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(AQ) Dark Waltz.

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3/11/2010 22:02:09   
Sir Nicholas
Member

((Comments: http://forums2.battleon.com/f/tm.asp?m=17369135&mpage=1&key=�))
_____________________________________________

Prologue: Enlightenment.

“When the wars of men bring about the end of the world, God descends from the sky. The strife in Heaven comes to an end, and the world that is absorbed in sorrow will be lifted out of its misery.” Dark Waltz, Act I opening line.

~The Cathedral of Light~

Within the grand, ancient halls, a group of brown-robed men, wielding a mix of enchanted weapons stood before the altar.

The cathedral was the immaculate, crowning achievement of the enlightened order, constructed in the deeps of times long past. Outside, it was impressive to behold; with tall, pointed spires and cruciform ornaments, it was a piece of architecture in itself.

Inside, its pews lined neatly in front of the altar where they stood.

A stained glass window shining brightly with the sun behind it and allowing it’s rays to permeate the Light’s faithful followers with an aura of peace.

Wearing the icons blessed by the Holy Order, the men at the altar lowered their weapons to the marble floor in salute of the squire before them. Plate armor clattered softly as the squire knelt before his betters.

From glowing swords to hammers luminous with the power of light, the men watched as the head of the group stood to face the neophyte. Clutched in his thick hands, a sword of ancient power and the light’s golden glow suffusing its silver with a pearly luminosity.

This day was to be one of the most important of the neophyte’s life. The day he was to be inducted into the Paladin Order.

William was his name. And though he was only seventeen, he stood strong before his mentor, his handsome features bathed with the inner light coursing through him.

With mid-shoulder length, dark hair and green eyes, William was considered by many to be very salient, but his eyes were at the same time gentle and with a humble, peace-loving streak that seemed unbecoming of a mighty warrior. His induction had been long overdue; years he'd served as an infantryman, many months he'd been trained to accept, channel and direct the Light.

The decision to knight William had been one long in question, for the High Council, the governing body of the Order, had great need for more frontline troops.

The neophyte bowed his head low before the lead figure.

Sir Andrew, who presided over this initiation, was Will’s master.

In his early thirties, he was already a Paladin Master and his every action a calculated and controlled movement that further exhibited the authority that was so evident even as he stood, tallest among these men. Dressed in a simple brown and flowing robe, Sir Andrew was dressed to show his devotion; to sacrifice his vanity before God.

The apprentice was clad in gold and bronze plate armor that covered his torso, chest and most of his upper arms with aqua blue pauldrons. His sky blue cape secured by a small chain around his neck fluttered softly in the gentle gust that followed from the cathedral’s doors shutting behind him.

For the longest moment there was only a peaceful silence, but after all the company had arrived, Sir Andrew raised his sword. Handsome features reflecting off the blade, he slowly placed the tip upon Will’s right shoulder, then once on his left, before recoiling the blessed weapon.

“Friends,” he began in a loud and oratorical voice, “faithful brothers and sisters, we gather here in this most holy cathedral to witness the knighting of squire William, and his introduction to the Paladin Order.” And with that he inclined towards his kneeling apprentice.

The young initiate smiled in response, but said nothing, watching as the robed men surrounded him by all sides but one. From there, it allowed a space with which to permit the audience behind them to see his bright and shining face, aglow with pride and unshed tears.

“Squire William, present now the weapon which you hath forged in the blessed fire.”

Reaching behind his back, the apprentice gripped at the hammer that he’d created. The very symbol of the Paladin Order, representing its strength and steadfast devotion to the faith in the Holy Light: The blessed war-hammer, aglow with blue-white energy.

The head of the weapon was adamantine, while the haft was steel and wrapped in tight blue cloth that continued down towards the apex of the bottom hilt, which was bright yellow. Engraved upon either side of the head, there were even-sided crosses painted gold and energized by the apprentice’s touch.

“Squire William, you have performed your duty with honor and integrity, have proven yourself time and again with stunning valor,” Sir Andrew paused just long enough to grasp the newly forged hammer by the haft. “for this, I am proud to place the Light’s blessings upon you.”

And then, the Paladin Master raised the weapon high into the air and channeled his power through it sending a soft, gold radiance resonating through the weapon.

“This hammer, purified in the water of the sacred grove shall be your judgment upon the unworthy, and so shall it be the channel, the outlet for your power.”

With that, Sir Andrew lowered the hammer gently and allowed his apprentice to take it. Merely grasping the weapon immersed it in a lustrous brilliance, hiding it from view and bringing out a pearly luminosity that warmed the apprentice’s bones.

“And so, from this hour henceforth, I dub thee...Sir William, Paladin and Knight of the Holy Order. Arise and be recognized.”

The newly christened Sir William rose from his kneeling position to face Sir Andrew, his master and the one who’d anointed him, glee on his face. The other Paladins and the clerics who lived and worked in the Cathedral stood in unison, their palms shining with golden glows.

“Brothers and sisters let us then raise our hands, and let the Light illuminate this man.”

Each of them elevated their hands and directed that shine towards Sir William. He then felt the radiance and warmth enveloped him, saturating every section of his body with its benediction and grace.

It felt...marvelous.

He stood erect for several minutes, the sensation of refreshment filling him as he shut his eyes to bear against the almost blinding radiance. Within in its grace, Sir William was reborn, the Light all but singing through his being as he felt cleansed and purged of all vice.

“Welcome to the Paladin Order, Sir William, chosen by the Light.”

Wrapping his hands firmly, almost reverently around the hilt, he realized that his holy power made the radiant weapon feel weightless.

“Master, does this mean I’ll be able to operate on missions?” he asked, unable to keep the exuberance from his voice. Sir Andrew nodded, pride and tenderness in his eyes.

“You’re finally ready for your first true test as a full-fledged Paladin.”

Sir William at that point, could not contain his childish excitement any longer and rushed forth, grabbing his master by the waist in a great hug, much to the surprise of all present.

“I love you man!” He cried happily, several chuckles coming from the men surrounding them before Sir Andrew grasped the younger Knight’s shoulder and pushed him away with an annoyed grunt.

“I have faith in your abilities, Will, but when we’re in the field, I’m expecting you to learn on your own.”
_________________________________

~Valley of the Light’s Grace~

The villages located near the Valley of the Light's Grace had once been revered and spoken of with awe by the citizens of the city of BattleOn: beautiful pastures and rural communities thrived in the lush countryside. Rolling green hills and sunlit uplands could be found outside the great capital city, the occasional settlement breaking the monotony by providing fields of wheat and barley.

However, as of recent days, with the strange new plague of Undeath many of the villages had been deserted. Although rumors in the city would continue to persist, it was clear to all that this was no mere flu outbreak: indeed, the very land itself was slowly rotting.

Within a few days of the first infections, a vast army of Undead appeared as if from nowhere and continuously swelled its numbers. Via the grave sites and other burial grounds, the army had increased to monstrous proportions, driving settlers out of their homes for fear of being added to its ranks.

The occasional company of knights had attempted to counterattack the risen dead, but soon found themselves beset by walking nightmares every time one of their own warriors fell in battle. Whoever fell to the plague, or indeed to its victims was themselves transformed into a mindless corpse.

Now, with orders to clear out the villages, scour the land of the living dead and to stop the spread of evil, Sir Andrew and his loyal legion of warriors rode towards the valley, not away from it.

On horse-back, the caravan of troops and supplies was making steady progress across the starry night towards the nearest village outside the secured walls of the city of BattleOn.
As they made their way, the warriors in various wagons and carts began to look on upon the scenery and how much it had changed since the Undead army had arrived: the whole of the town's borders was deathly silent.

The soil being treaded beneath the horse’s hooves was malformed and decaying. In some areas it was emitting green glows from outlying craters strewn throughout the fields. As if there was some corrupting force beneath the ground, puddles of foul-smelling pools permeated the great plains.

