike - for what else could it be? - was curiously like a tree, as if it had flowed out from the point of impact. With as light a touch as she could manage, the warrior-woman applied the magical fluid to the wounds, hoping as she did so that it had time and power enough to work.

"Rest while you can," she chided Carathyle gently as she worked, "if there's an army on its way we had better pray to Khaine that it's Sultra's, for Naylia told me Tachar has a force of Beastmen and Elves." Her face showed her distaste for whatever traitorous vermin would join forces with powers such as these. She glanced to Naylia as if to make sure the girl was still with them. "She also wants the girl for a blood ritual. More than this," she nudged Carathyle's arm up so that she could dress its underside, "we do not know, but it cannot be good." Syjahel glanced to Naylia. "Not to speak as if you were not here, milady. We hope that your father will be on his way soon, for we are his advance - party." The microsecond pause as she considered how they'd been given the dirty work of expendables once more was testament to her training as a Druchii noble.

"I would suggest for future use," she essayed a small smile to the wounded Druchii under her ministrations, "that the next time you encounter a Sorceress, you remember that they know that the best way to a man's heart is through his ribcage." She could only wonder that the strike to Carathyle's chest hadn't left him a smoking corpse. Khaine must have a plan for this one. Perhaps - and she hoped it was true - he had a plan for them all. One that included the glorious, bloody and conclusive slaughter of their enemies. Already running fast on adrenaline, Syjahel's own heart quickened at the prospect.

Finishing her attentions to the wounded nobleman she turned to the Shade. Jacks was independant like all his Clanmates; all Druchii tended towards a self-sufficient spirit, but among the Autarii it was an art form. Jacks was practical, though, so she hoped he would allow her to assist if needed.

"By the look of you rather too much of that blood is your own. If you need it, I have some of the healing balm left." She couldn't be certain if Jacks would assent, but the offer was made.She glanced around her, at the edges of the clearing, acutely aware of the vulnerability of their position, and moved to help the scout.


Keeping always an eye or an ear out for trouble, Syjahel will use her healing vials on one or preferably both of 'her' troops and then take stock of the situation. We need to get to Sultra and fast; there's no way we can take on an army. Heal Carathyle first, then Jacks if he'll allow it, then look at her own hurts if there is time (and they need it).

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~ We Never Slept ~


Sun Sep 30, 2012 2:08 am
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As much as Carathyle hated being tended to, the severity of his wounds was of proportions even he knew he couldn't leave unattended or tend to himself. As Syjahel kneeled next to him, she quickly examined the wound, before removing her glove and started the treatment. Syjahel's touch was seemingly as delicate as she could. The pain of the wound was actually more then the pain caused by her touching the wound, so he didn't even bother with it. During the time she applied the balm, she spoke about what Aemili was planning according to Naylia. Who is this kid?! How can she know this much at her age, and how can she not be slightly disturbed by the bodies lying around her? She's been through this according to Sultra, well, any information is welcome anyways.

"Rest while you can," Syjahel chided "if there's an army on its way we had better pray to Khaine that it's Sultra's, for Naylia told me Tachar has a force of Beastmen and Elves." "She also wants the girl for a blood ritual. More than this," Carathyle's feature twitched as Syjahel nudged his arm up "we do not know, but it cannot be good. Not to speak as if you were not here, milady. We hope that your father will be on his way soon, for we are his advance - party."

"Well, we actually quite seem to be abandoned in here by him. We're here what? 5 hours already? Unless that horn is from the main force, where the hell is he?"

"I would suggest for future use," she essayed a small smile to the wounded Druchii under her ministrations, "that the next time you encounter a Sorceress, you remember that they know that the best way to a man's heart is through his ribcage."

"Be glad it was me, not you. Unfortunately, I couldn't bring her head back as promised. Please forgive me for that, I was busy not dying." Carathyle smiled as he placed his head against the altar.