Even the wildlife hadn’t escaped from the plague of undeath that seemed to mire all over. Corpses of cows, sheep, chickens, even the occasional human body added with the same greenish glow.

All other kinds of flora and fauna could be found in and around the city's outer-tiers and all of them deceased.

Sir William held back the urge to vomit from the back of his steed, whom he’d affectionately named, ‘Vigilant’ and watched as Sir Andrew at the head of the column ordered the caravan to halt as they came upon the outskirts of the abandoned town.

Even from his considerable distance, Sir William’s aura sense could detect traces of corruption festering within the abandoned settlement. The wooden buildings and stables that had once served as sanctuary for the people loomed gloomily in the putrid green fog.

“Spread out brothers!” yelled a knight he did not know. “Search for survivors!”

Sir William jumped off Vigilant’s saddle with his right hand on his hammer’s ebony handle. After hitching his great beast to a post, he walked towards a grain hut that was in a state of severe disrepair.

The granary was relatively small and circular in shape. It mainly was constructed of stone and wood. It looked incredibly frail, for the wood was already showing blotches of fungus and other substances that the Paladin dare not guess what.

As he reached out his free hand to the mold-covered door, he jerked back as it collapsed before his hand even touched it.

Through the now open passage stepped two skeletons, each clasping a rusty dagger and badly decayed shields. Their empty eye sockets were lit with green fire; and their toothy jaws stripped of all flesh and appeared as mocking smiles.

Sir William leapt back several feet from the two undead and placed both his hands on the haft of his blessed hammer. With a grin, the Paladin watched as the holy symbols engraved upon the head began to glow, energized with light-energy so bright he nearly shut his eyes against it.

Grasping his weapon he rushed forward, swinging his hammer with precision and speed belying its size. The head struck the first skeleton by the ribs, breaking it into pieces upon impact and reducing the undead to a pile of scattered bones.

The second skeleton attempted to block with its circular shield, but its moves were slow and easy to manage, and Sir William brought his weapon crashing into the creature's torso.

The blow sent it sprawling with what remained of its marrow turning to ash the moment it hit the ground.

Sir William then turned his attention towards the infected silo; focusing his power into the hammer, he gazed upon the building with silent strength and steadiness filling his nerves. And then the Paladin located the infected building’s weak-point with his aura-sense; a foundation stone at the bottom of the circular infrastructure.

With one mighty blow upon the stone at its base, he leveled the corrupted granary with a resounding crash. Splinters of wood and shrapnel scattered like leaves into the wind as the support beams of the silo collapsed in on itself.

Exhaling, Sir William raised his weapon’s haft to his shoulders in relief. That was one less place in this corrupted place that the walking dead could call sanctuary. One small victory in a much larger operation in a village that was completely derelict was infinitely preferable to an assignment where he might upset the natural order of the citizen’s lives.

Turning away from his line of thought and toward to the next building in the path to the center of the village, a stable, Sir William advanced cautiously forward and readied himself for who, or what might lay in wait inside.

Silently, almost unnoticeably the Paladin heard a faint creak, as if someone were walking on loose floorboards. Upon reaching the door of the stable, his light-driven senses suddenly screamed at him to dodge.

Not willing to argue with his instinct, Sir William threw himself to the ground.

And it was not a moment too soon either; for a serrated axe, as mired in corrupted energy as the fields sliced horizontally through the door and embedded itself into the wood of a lamp-post several strides away from him.

The Paladin rose from his prone stance to view the door fall to pieces, just as he would’ve done, had he not dove.

Ignoring that ugly thought, Sir William stepped into the stable and walked cautiously through the stalls, his senses on high alert for any lurking danger. His eyes scanned for whatever had attempted to cleave him in two. After a moment or two of fruitless searching, the Paladin's heart skipped a beat as he heard a second floorboard creak behind him.

Instinctively, the holy warrior grasped his hammer and whirled around, finding himself face-to-skull with another skeleton warrior, with three more behind it.

Before it could raise its dark bladed sword, the blessed hammer had already connected with its spinal cord and severed the upper body from its lower half.

Twirling around once, the Paladin ducked beneath a flurry of blows from the other skeletons and swung to the right as he came around for another spin. The sweeping blow smashed through the skull of a second undead and took the arm off the third with another, well-timed blow.

As the decapitated one fell to the ground, the two others went on the attack. A third one had lumbered in from elsewhere and had lunged forward and grabbed him by the waist.

The sharp claws dug into his back, while the other, now with only one arm had raised its rusted sword high to strike at the Paladin’s face.

Sir William reacted immediately by raising his right boot and kicking the one-armed skeleton in the ribs. Turning over, he allowed himself to drop to the floor with his undead stowaway. They both crashed to the ground with a dull thud, the skeleton hitting first and breaking into pieces as it hit the hard wood floor.

Placing his hands on either side as if to do a push-up, Sir William propped himself on his palms and performed a front flip before acrobatically landing on his feet. Now several feet away from the piles of bones, he nodded in satisfaction.

The Paladin paused only to scoop up his hammer from the floor before he struck the stable’s support beam, causing it to cave in upon the pile of husks.

He left the site behind and headed towards the town center with his mind afire with thoughts of holy vengeance.

Outside, the battle of living and dead was raging fiercely; armored troops clashing with the unnatural, soulless hordes. Horses trampled bodies, their riders hacked undead to pieces with swords and spears, trumpets flaring to the charge, and men shouting battle-cries as they wafted into the enemy's ranks.

Near the center of the town, where the fighting was fiercest, Sir Andrew and a company of ten of his bravest warriors attempted to overtake the enemy's front. Tallest among his men, the Paladin master had swung his sword ceaslessly.

"I don't suppose-!" Sir Andrew shouted as his two-handed sword knocked a stray ghoul onto its back. His horse, a trained war-beast reared up high, neighing a challenge as it lashed out with hooves at a zombie, crushing it's skull.

"-that now would be a good time to voice my-!"

The elder Paladin kicked out with an armored boot, catching a skeleton across the jaw, even as he stabbed his sword down as if it were a lance, driving its tip into a shuffling creature's chest.

Sir Andrew bit back a curse as he beheld the armor, sword and tabard of a fallen comrade, his head and torso bisected by a blow of terrible strength.

"-disagreement with being used as bait!"

An armored skeleton came at him with an unearthly howl, its sword hacking down at the right thigh. The elder Paladin blocked the blade awkwardly with the haft of his own sword and slammed the butt-end of his weapon across the creature's skull. A brutal stamp from his war-horse's steel-shod hooves smashed the monster's cranium and it immediately ceased writhing.

"You should've said something sooner!" Sir William roared gruffly back, fighting enthusiastically on foot less than ten paces away from his master against three more ghouls.

Laughing madly, the younger man lashed out with his hammer, bludgeoning aside the first attacker. His hammer exploded the second into bone fragments as he hacked the weapon down through its torso from left shoulder to right hip.

The third one attempted to cleave at his face with its sharp claw, but Sir Andrew had rode upon it with unnatural quickness and hacked its arm off with one clean stroke. Turning his head briefly, Sir William shot his master a nod and finished the ghoul with a bolt of avenging wrath.

"My lords!" Someone yelled, despite fighting against a shuffling zombie. He gestured with his gore-stained battle-axe towards the town in the distance. "Look there!"

Both Paladins looked to where the warrior was gesturing. Squinting his eyes for a better view, wiping away some of the sweat and blood from his face with the back of a gauntlet, Sir William could make out the scene.

Barely, he could make out crackling energies whirling through the sky and the flying winged forms of several gryphons against the dark gray backdrop of the clouds overhead.

Even as he watched, the gryphons seemed to spread out into an angular attack formation, their mighty wings receeding to give their riders a fair chance to reveal themselves. Distant explosions reached Sir William's ears and realization abruptly dawned on him.