As the balm was applied more, and more, and his wounds got dressed, Carathyle could feel his energy returning, how little at a time it might be. He chuckled a bit, this time not feeling empty afterwards. "Master shade, you asked what happened here. Let's put it like this, we slaughtered a daemon, four acolyte elves, before I got a failed electrocution, and Syjahel went to get Naylia. How did your play time with the guards go?" Only now Carathyle realized it, Jacks used to have a vial with him, so why didn't he dress his own wounds?

_________________
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Carathyle Maveric:(Group 28 Warrior)
Ws:5 S:4 T:3 D:4 I:3
Equipment:
Enchanted* Obsidian Long sword, MC Light armour, Dark Steed(Sephirah), Shield, MC Longbow(89 arrows), 56 Circlets, Maibed Dagger, Asur Spear and Disguise.
Age: 89
Skills: Ride, Acrobatics
*Increased Strength, holds the soul of his father


Sun Sep 30, 2012 3:22 am
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Jacks heard the horn too, his ears pricked moments before it reached them, his eyes squinted with concentration as he looked on in the direction that it's coming from in the far distance. His hands instinctively reached for his pocket where his artifact was tied securely within for a better look, but stopped before touching it. He didn't trust it entirely, although at one point he did fancy the idea of replacing one of his eyes with it. He chuckled to himself at the crazy thought.

"No, it doesn't sound like the horn of Sultra's army, nor of Cananatra's. It's a fair distance away, we have time."

He was watchful of their immediate area, with what focus he had left after the battle for his life and from the unsuccessful attempt to save Grisha's life. He felt drained, and simply wanted to slump on the ground and sleep for eternity, not literally. He felt quite disheartened at Grisha's death, but they were in the open now, in a seemingly deserted camp with a badly injured noble, another one distracted and a child. Jacks willed himself to work his mind and body into overdrive and forced himself to stay on guard duty until they were done, especially with the horn braying in the distance.

He wandered a distance away, but stayed within ears reach to listen in on the conversation and to update himself with what had happened. Reluctantly, he made sure he was far enough to reach into his pockets to grasp the eye without raising curiosity. His vision shifted once again, the first few uses felt strange, but his mind was slowly becoming accustomed to the shift in reality now, whether it was a good thing or not, Jacks will worry about later. Right now, he had to make sure his companions and himself were safe, he didn't fully trust his artifact yet, but he didn't trust his focus more at this stage.

Jacks carefully scanned the surrounding environment, the acolytes almost blended in with the lifeless ground, the trees shone with the familiar shade he had seen many times before. Beyond that, where he had fought for his life, he could make out the lifeless body of Grisha resting peacefully now, behind one of the stone trees, the lifeless grey bodies of the other guards scattered around her. He saw no other specks of colours to show other signs of life nearby, and the sea of stone trees blocked him from seeing anything discerning about the fight their other companion was in that they were unaware of.

Jacks withdrew his hands from his artifact and walked back to their group knowing they were safe, for now.

"How did your play time with the guards go?" Jacks bit back a remark, he wasn't sure whether Carathyle was trying to make a light joke or whether he was trying to be insulting about the lack of Jacks' presence in aiding him here. Jacks didn't trust his tired mind for proper judgement about it, so he ignored the possible insult and replied as vague as he cared to be.

"Playing with your life on an injured leg isn't a good idea either it seems. Clearly I'm not strong enough, to handicap myself just yet I mean." What Jacks really meant was he wasn't strong enough to protect all the women he had wanted to yet. He believed if he was stronger, Grisha wouldn't had needed to be shot, wouldn't had died. Or perhaps if his aim was better, he wouldn't had fired a stray shot into her chest. But he didn't elaborate on all that, it was undruchii-like, as was pointed out to him with mockery all his life.

"It won't happen again." was all Jacks needed to say. "I will take some of that thank you captain." much to Jacks' disdain. He wasn't fond of relying on others for assistance, it made him feel weak. But as it was, it was necessary for survival at this point, if his leg hampered him that much before, it wasn't going to improve now with the same treatment. Some magical medicine was going to be needed to keep him up and useful.

"I lost one of my vials during the fight, I was careless, nothing more." In some ways, it was true, but he didn't feel comfortable expressing his more, kind-hearted side.