"New arrivals..." He said quietly, not caring if anyone could not hear him over the struggle. With a gasp, his jaw opened slightly as he regarded the newcomers to the battle. They drew bows of gold and fired arrows that appeared as red flames, cutting down the walking corpses by the dozen.

"The High Elves!" He bellowed, raising his weapon high. "The High Elves have come!"

< Message edited by Cow Face -- 5/21/2010 13:45:19 >
AQ  Post #: 1
3/17/2010 19:57:25   
Sir Nicholas
Member

Chapter 1: The First Battle.
____________________________

Sir William had no idea how long it took to destroy every walking corpse; the battle had finally drawn to a close when the last Undead burst into flame, stumbled and collapsed in a heap. Arms crossed, he idly waited at the edge of a growing pile of bodies. His fellow knights hurried about, performing routine tasks; finishing off stragglers and attempting to reverse the corruption over the land.

With a sigh, Sir William knelt before the pile, clasped his hands and prayed.

Before the plague these were good people- but once contracted, the only course left was to put them to rest.

"Yea, though I walk, through valley of the shadow of death..." The Paladin murmured, his eyes closed. "I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

Comforting and warm, the Light spread through his body and banished his doubts- his guilt lightened and he felt refreshed.

"'Even should the morrow be bereft of promises, nothing shall forestall my return.'"

A soft, melodious voice came from behind him, making the Paladin jump. It obviously belonged to a woman, for the voice laughed slightly at his surprise, it, a sliver glissade that was both lovely and sharp. Turning, Sir William came to face the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen- clearly she was a High Elf- with ageless and striking features, and her skin was light and fair. She had had the pointed ears and defined cheek bones that were two of the physical trademarks of her race, and long straight blond hair. A thin staff of a smooth ebony was clasped in her right hand, a cross of sterling silver gripped by an intricate pattern of small, golden loops at the top.


The book the elf held was quite old, for it was ragged and its pages were torn and missing some small pieces. Upon the front cover, there were two words written in scarlet letters.

“Dark Waltz”

"Pray-tell, who might you be, my lady?" Sir William asked, eyeing the woman from top to bottom, then focusing upon her bright green eyes.

"I am a priestess," She replied with her small mouth curved into a smile. "And my name is Sophia, pleased to make your acquaintance."

Sir William outstretched one gauntleted hand and clasped the Elf's in a gentle but firm grip.

"Sir William, Paladin." He said, politely bowing his head. "Pray tell my lady; where do you yield from?" He asked, turning his head quizzically to one side, examining her arched eyebrow.

"I am a native of the woodland realm of Greenguard." She said, her voice and expression pleasant at the show of manners. "And, where, Sir Paladin do you originate from?"

Sir William fought to hold back a smile as the woman turned her attention towards the pile of corpses. She was clearly feigning disinterest, for the Paladin had noticed her tense green eyes observing him from under her golden locks. Silently, he noted that she'd omitted his name, but he answered quickly.

“Willow Creek.”

Her attention towards him fully, “Oh, a country bumpkin, huh?” she asked with a teasing smile appearing on her face. "I can tell, from your accent and from the way that you're dressed that you're obviously someone of high rank; a noble son perhaps?" Sophia's expression had changed to one of curiosity.

"Well, yes," Sir William admitted bashfully. "Yet, I must admit; I had no idea that being someone born of a land so blessed with magic meant that you could read minds."

Sophia scoffed, but quickly sobered, "No my dear, I'm simply better at reading people than most." then, as if offended, she turned away from him with her petite arms folded. However, despite, or perhaps because of the fact he witnessed in such exquisite detail so close such exotic beauty, sent an involuntary shiver rippling down the Paladin's spine.

Clearing his throat, Sir William stepped forward and turned until both he and the priestess faced, "Well, forgive me mi'lady," he began with all traces of sincerity. "Its simply not every day that I come to make acquaintance with such a lovely, refined individual."

She giggled girlishly at that, and turned to face him fully. "I don't think refinement has anything to do with it; rather, one would think that a refined individual would share in good humor."

That broke the dam, as Sir William's earlier discomfort melted away like a frozen pond in spring and he laughed. Underneath her poised, feminine form, he could sense however a lurking strength within her that belied her soft curves.

Sophia's grip on her stave tightened, and abruptly, the Paladin ceased his loud, boisterous chuckling. He also could sense the disturbance lurking nearby. Although his senses were not as attuned as Sir Andrew's, he could well enough detect the presence of unnatural energy clashing with the normal flows of the land.

Granted of course, the recent outbreak and quarantine had disrupted that balance already, what with the undead rising and Paladins struggling against them. However, what both Sophia and Sir William could detect was a far different signature than a lurching, mindless zombie, or a bony, decayed skeleton.

What they could sense was far more malevolent.

As if to answer them, a walking nightmare emerged from behind the nearest farmhouse. It was huge and pale, and altogether had too many limbs, for it had a third arm abruptly sticking out from its back. Across maggoty-white, glistening torso it sported an assortment of open, bleeding wounds, the worst of which were bandaged roughly.

Its head was wide and gruesome with only one working eye, for the other had been torn violently from its socket. The abominable creature gurgled some unintelligible speech and wasted no time in swinging an axe that was as big as Sir William was tall.

So awe-struck was he by the sheer size of the monster that he barely ducked in time under the thick blade.

However, when he'd regained his composure, Sir William's hands found themselves gripping the haft of his blessed hammer before he swung it in a wide arc at the creature's rib-cage. The head of the sacred weapon sank deeply into its flesh; the light, coupled with the sheer force of his blow had torn a deep gash into its body.

Just when it seemed the fight was over before it could begin, the Paladin found himself struck across the face by one of the monstrosity's extra limbs. Stumbling backwards, arms flailing feebly, Sir William's legs sank beneath him.

"Oof!" He cried, his rear aching and his head dazed. "Why you...!" He kicked his legs back and in one swift motion, was back on his feet.

Before him, Sophia was fending off the creature with rising difficulty, her swift, fluid movements nearly outmatched several times by sheer determination on part of the abomination. Standing her ground as it backed her towards the farm-house the creature had emerged from, Sophia upraised her staff and uttered a short prayer.

Within seconds, she was enveloped in a glowing sphere of light-energy, surrounding her on all sides and protecting her from harm. Relentless, the creature drew back its axe and swung it at the protective shield, only to find its weapon effortlessly deflected.

Taking advantage of the creature's momentary distraction, and with remorseless valor, Sir William charged forward and swung his hammer with all his strength parallel to the ground. The brilliantly glowing head hit the creature at its stubby knees and sent it crashing to the ground in a heap.

Other knights pressed in around them, having avoided the fight for fear of needless interference. Swords and spears hacking and slicing as the men vented their grief and outrage on the creature's backside.

And yet it didn't die; almost no one believed it at first, for the monster had abruptly tried to prop itself upon its arms. Briefly, it rose, though its jaw had been broken by the hard concrete upon impact for it spat out blood and teeth.

Initial shock fading, Sir William's throat exploded in a bellow of raw fury as he brought the hammer to bear against the monster's head.

That did the job, for its elbows buckled and head caved in, it fell.

The body began to rot immediately. Decomposition that should have taken weeks happened in seconds before the stunned warrior's eyes'. One man turned away and vomited before the site, a second Paladin placing his palm upon his comrade's shoulder to steady him.

A shriek throughout the village had sent chills through all who listened, whilst from throughout the houses, and even clawing their way through the street came more undead. Dozens more skeletons, corpses that reeked of carrion, even several creatures that appeared more as shadow than material beings.

Tired, bloodied and outnumbered, it seemed the living men of Sir William's legion could not win. The Light bathing both his and Sophia's soft features, Paladin & priestess charged into the midst of the enemy.

Yet, over the din of battle came a voice that all Light-driven fighters recognized, a deep, impassioned shout that brought hope and renewed vigor throughout the surviving troops.

"For BattleOn! For the Light!"

The men rallied at Sir Andrew's cry; a new, solid core of knights having ridden in from the other portions of the battlefield came in behind him.