In an attempt to change the focus from him, Jacks told them about what information he got from Grisha. "Does the name Malal bring back any memories?"

Accept the offer for a magical healing balm from Syjahel, use the Eye to scan the area for any other life form (other than trees) and ask the group about what they know of Malal

_________________
What's mine is mine, What's yours is mine.
Now that we understand each other, lets get down to business.

Jacks -Shade
- WS 5 - - S 3 - - T 2 - - D 6 - - I 5 -

Equipment
Short Sword, MC Long Sword*, Dagger, RxB & RHB [20/10] MC Shade Cloak, 4 Throwing Daggers, 3x Healing Vials, 451C, [3]Dark Venom, [4]Unseen Chains, Food, Dark Steed- Spike

Skills
Basic Stealth, Awareness, TWF, Suithenlu Khythan, Ride

Magic Item
Eye of the Jabberwock

*Magical properties possibly imbued


Sun Sep 30, 2012 4:33 pm
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With the spectre of death pushed aside for a moment the gathered mercenaries fell to talking, though they took care to address each other in formal tones they had been through allot together and if they were not exactly friends each had a certain amount of respect for the others and perhaps a little fondness. Certainly they saw enough use in one another for Syjahel to offer one of her precious enchanted healing vials to each of the wounded elves. Despite their pride both Jacks and Carathyle saw the need and accepted, Jacks tearing away part of his trousers to apply the pearlescent ointment. Carathyle's injuries were far worse however and he consented to Syjahel applying the balm. With his armour partially removed Syjahel ripped a ragged hole in his tunic to get at the blistered skin beneath. Carathyle bit back a cry of pain as she began smoothing on the cool liquid but found quickly realised that it was far more effective than any other healing balm he had tried. Within seconds the pain began to ebb away and the skin looked a little healthier. For the moment he still felt a little too weak to stand but at the rate the enchanted ointment was working he realised he would not be out of action for too long.

Jacks had already applied his balm and he too found that his injuries were becoming less painful by the moment and his leg had already stopped bleeding. He did however have some questions for the group in between the banter.
"Does the name Malal bring back any memories?" he asked, thinking that the nobly born warriors might have a little more information on such matters than a shade. If either Carathyle or Syjahel knew their answers were pre-empted by the diminutive Naylia who’s wide and esoteric education Syjahel had already seen a brief glimpse of before the adventure began.

"Malal is a daemonic force, sometimes known as the fifth god of Chaos. His purpose is to stand in eternal opposition to the other four, a counter balance to their ways not for any good purpose but merely to embody the contradiction that is Chaos. The Tzeentchen cultists believe the Petrified Forest to have been created during the first war against Chaos. It stands opposed to the attempts of Tzeentch to constantly remake the world by instead making a world in which nothing can ever change. Some scholars believe that a powerful daemon was trapped here when the forest was petrified," she recited, sounding as though the words were straight from a text scroll. Her voice returned to a more normal tone as she added
"I think that the daemon might be what they want to release with a blood sacrifice."

As she was talking Jacks surreptitiously took hold of the Eye and scanned the trees all around. Mostly he saw nothing but the usual silver haze given off by the living stone, as he turned his attention to the woods behind them however he saw a pair of golden figures moving towards them. Taking hold of his repeater he brought this to the attention of the others, fortunately they were used to him being more perceptive than they especially in the woods and this aroused no comment. The wounds down Carathyle's side were still raw but the burned flesh had given way to pink new skin and the pain while not gone had lessened considerably. Taking hold of his Dranach Carathyle used the spear haft to lift himself back onto his feet and found that he could stand without its aide. They were looking towards the trees when two elves emerged. Both were dressed in greens and browns and held a repeater crossbow in their hands but instead of opening fire on the mercenaries one of them raised his hand in greeting and shouted down to them.
"Hello there, lord Sultra sends his compliments."

The two shades slung their crossbows over their backs and jogged down the slope towards them. If they were bluffing about being with Sultra's army then they were bold with it. Swiftly they came to a halt in the centre of the clearing before the assembled mercenaries and Naylia.

"We heard what sounded like thunder from a cloudless sky coming from this direction and sought it out," the first one said, looking over the bodies scattered around and the bloodied state of Jacks not to mention the burns on Carathyle's chest as he buckled his armour back into place
"Wish we had gotten here sooner but the army is full of city folk; they move like snails through the forest. Beastmen and mutants have been nipping at our flanks since we entered the woods and we don't have enough skirmishers to keep them at bay. We shades having been looking for you, though we are few enough in number. We are to take you to the main force for the ladies' protection." At the mention of the lady he sketched a brief bow in the direction of Naylia, a sure sign of a shade who had spent too much time escorting nobles in the corridors of power.

Not so big after all as it turned out. As things stand Carathyle is still a little stiff and there is some pain remaining but he is back to functionality and the balm will continue to heal him until he is perfectly well again perhaps leaving a few scars where not enough was applied. Jacks' wounds were not as bad and are pretty much completely healed already. Jacks did not see any other people in the woods so no armies are in range of the eye just yet unless they are being magically cloaked. Again sorry to keep you waiting. -Drainial

_________________
Moding a group of Druchii.net players is much like directing the musical 'Cats' using actual cats. Frustrating, difficult, chaotic but ultimatley satisfying and a great deal of fun.

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Wed Oct 03, 2012 3:22 pm
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Listening to Naylia's explanation of the fifth Ruinous Power was enlightening, if not comfortable. To find that there was yet another ranged against them was not good, even if it was heartening to know that daemons also fought among themselves. Distracted by the more urgent matter at hand, Syjahel stored the fact away for later use.

"... the army is full of city folk ..." That sounded like Shades all right. And even though these scouts were skulking through the stone woodlands dressed in the clothes of an ordinary forest-dweller, they had certainly made a stealthy enough approach. Syjahel had stepped in front of Naylia the minute she heard the cry announcing them to the group, but now she allowed them to see the girl and of course with that, confirm that she was unhurt and that her group had done its duty, albeit and considerable cost.

Shades or not they also seemed to recognise Naylia as the daughter of a noble and accord her respect, which soothed the warrior-woman purely by the reference to what she once knew as routine. Moving smoothly into role she said,

"Your arrival was a timely one. As you can see, we have suffered some losses and much injury." She winced a little as she spoke, having received a light toasting from the Sorceress' lightning bolts herself, though it was nothing compared to Carathyle's. "At present we are down one man and another is missing, having lead a force of the enemy away from the encampment. This was our rendezvous point, though as I can see he has not returned, I hope that Khaine guides him.

"Lead us to Sultra's forces by all means, we are too few to defend against even a small force here. And I am sure Lord Sultra will be pleased to see his child."
She glanced down at Naylia with a small smile. Nothing too sentimental, but it would be good to get the girl back where she belonged so that her father could concentrate on the matter in hand: the mending of a very, very old mistake.

And vengeance, of course. Syjahel hoped that Cananatra hadn't also fallen to the old Lord's ancient folly. It would have been better if they could have left some sign of where they'd gone, or even a guide, but they could neither spare the numbers nor risk alerting the enemy. She'd respected the former Corsair's pragmatism and straightforward approach, a nice counterpoint to Jacks' flighty romanticism and Carathyle's brash impetuousness. The young noblewoman had come to see that the disparate elements in the group all contributed to its overall success, making the whole stronger than a troop of identical thinkers could have done. But disparate or not, all Druchii were united in one thing: the need for revenge.

As she fell into step beside the Autarii, ready to set off once her band had assembled themselves, she pondered on two things. One was small, and it pleased her sense of nobility even as it made her wonder if more of the hill tribes were like Jacks than she supposed: the Shades had spoken of the need to rejoin the main force "for the ladies' protection.". No sense in quibbling who needed protection, it was plain they all did, when an enemy army was on the march.