Each wave of undead that appeared was now met with fierce and inspired attacks from sword, hammer and flame. They fell more quickly now, and caught between survivors and newcomers alike, the last of the unholy troops were dispatched in short order.
_______________________________________

Sophia was deathly pale with shock, her emerald eyes wide with disgust as the final undead creature's head was split open by Sir William's hammer. Abruptly, she swallowed and turned away from the unnatural putrefaction of the bodies. A short distance away, Sir William placed his hand on her robe-clad shoulder to comfort her.

“Ah!” the flaxen-haired Paladin said pressing his hand to his chest in a playful gesture to lighten the mood. "The rose of the battlefield strikes!”

Sophia could not help but notice that the humor in his voice was strained and the warm glint in his eyes had been penetrated somewhat. He had, she realized, a penchant for burying his emotions beneath his knightly obligations and a wicked wit, but at the moment, he was doing a poor job of it.

“Thank you for saving me back there,” she said, offering him her most winning grin. She stood back and gave the man a concerned once-over glance. “Battle has taken its toll on you, it seems.”

And indeed it had—the man's face had become pallid and haggard; already there was stubble along his thick jaw and dark circles ringed his weary green eyes. His armor and hammer, however, were as they always were—pristine, shining silver despite having killed numerous undead in the wake of the bloody battle.

Above all else, Sophia noted to herself with some humor, he kept his accoutrements unblemished.

“Well, my lady,” he began in a tight and overly-formal voice, “I apologize if my appearance is unseemly to you, but as you can see...“ he gestured to the men around them, strewn with busy soldiers. Some had been wounded from the fighting, although the majority were staring in awe at the newly dead abominations, “appearances are not foremost on our minds at the present.”

“Sir William,” Sophia sighed, reaching out for the man's arm, “That’s not what I meant. I just—“

“Don’t worry about it,” The Paladin said, pulling his arm away from her and waving a dismissive hand. He turned from her, striding toward the center of the town.

“This is not—this is no simple plague." He gritted his teeth, dispassionately gesturing at the sea of corpses.

"These people do not just fester and die, they—they keep coming,“ he looked up at her with a mix of gratitude and longing. “I-I don’t know what to do...”

Internally, Sophia was shocked to hear such an admission from the Paladin, who had according to the rumors, always been headstrong to the point of cockiness before now.

“Whatever is happening, we’ll figure out how to stop it together,” she told him calmly, reassuringly.

“I hope we can,” he whispered shakily.

Someone cleared his throat behind them, and Sophia and Sir William turned away from each other.

Sir Andrew, the elder Paladin stood in the middle of the street, his form so large that the mighty warhammer at his hip seemed dwarfed compared to him. His armor shone more brightly than Sir William's, though it, like his apprentice's was coated in black blood. He, like the younger Paladin had seen his fair share of combat in the earlier melee.

“Master,” Sir William said, standing up and quickly regaining his composure. The man Sophia had comforted only moments earlier had completely dissolved, and the confident, collected warrior had once again taken center stage.

The elder-Paladin nodded. He turned to Sophia and bowed deeply. “Lady Sophia. It is good to have someone with some magical talent here. Has Sir William told you of our situation? It may be somewhat dire at the moment, I’m afraid.”

“I was briefed in BattleOn...” Sophia hesitated, exhaling sharply.

The corner of Sir Andrew’s mouth twitched upward in a grim half-smile under his small moustache. “I am not usually one to disagree with the Elves, my lady. However, there is no way that they could have prepared you for what you will see here."

Both young people exchanged furtive glances, and followed the master back to the pile of corpses.

“We have resorted to burning all of the dead, not just the ones we know are infected,” Sir Andrew said solemnly. “But they are given a proper send off by our priests.”

“It’s a necessary precaution,” Sir William said, almost defensively. “We can’t let this spread.”

“Now keep your distance,” Sir Andrew warned. They approached a small gathering of soldiers. “We’re not sure how contagious this beast is, or even if it really is dead.”

“Oh, damn. Did it follow you home, master?” Asked Sir William with a smirk.

Sophia nearly retched when she saw what had become of one of the bloated, grotesque figures on the matted grass in front of them. The foul odor of decay hung thickly over the corpse. Ropey, ragged innards spilled from the creature’s swollen grey stomach.

“Is it even human?” she asked.

Both men shrugged, Sir Andrew's bushy brows inching upward. “It—It looks to have been, well, created, lady. See the seams?”

And in fact, Sophia did see where the patchy pieces of sallow flesh were sewn together. She ran through all of her knowledge of necromancy and the various dark arts, trying to think of what this might be, what could be done about it. In the end, all she knew was that the unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach would not go away any time soon.

"I've got a feeling we might be seeing more things like this," She said somberly, flashing both men a rueful expression.

Sir Andrew nodded in understanding.

"Clearly, what we've faced here is only the beginning."

< Message edited by Sir Nicholas -- 12/12/2010 17:43:33 >
AQ  Post #: 2
3/24/2010 21:48:06   
Sir Nicholas
Member

Chapter 2: Of Ice and Darkness.
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Sir William was pushing his men too hard, and he knew it. When he caught a glimpse of Sophia struggling simply to keep her hold on the charger that she rode upon, he threw her a rueful grin and felt a surge of guilt in his chest.

However, Sir Andrew's orders were clear; to head to the fortified city of Granemore and reinforce General Heorus' troops', destroy any sources of the plague that could be found, and establish the city as a base to search nearby areas for Undead activity.

Being a prime location for anyone entering or leaving the region, just south of the border with Darkovia, an assault there would make sense. But the fact remained, since the victory in the Great Galin' War- twenty years previous, the city had become one of the most fortified places on the planet.

As they came over the scorched and blasted lands that surrounded the city, the spires and towering structures that outlined Granemore came into view. However, even as they approached the fortified city-state, both Sir William and Sophia could sense that something was amiss:

The whole city was covered in snow. Although it was the middle of July, frost covered awnings and doorways shut frozen with ice were all that waited to greet them as they entered through the massive, open gates.

Sir William watched with a mix of pride and awe as his troops disembarked from their transports. They were large, tank-like wagons designed to hold from ten-to-twenty men. The transports had been designed and perfected by Gnome engineers and topped with weaponry and steel armor.

They were squat, square-like and often bore catapult-tipped sides loaded with boulders. The transports also sported at either side a set of treads with ornate spikes designed to make it easier to maneuver, even through rough terrain, with the additional benefit of crushing anything foolish enough to stand in its way.

His men, armed to the teeth, prepared to fan out throughout the empty streets, Sir William held them back with but a gesture of the hand. So far, there hadn't been any sign of the people: Yet, an optimist by nature, the Paladin took that as a sign that they were too afraid to leave their dwellings.

If he were to assume the worst then, an entire legion might very well have been walking into a trap. He pushed that pessimistic thought away; it was a distraction and he needed to focus.

"Greetings to you all!" He called in a strong voice. "I am Sir William of the Paladin Order! My men and I mean you no harm! Please, come out!"

No answer.

Sir William rode on past a series of poorly built wooden houses that all appeared identical from a distance, but upon closer examination revealed their own special touches and furbished decorations that varied from animal skins to bits and bobs that could be found lying about.

A few of them, especially in the rich district, were constructed with much sturdier wood and stone in some places.

Apparently, the citizens had gathered together to form a community on the outermost part of an otherwise inhospitable wasteland. They’d constructed their homes with whatever pieces they could get their hands on. According to the rumors, aside from their reclusive behavior, the citizens of Granemore were a rather warm and welcoming people.

However, so far, his men had yet to find a single person either living or dead.

"My Lord William!" One of Sir William's captains called out, snapping him out of his train of thought. "You'd better take a look at this!"

Turning Vigilant over, Sir William galloped over to the town square and followed where his captain was pointing. The man was directing towards a large amphitheater near the center of the city, where General Heorus had made his pronouncements to the citizens.

It was an open enclave where a large wooden auditorium was set up with a smaller platform attached to the side. That, however wasn't what the captain was motioning towards. It was to a standing sign on the edge of the stage, which was written in Common, bold letters.

"By order of His Excellency, the Grand Protector of Granemore, General Heorus, the city is hereby in lockdown: No citizens are to leave their homes without authorization.

An epidemic of the plague of undeath has taken the lives of many of our citizens.

To contain this outbreak, the entire city is hereby placed under strict military quarantine until further notice."

Sir William read the sign one further time to make sure he didn't misread anything. This kind of situation in this part of the world was peculiar, but not unheard of: General Heorus was indeed a conservative military commander, especially when it came to the lives of his people. However, Sir William never would dream that he would go so far as to place the entire city under quarantine.

"We've searched the outer districts and found no sign of the citizens or even undead." Sophia said, coming up behind him on her horse, which Sir William vaguely remembered she said she'd named, "Fairheart".

"Any sign of a struggle? Anything?" The Paladin asked, turning to face the Elf, feeling a pang of discomfort ringing in his chest as he noticed her shivering in the icy wind. She shook her head dejectedly.

"No. We've not found anything not even..."

Before she could finish, an explosion rocked the ground beneath them, catching both Paladin and priestess completely by surprise. Their horses were trained, so they weren't nearly as spooked as any normal animal was, but by their movements, the animals were clearly as shocked as the rider's.

"We're under attack!" Sir William bellowed over the noise, "Take cover!" and with that, he jerked hard on the reins of his horse, trying to steady the unhappy creature. And, as he expected, the great animal was calmed by his master's touch, his fear dissipating before Sir William's light-blessed gloves.

"Sir!" Came the captain's voice. The Paladin whirled his head around and once more found what the man was pointing at, and Sir William's eyes widened at the sight.

So many, there were so many Undead appearing in the street. They appeared seemingly from nowhere. But, soon it became clear that they had been hiding in the sewers, or in the abandoned buildings, some even leapt from rooftops down to street level.

Approaching were skeletons that had been buried for long periods, clutching rusty weapons, more of the maggoty, pale abominations, rotting, green-skinned zombies, ghouls and even black spirits that appeared as shadows.

Sir William's hand gripped his hammer faster than he could even blink; the runes engraved upon the head energized at his touch.

"Stand your ground!" He yelled, his voice now clipped and angry. He raised his hammer high in the air as a way to inspire his men. "We are the chosen of the Light! We shall not fail!"

The Light bathing his determined features, he kicked his horse hard and swept the glowing weapon parallel to the ground. The head struck low, breaking the legs of a skeleton as Paladin & horse rode past in a glowing, gold blur.

Vigilant was a charger; bred for battle. Raised and trained to be utterly without fear in the face of adversity. However, the stench of these rotting dead was unbearable to the great beast's nostrils. Gravely, it charged on into the mass of corpses as they jerked about like marionettes, activated by some twisted puppeteer.

Sir William had been given the horse as a gift from his master, Sir Andrew, when he'd passed the initiation test and achieved the rank of Squire. Right then, from the moment that he and the great animal had locked eyes for the first time, he had loved the horse with all his heart.

They trusted each other, and during his battles against Brigands, thieves, heretics and the enemies of the Light, Vigilant had never once given him a moment's trouble. Yet, while his master and partner was fighting against these monstrosities, the horse felt utterly terrified.

Whilst raising the blessed hammer for another blow, Sir William felt Vigilant jerk beneath him. Exclaiming, arms wildly flailing about, the Paladin crumpled to the ground in a heap among the clusters of Undead. Before the stunned knight, the great horse charged forth into the mass of corpses, trampling through them as he went.

So stunned by the uncharacteristic move by the normally fearless horse, Sir William barely had any time to raise his brilliantly glowing hammer to defend himself. The only advantages that he'd had against the walking dead was that their movements were slow and easy to manage, and that they seemed weakened by his power.

When struck by his glowing hammer, the undead things seemed to shriek in agony. Sir William grinned fiercely as he swung the blessed weapon effortlessly back and forth, up and down, each blow meeting its mark. Each hit sent more and more of the unnatural creatures falling like wheat before the harvesting scythe.

After fighting his way out of the mass of undead, Sir William caught a glimpse of Sophia and his men reforming along the right side of the street. Sophia herself was standing in the middle of a squad of men, gesturing and directing with her stave. Sir William watched her, admiring her level-head and that lingering strength he'd sensed that she now showed as she fought beside his troops.

With the Light flowing through him, the Paladin did not tire, and his strength increased as he felt a warm and comforting presence resonate in his chest. Turning away from the ghoul that he was decapitating, Sir William caught a flash of Sophia's stave, aglow with power as she laid a blessing upon him.

Nodding briefly, the knight filled his lungs with air and swung his hammer about at the nearest abomination. Given his earlier encounter, he now had figured the creature's weak point was the head.

Taking advantage of the creature's distraction with the clashing of sword & hammer against bone and rotting flesh, Sir William ducked and dodged, swinging his weapon at its legs.

A clean stroke across its pudgy knees sent the abomination tumbling down. A thud reverberated throughout the street, signaling its collapse and knocking astray any undead caught in the impact.

With that, the Paladin finished the job with a bolt of Light that seared the fallen creature's head. The abomination's cranium burst like a melon; gray matter and pieces of bone splattering over Sir William's boots.

Thankfully, the wind had begun to blow with renewed vigor, for the combined stench of the brains and decaying bodies was something truly horrific.

Thunder clapped ominously overhead, rumbling through the gray clouds, the muted bellowing of the coming night. Jagged arcs of lightning flickered and danced, lancing down in brilliant flashes that would have been beautiful if not so deadly. A chilling throw of frost swept over the urban battlefield, screaming through the air like a banshee's unearthly howl.

All over, corpses began to pile; the living fought like dervishes across the snow-covered streets, their movements slowed only slightly by the unnatural cold. Even as the two sides clashed, more undead simply clawed their way up through the dirt or were replaced by more from elsewhere. Only a clean kill, though some wondered if it could be called a "kill", if it were already dead, stopped them in their tracks.

Paladin and priestess stood back-to-back, their weapons afire with holy light, faces grim with determination. They'd seemed to be making progress, for the scores of undead they killed had been reduced to cinders by the divine retribution.

Fatigue threatened to overwhelm the Paladin's vision, but he clung to conciousness with feverish will; the men needed to see him alive and fighting, or else they would lose heart. He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of Sophia's stricken expression should he die, but buried it in action.

And then he felt an icy sting gripping his legs. A cold so deep he couldn't even shiver crept up his waist and quickly spread across his midsection. Pain forced him to arch his back, though by sheer will, he turned his head down and located the source.

Reaching from between the cobblestones that lined the streets, growing like weeds were skeletal arms, several of which were suffused by icy blue glows. However, what struck him the most was the sight of his legs: They were now literally covered from boot to thighs in a thick layer of ice.

Sophia took notice of this and rushed forth from her safe position to intervene.

But, before she could get within an inch further, she was blasted across the midsection by what appeared to be a bolt of lightning, save that it was entirely black and that it coiled around her like a snake. She was thrown back, hard against the nearest building and was knocked unconscious.

Sir William's agony at watching her being blown away was instantly replaced by a fleeting sense of urgency, but that too dissipated, for he could sense that Sophia was not seriously hurt.

Turning his attention downwards, Sir William watched as the bony hands coiled into fists, and then grew fully into more skeletons. Initial shock fading, he realized that these were not just any skeletons, but sorcerers. They who the church labeled heretical for their practice of Dark Magic’s.

These had been dead for some time, judging both by the smell, and by the necrosis present on most parts of the tattered robes that they wore.

However, in all his knowledge of necromancy, Sir William could already tell that their creator had to be immensely powerful, lest they be risen as bumbling, mindless brutes like the ones he'd fought earlier.