The other concerned Sultra's handling of his blood-feud with his wayward daughter and her house. With a shock, it came to her that this was his oldest child, his heir at least technically. Hot on the heels of this thought, one that had been nagging at the edges of her consciousness for some time: either the Witch King knew all about this seeming charade, or he did not. Sultra had served with the Black Guard and he could still call in Keilbrad, a senior warrior from their towers and very much still in service. That alone would suggest that he was in good standing with them. And Malekith kept a stern and - as commonplace wisdom would have it - all-seeing eye on his kingdom in exile; it was inconceivable, surely, that the Witch King did not know. Yet this drama had been played out over a thousand years or more, with many Druchii deaths, and in this time a Tzeentchian had been able to flourish. Syjahel had been raised with a strict loathing for the daemonic. Everyone knew that the Witch King's mother made pacts with daemons, but equally everyone knew of her unique power and mastery. This was another matter entirely. It made her sword-arm itch to strike this abomination from the face of the North, but quite how Sultra fitted into all this, she still could not fathom.


Wait for crew to ready themselves, go with Shades to Sultra, keep paranoid eye on bushes.

_________________
RIP Group 28
~ We Never Slept ~


Mon Oct 08, 2012 11:35 am
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Malekith's Best Friend
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Carathyle raised to a stance, as the wound on the chest seemed to get better by the second, replenishing his energy near equally as much. The nobleman looked around, as he pulled his chestplate from the ground. The sand that got on it was equally as petrified as the entire forest, it was a miracle something was actually alive in this place. His eyes scanned the tree-line closely, Not much difference in trees except for the size and shape, they all seem dead to me. Carathyle’s mind was uneasy, the wound on his chest was fresh, never the less they were in the land of Chill, anything that is deadly seemed to live here. Carathyle buckled his armor back in place with a single hand, keeping his Dranach in his right just in case.

The surprise that he didn’t have to rest upon the spear was quite satisfying to Carathyle. His acceptance of help was only in dire situations, when utmost necessity was present, and there were no exceptions, neither for elf, man, machine or equipment. His concern however wasn’t with his morals and values. From the tree-line emerged two shades, signaling the group that they are friendly for a change.

Carathyle’s trust in the words was barely present, he didn’t trust anyone other than his fellow mercenaries at the moment, those who had proven to be… useful to him. The charge is smart as a whip, perhaps a bit too smart… for Sultra’s sake. Perhaps keeping her as an ally if possible might be an option that requires more thought. Carathyle glanced toward the little child of Sultra, stepping slightly forward, keeping the direct approach to Naylia covered. The moment the shades called out, Carathyle’s temper dropped, instead, his skepticism raised to the equation. It could be another one of the sorceress’ tricks for all they knew. ”Well, they do say not to challenge faith. I never listen to that.”

Without much words to speak to the approaching Autarii, Carathyle turned around toward his sword, who still stood in the dirt of the clearing. As he strapped the final strap of his breastplate to his torso, Carathyle swiftly placed the dranach back on its place, well out of hindrance yet well within arm’s reach. ”As slowly the night comes in, the Land of Chill absorbs those living in shadow and darkness, using their lives to fuel the many creatures of land. It’s only then, that true irony and nature can be heard.” Carathyle mumbled faintly, his eyes focused on the sword in front.

Carathyle extended his hand toward the hilt, and as he wrapped his fingers around it once more, the pulse of energy in the sword struck through his arm. Carathyle took a deep breath, his eyes closed as he concentrated on channeling the energy around. I shall not leave without this. Carathyle thought, as he tightened his grip and pulled the sword out of the ground in a single pull, flinging it around in his right hand as if he was never injured. In the end, the sword was lowered onto the right pauldron of the warrior, his feel for the sword was familiar, reckless and encouraging as a smile occupied his feature.

Feeling triumphant, Carathyle walked back toward the small group of Druchii, three autarii and a warrior that stood together, it wasn’t often that the warriors were outnumbered by the Autarii, especially since their ally died to a bird. Carathyle glanced over his shoulder toward the acolytes that lay slain on the ground. Blood soaked the soil underneath their cooling bodies, as the disemboweled one lay in two, the skewered one lay in clamping his stomach as the sword was still in it, one having lost his head to the sword, Carathyle chuckled, His scream was most… entertaining for what it was worth.