As if to answer his thoughts, the undead parted 'ranks' and watched as a tall, looming figure emerged from the gloom.

He had been a powerful human warrior once; proud and upright, like any great fighter should have been. But, that had all changed. The figure clearly was a Death Knight now, for he wore black, plated armor that hung the grisly ornaments of bones, skulls most prominent among them.

His limbs were huge and powerful, while upon his back he wore a cape of purple velvet that was ripped and missing several pieces from its edges. Lightly billowing in the wind were his long sleeves; a decorative section of his armor that hugged the arms, they'd appeared to be consumed partially by maggots, judging from the holes.

When the Death Knight spoke, it was in a voice that bore little semblance to anything made by a human throat.

"I believe you've come looking for me, Paladin." He practically barked the word in a tone that was full of contempt. "Well, here I am." The Death Knight reached up and in one fluid motion, grasped a morning star that clattered as he dragged its spiked head across the street.

With that, the dread figure raised the morning star and brought it swinging forth.

< Message edited by Sir Nicholas -- 10/1/2010 21:30:25 >
AQ  Post #: 3
4/5/2010 20:38:45   
Sir Nicholas
Member

Chapter 3: Clashing Forces.
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Sir William barely had time to raise his blessed hammer against the Death Knight's assault, the morning star had only narrowly missed the stunned Paladin's face. The purified adamantine of the hammer's haft clanged dully when it collided with the corrupted obsidian. Crackling with energy, the two weapons parted briefly, their owners' eyes locked together in a war of anger that floated between them.

With remorseless valor, Sir William brought his hammer's head to bear upon the thick ice hugging his legs. The blessed weapon easily cracked the ice, allowing the Paladin to rip his plated feet free, and allowing him to land a clean blow across his opponent's armored midsection.

The Death Knight did not stumble, nor did he retreat as Sir William had anticipated, but charged instead, swinging his morning star as casually as he would a wooden stick. Again and again, their weapons clashed, across their hafts, the heads, even occasionally landing a narrow blow against armor.

The fight continued up and down the street, the two warriors surrounded on all sides by clashing forces; both living and dead. Neither fighter was wasting any energy on words until the morning star and hammer locked by their hafts.

The two men strained, the Death Knight's masked face within inches of the Paladin's bare one. The muscles in their arms shook with effort until with a grunt, the dark warrior shoved Sir William backward.

Stumbling, the younger man fought to regain his footing against an enemy that did not relent, did not tire and showed no mercy.

Pressing the advantage, the dark warrior raised his morning star and swung it in a vertical arc. The spiked edge landed straight and true across Sir William's midsection, though penetrating only barely, the Paladin was clearly shaken. His own blows were powerful, but erratic, and when he called upon the Light to give him strength, it answered.

Turning his hammer's haft over, Sir William blocked an overhead slash that would have caved in his face, raised his left leg and kicked the dark warrior hard in the chest.

Sir William moved forward again as his opponent retreated a few steps, no hesitancy this time and began to fight back in earnest. He gave no quarter in return as he attacked again and again, swinging his hammer left, then right. The Paladin slid his right foot back, feinted, and then brought the blessed weapon back across in a mighty sweeping blow, striking parallel to the ground.

The Death Knight's morning star seemed to be everywhere, for it blocked each strike. Its corruptive energies also served an extra role by dispelling the blessed aura that Sir William's hammer had been infused with when he'd forged it in the sacred grove's waters.

The eyes behind the iron mask that concealed the dark warrior's face burned with both hatred, and resolution; it was his duty as he saw it to defeat the Paladin and raise the legion's men as mindless puppets to his dark will.

Just the same as Sir William knew that it was his duty to slay the Death Knight and stop the spread of evil.

And, there were other ways to fight that didn't involve weapons; bolts of light shot forth from palms or enhanced the strength of brunt blows, tendrils of mist and shadow clutched for the throat or punched with the force of explosions.

"You are weak," Sir William taunted while they fought back and forth across the street. "You are wasting your strength too quickly." He swung his hammer back across, narrowly missing the dark warrior's masked face.

"The Dark side is inexhaustible." Was the reply. And yet, Sir William could hear the emptiness in his voice, as though the Death Knight were trying to convince himself of his own invincibility.

"Your strength is prodigious," Sir William admitted, fighting his enemy back into a nearby alley which he knew was a dead end; blocked off by a ten foot high stone wall. "But that is your doing; the Darkness is merely the absence of Light...and I am the avatar of that Light, which will see you fall!"

Upon speaking the last three words, the Paladin launched a renewed assault, each attack more fierce than the previous. The first struck deeply across the Death Knight's armored leg, the second arcing upwards to knock the morning star cleanly out of his opponent's hands.

While the third, allowed Sir William to swipe across the dark warrior's throat. The head of the hammer collided with such force that there was a metallic clang that reverberated off the walls of the alley.

The Death Knight's mask had been knocked astray by the blow; exposing his face to the stunned Paladin's vision. When he turned over, Sir William froze before he could deliver the killing blow.

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The dark warrior's face was a pathetic, hairless thing covered in old scar tissue. With graying, wrinkled temples and cheekbones that were so sunken, the cracked and broken teeth in the jaw jaws looked as though they might easily pierce through the skin. His mouth was crooked and hung loosely by a few threads of skin and gnarled, roughly sewn stitches.

Only the Death Knight's eyes showed any signs of life; blue and full of pain, they looked up at him with undisguised weakness. Once, he might have been very handsome. However, once twisted and corrupted by the dark power, he now was nothing more than a ghastly visage of a sad and withered man.

Then, there was a loud clang. The dark warrior's morning star had clattered to the ground, followed shortly by its owner, whose legs sank beneath him. Unsure of what to do next, Sir William lowered his hammer, staring deeply into the sunken eyes of a man who now looked back with pupils filled with sorrow and regret.

"What has happened to you?" Sir William managed, biting his lower lip. Around them, the undead suddenly ceased all activity; they were still animated, but they stood as still as statues.

"I-I was...corrupted...so-....so-very long ago." The former dark warrior managed. His voice had changed. No longer was it the harsh, dull mockery of an evil entity. Rather, it was hoarse and weathered, obviously from the labored gasps that came in between syllables, the man's speech was taxing on his injured lungs.

"But...yo-you have...-freed me." The words were coming out even more slowly now, showing the man was near death.

"No!" Sir William cried, dropping his blessed hammer and slipping one arm around the spiked shoulder. With tears stinging his eyes, the Paladin placed one hand upon the man's brow and willed the Light to limn his palm with healing energy.

Racked with guilt for what he'd done, Sir William bit back a sob as he bowed his head and prayed.

Spreading from his hand to the forehead, the glow felt comforting and warm, caressing the open wounds and gently filling the man with its benediction and grace. Just as it had to Sir William when he was inducted as a Paladin: Pearl luminosity warmed the bones and seared away the vice and sin that stained the man's soul.

"You shouldn't die like this," Sir William intoned, opening his eyes and looking at a man who was smiling warmly at the brave attempt to heal him. "You should come to death peacefully. I've got to save you."

With that, the man placed his left hand upon Sir William's shoulder, coughed once, then spoke in a voice that was trembling with emotion.

"You- already...have."

And then, as the tears returned to the Paladin's eyes, he could feel the life slipping away.

"Thank you."

Truly, the man was dead now. Gently, Sir William closed the faded eyes. Praying silently, the Paladin performed the sign of the cross in front of the deceased figure's face.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit: I absolve thee."

Without another word, the Paladin rose to his feet with surety and a deadly grace that clearly exhibited a newfound and titanic fury. His armor clanking, jaw tightening in resolve, Sir William prepared himself for battle; the gentleness and compassion that he'd felt moments previous bled away like sunshine before a storm.

The undead creatures surrounding him now seemed an army without a leader; their movements uncoordinated and slow. Clearly, the death of the dark warrior had robbed them of any real fighting spirit they might have possesed. With a bellow of raw anger and a sweeping blow from his hammer, Sir William propelled several of them through the air.

He pressed hard against the throws of beasts that attempted to counterattack, furious at the turn of events. Of the fiery wrath that enveloped his mind, only two coherent thoughts shined through like beacons in the darkness- Finding Vigilant, and rescuing Sophia. The thought of his lovely friend penetrated his frenetic state, but he forced it down with sheer will.

So focused was he in his state of aghast, he barely had time to realize that a ghoul had clasped his right arm, still clutching the great and glowing weapon.

Fist clenched, Sir William delivered a left hook straight to the face of the attacker, then with a vertical swing of his hammer delivered a massive blow that crushed its skeleton beneath the brilliantly glowing haft.

The men under his command, though trained and well liked their leader, were unnerved by the sight of their normally good-natured Paladin as his violent rampage progressed. Rusty weapons struck his shining armor from all sides, but with eye-blurring speed, the undead that attacked him were dispatched with a flurry of blows.

During the savage melee that followed from the fissure in the enemy line that Sir William had created, a lone soldier was able to shout over the clanging of swords and crackle of flame, "Incoming!" as a great and terrible force of gargoyles swept down from the sky.

Caught in the open before he could flee and forced down upon his back foot by the bombardment of undead, the Paladin completely refused to buckle under the terrible assault. A thin flickering shield of bright golden energy protecting him.

Summoned from within and maintained by sheer will alone, Sir William strained to keep the barrier intact, sweat pouring down from his forehead and neck, teeth clenched and grinding together audibly. Large claws, like animated stone hacked and pincered at the protective shield, only to be deflected with piercing clangs and the showering of sparks.

It was only with the brief respite that the shield had bought that he truly did realize the foolishness of allowing his titantic bloodlust overcome him. With his muscles bleeding and swollen from beneath his armor, the Paladin had wandered alone into the enemy line and left himself exposed.

Fatigue and wounds threatened to make their toll upon him a fatal one, but the swirling, holy energies that enveloped his frame kept the Paladin upright and fighting. He would not give up, he would translate rage into violence; take down as many of the enemy as he could before falling.

Sensing their opponent's weakness, the gargoyles pressed in, nails and canines hacking and scraping at newly exposed flesh and armor as the shield gave way. Weighed down by dozens of screeching, bat-like monsters, it seemed as though the Paladin's time had come to an end.

Yet it was not to be; for the gargoyle's right hand was suddenly enclosed in a huge dark blue and bright gold armored fist that immobilized its arm as easily as it would restrain a child.

"General Heorus!" the young Paladin gasped, his teeth gritted in pain as blood continued to stream down from his wounded frame. He leaned heavily on his hammer for support as he rose slowly to his feet, arms numb from the ceaseless combat, his right leg burning with pain.

"At your service, Sir-Paladin," The General of Granemore rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly, akin to boulders grinding roughly together. Glaring down at the gargoyle he held in his left gauntleted hand, his one working eye burned with righteous fury.

His once gleaming plate armor was now covered in gore and dirt, and the curved blades adorning his shoulders made the commander appear more like some avenging spirit of wrath come from the underworld, rather than a true hero.

A sheer giant of a man looming at near seven feet in height, his features seemingly carved from weathered granite, Heorus was without question the mightiest and most courageous warrior that Granemore had at its disposal.

Though he had taken a command position, the mighty champion drew a strong following wherever he went, an unshakeable living mountain of steely muscle. In combat, he served as a flesh-and-blood standard, sheer presence bolstering flagging spirits and rallying weary soldiers to him, even as he laid about him with mighty strokes of his great mace.

Quickly and with a twisted grimace of disdain, Heorus hurled the undead creature away towards the wall of a building, the impact breaking it to scattered pieces of rock. He reached out again, grasping Sir William's left arm to steady him, even as he raised the mace in his right hand, glancing about in readiness.

"How did-?" He began to ask the General, but stopped short with grim realization.

All around, the thudding of hooves, clashing of metal and the buzz of arrows like so many angry wasps filled the air. Clearly, the General had seen the fortified position in the city as untenable, so had retreated to a fallback area until reinforcements could arrive. The noise of the earlier battle had drawn them from their hiding places, relieving the Paladin's own men.

"Charge!!!" Heorus bellowed, Sir William grateful for the iron lungs of the champion as his deep voice rose above the cacophony of noise, from the clashing of weapons to the hoarse screams of wounded men to the gruff battle-cries.

The men of Herous' personal guard raised vast broadswords that seemed of stone and ran headlong into the remainder of the undead's ranks, fresh determination and fierce attacks meeting the implacable enemy.

< Message edited by Sir Nicholas -- 1/4/2011 22:39:00 >
AQ  Post #: 4
4/20/2010 17:38:08   
Sir Nicholas
Member

Chapter 4: Ballad of the Fallen.
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~Victimia, Darkovia~

The horrible screams of terror and despair were deafening and seemed as if they would never cease. One by one, each individual voice was eventually silenced, cut off abruptly, or more often than not, dying away into wet, hacking coughs or choking gurgles. As the life had faded from the last of the pale-skinned citizens of the town of Victimia, there came a great stillness.

"Foolish creatures..." Hissed a voice that dripped with malevolence and unkempt disgust for the scores of broken human bodies that lay mangled before animated undead creatures. Hideously disfigured corpses and torn limbs dripped with blood or were steadily being ripped apart and devoured by hungering ghouls.

Standing erect and with dark eyes before the gruesome scene was a figure dressed in black armor. Spikes and serrated blade jutted from the kneecaps and shoulders, the body of which was decorated with disconcerting visages of skulls.

A torn cape of ebon cloth hung loosely at the Death Knight's back, which billowed softly in the cold wind.

Around him and the Undead army was what had previously been a human settlement; though now it more resembled a necropolis. The land and buildings that had shined so beautifully in the moonlight stank of corruption and foul-miasma.

Human men in black robes, obviously living due to their movements, awaited patiently for their master's command as he looked over the corpses from the last battle. One of the necromancers, who clearly was unaffected by the fear and awe that was so evident in the faces of his peers, cleared his throat as he addressed the Death Knight.

"My Lord; we've searched the area- There were no survivors. We respectfully requ-ack!" Within an instant, a metallic claw gripped at the necromancer's throat, silencing him in mid-sentence. The living man's fingers pried feebly at the iron grip that held him aloft, feet dangling inches above the ground.

"Wrong." The Death Knight hissed. Effortlessly, he lifted the necromancer's face so closely to his own that the living human was chilled by the frigid breath.

"Two men survived; they fled while you so carelessly experimented with their comrades." He glared deeply into the terrified cultist's eyes, his own devoid of any compassion or mercy. In fact, the longer that one stared into them, the more the black irises seemed to devour all life, hope and sanity.

"I-I'm sorry, Lord-..." The necromancer managed, his breathing and the flailing of his legs becoming more erratic with each passing moment, the effort of his speech obviously taxing him. As if amused by the agony, the Death Knight threw back his horned head and laughed; a bone chilling sound.

"Fail me again, and your suffering will be eternal."

The necromancer could manage only a choked sob as the shadowy figure released his grip, the cultist's legs gave way beneath him, sprawling as he attempted to regain his composure upon the crouted soil. The Death Knight turned away, his gaze penetrating the curtain of darkness that had spread with the army's march.

Beyond, he could see the spires and cruciform ornaments of the Paladin Temple, standing proud and defiant against his power. Black eyes narrowed in contempt and anticipation. If he'd had a living heart, it would have been pounding at the thought of finally wiping the self-righteous order from the planet.

If the other necromancer's had any doubts, any second, traitorous thoughts of turning against the dark master they had sold their souls to, it was dashed like a fine piece of glass against the ground. Faces and bloodshot eyes were grim with fear as they watched the Death Knight raise his arm and gesture in a sweeping fashion towards them.