Even with everything that has happened, Carathyle knew they weren’t out of the woods just yet. The charge was secure, that much was a guarantee with both Carathyle and Syjahel hanging around, as well as Jacks, who’s chivalry was invaluable if the need of defensive fighting was necessary.

Arriving back at the group, Carathyle looked around, as his left leather pauldron lay there. Reaching out with his left hand was still a bit troublesome, but it didn’t matter much. Reaching out for the Pauldron, Carathyle bit his teeth for the tension in the still sore muscle, as he grasped the armor off the ground. He stepped up next to Syjahel, his attention focused around them. However, he didn’t need to be a sorceress to figure out Syjahel was bothered with some rarities. It was the first time he’d seen her wondering, or at least the first time he noticed. ”Is something bothering you, Lady Vasht? You seem troubled.”

Step in line, don’t mention Cananatra’s absence, it is surely noted. I can’t let him lose his favored weapon now, can I?

OOC: Sorry for the delay, finally got my head clear of things.

_________________
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Carathyle Maveric:(Group 28 Warrior)
Ws:5 S:4 T:3 D:4 I:3
Equipment:
Enchanted* Obsidian Long sword, MC Light armour, Dark Steed(Sephirah), Shield, MC Longbow(89 arrows), 56 Circlets, Maibed Dagger, Asur Spear and Disguise.
Age: 89
Skills: Ride, Acrobatics
*Increased Strength, holds the soul of his father


Mon Oct 08, 2012 10:51 pm
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Executioner
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Jacks mused over the child's knowledge, it both puzzled and worried Jacks. She was too knowledable and too calm in dangerous situations, does she even know how heavy the information she brings forth is? Talks of a fifth Daemonic God, talks of Chaos for that matter, it slightly made Jacks uncomfortable, but he shook his scepticism aside, time will tell whether this child will turn out for the better or worse. For now, she was a young noble lady and it was Jacks' personal agenda to keep her safe from harm where he can.

Strength and energy flowed back into him again, and he immediately sprung into action as soon as he detected two golden glows within the woods. It was good to see his old self back and functioning, but as soon as he saw who they were, he relaxed. Jacks was just about fed up with fighting enemies constantly today. Syjahel seemed to take in their new company with more ease than Carathyle, who seemed ready to cut them up no matter who they were.

"Stand down Master Maveric" Jacks chuckled as he recognised the city Shades. "If you don't trust them, then trust me. They're from Clan Elish, we've crossed paths with them enough times to deem them as brothers, too bad we're not neighbouring clans. They're as close to nobles as you'll find in Shade clans, probably why they stick closer to city folk than most of us. They're trustworthy enough, as reliable as our bonds so far."

Jacks flicked his Repeater back into its harness and checked his equipment one last time before making ready to lead the way with his two new companions.

"Lead the way hctib, Elttil. I'll cover your rear." It felt good to be in the company of fellow Shades again, Seijl's presence, his duo partner in missions after the loss of Tiarra, was evidently missed by Jacks. On the note of Shades he missed the presence of, Jacks gave the direction where Grisha's body now lay, one final look before moving on. More lives he didn't want to lose, added to his bloody pages in his memory. One day that he'll reconcile with.

Go with the Shades to Sultra and his marching army, help scout the way forward with the other two Shades whilst Syjahel and Carathyle brought Naylia along.

_________________
What's mine is mine, What's yours is mine.
Now that we understand each other, lets get down to business.

Jacks -Shade
- WS 5 - - S 3 - - T 2 - - D 6 - - I 5 -

Equipment
Short Sword, MC Long Sword*, Dagger, RxB & RHB [20/10] MC Shade Cloak, 4 Throwing Daggers, 3x Healing Vials, 451C, [3]Dark Venom, [4]Unseen Chains, Food, Dark Steed- Spike

Skills
Basic Stealth, Awareness, TWF, Suithenlu Khythan, Ride

Magic Item
Eye of the Jabberwock

*Magical properties possibly imbued


Tue Oct 09, 2012 4:37 pm
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