"I want all other cultists, and their armies. We shall attack with the greatest force this world has ever known." Gauntleted fist clenching and swirling darkness spreading from him, he invigorated the mortal men who served him with his grave and terrifying presence.

"At twilight, tomorrow, all shall know of the fall of BattleOn...to Lord Drake."
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~Granemore, 9 hours later~

General Herous of the 'Emoran Knights was a proud and stern man, his one eye was bloodshot and his face haggard from the lack of sleep he'd had in the last few days. Drained after the hours of ceaseless combat with no rest or break, his hair already was beginning to exhibit signs of grey in some places.

He sat upon his throne in his tower, mulling over the recent events and wondering where all this might lead to. The reprecussions of such an attack on the city was just one more thing that the citizens now lived in fear of.

Herous' one eye scanned the horizon beyond the open window that allowed him a glimpse of the frozen wasteland that had become of his lordship. His other eye had been violently torn from its socket during the 'Galin War, and he'd promptly returned the favor by removing the head of the Brilhaldo necromancer who had done the deed.

Since that time, he'd worn the scar on his face and his eyepatch like a badge of honor: His weathered features a testament to the many years of harsh warfare that he'd endured.

"All in service to my people" he thought, his right hand gently feeling along the scar that ran beneath his eyepatch. Though he'd no longer felt any pain, there still existed some sensation along that area, as if some nameless force was constantly reminding him that despite his tremendous skill, he was not invincible.

In his youth, General Herous had been an arrogant young man, exuberant and brave, yet also one who desired to bring hismelf glory in battle. The chance and call of war had brought him to join the 'Emoran Knights to fight against the armies of the Network.

However, the loss of his right eye and the countless other scars of that terrible conflict, had left him with a lasting impression that even the mightiest of warriors could still fall in battle.

Right now, he had again tempted fate and emerged victorious. Though the new scars of this battle would be no worse than the previous, he had a feeling in his heart of hearts that something terribly wrong was happening just outside the now-secured city walls.

The city lay in ruin, while its people had been mostly unhurt; Sir Andrew's legion had performed most of the hard fighting while Herous' own Knights were gathering all the corpses into piles to be cremated. Even with this victory, the faces of the men was like the General himself: Deeply shaken and disturbed by recent events.

Sir Andrew himself had appeared not long after the battle had finally ended, appearing more as a pillar of strength and resolve than a weary warrior. Sir William had marched straight up to his master with his face a picture of fury. Even with the fighting over, he clearly was displeased with the Paladin Master's late arrival.

"You kept things well together lad," Sir Andrew had said, grinning in as reassuring a fashion as he could, "Now, you should get some rest." Sir William had grunted audibly and shook his head, furious.

"I can't! There's more people dying out there because of me!" He had practically barked the last word, his every action indictating a barely contained rage. Sir Andrew was quite taken aback by this uncharacteristic move and shook his apprentice with one arm. It had taken all of his teachings to restrain himself, Herous had remembered, as Sir William was breathing heavily, the unmistakable sound of teeth gritting together was clear in the silence that followed.

Not long after reprimanding his apprentice for the extreme tactics he'd used in the battle, Sir Andrew had taken him and Sophia, who had been unconcious, back to the capital.
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~High Council Chambers,
The Paladin Temple~

"I know we were exhausted, but when was it last that anyone stood against five Paladins and held his own?" Asked Sir Matthew, one of the members of the High Council.

He was but one of two survivors of the terrible assault on Victimia, and he had only escaped by the three of his fellows sacrificing themselves. The attack had come without warning, and without mercy- Only he and Sir Thaddeus, another councilor had been able to flee.

As he took his seat upon his chair, the fair-haired Paladin turned to face the other councilors whose faces were set upon with mixed expressions.

Sir Mathew's eyes momentarily traveled appreciatively across the vast expanse of the council chamber. It was well-named, for the wondrous marble stone and concrete that composed the walls and ceiling, along with the glass-smooth pearlescent windows, lighting the room brilliantly with the sun surging through them.

Soft golden light akin to the warm rays shone down from the armors of the ten other members of the council, while tiny shadows from their tall frames danced along the walls and formed over the intricate symbols across the floor.

All around, arranged in a circle was the High Council; the governing body of the Paladin Order. These eleven men had been the leaders and generals of the enlightened army since the end of the 'Galin War. The reformation had been deemed necessary after the Order's number had been halved during the conflict.

With so few remaining true to God, and so many falling, there clearly had been need for a greater leadership structure. The council had called for an emergency session after Sir Mathew and Sir Thaddeus had returned, bloodied and exhausted after the attack on Victimia.

Sitting in the grandest, largest chair that was slightly elevated was Grandmaster, Artix Von Krieger; the overall leader of the Paladin Order. His armor was the brightest and most dignified of the twelve men, while his axe sat propped against the wall behind him, a pristine weapon of gold.

Artix's hair was short and dark brown, touched only by gray at the temples, and the crease-lines on his face appearing more due to his raised eyebrows than age. At forty, he was the oldest of the council, but still at the peak of his physical shape.

Sitting in chairs less ornate but just as well decorated as his were the other members of the council: Sir Thaddeus, head of cavalry. Sir Simon, head of the elites. Sir Thomas, leader of the apostles. Sir Philip, who headed the peace-corps. Sir Andrew, who of course led military efforts.

Also sitting amid them were Sir John, Sir James, Sir Peter and father Sanctus, all of whom were members of the priesthood.

"This must be dealt with!" Sir Andrew said, rising momentarily from his seat, giving his peers a determined look whilst shaking his fist.

"I concur," Said Sir Peter, "This 'Lord Drake' might change the face of the crusade." murmurs of agreement resonated throughout the room.

"Our numbers were dwindling before, but now this?" Sir Simon spoke up, his voice gentle in comparison to the harsh tone of Sir Andrew. "Its clear that we need more Knights. If we don't increase our number, they will be inadequate in less than a year."

Artix sat gripping the arms of his chair uneasily, deep in thought and his jaw tightly closed.

"I know this will generate debate," Sir Andrew continued, "but in this time of war, I propose that we forgo the trials and immediately put some of our more experienced squires out on the field." The other members of the council looked at him as though he'd lost his mind, particularly Sanctus, who was quite easily, the most conservative of their number.

"This is absurd!" The grey haired priest said, allowing his shock and anger to show. "we cannot set aside our most sacred traditions! Even in this time of war, we cannot allow the master of a heretic to make such preposterous-...!"

Before the whole council could erupt into arguement, Artix had held up his hand with a stern look that symbolized his displease. For a long moment, no one spoke, as they all knew the look the Grandmaster was giving: He was never one to wrongly discipline his fellow councilors, but he when he did give them a reprimanding, it was one that clearly addressed the problem.

"I hardly think," Sir Andrew began slowly, cautiously so as not to further upset the others, "that my apprentice is a heretic for his actions in the last battle."

Father Sanctus had not moved, but his eyes were alight with concern and a well-worn cautiousness that bordered on paranoia.

"Though his methods are questionable, the results that he achieved in defeating that Dark assasin are more than justified."

Again, Artix held up his hand, but finally spoke, breaking the stoic silence. "This is a just debate brothers- But in this time of war, we need all the Knights we can get." Artix's voice was one that was rich and commanding, clearly befitting that of the leader of the enlightened order.

"Young Sir William's career has been unorthodox, but his near inability to control his temper, was close to a failure," Sir Simon spoke up, all the other councilors nodding, all but Sir Andrew. "was it not your training that told the apprentice to harness, and not to reject his anger, master Andrew?"

Sanctus rose from his seat and fully allowed his suspicion to show. "That is what concerns me! To follow the path of the Paladin requires discipline! Young William is reckless!"

Artix shook his head once, "Were you not, when you were a student here, master Sanctus?" he asked, giving the elder priest a curt glare. "We all are aware of the incident with mistress Kailey Obsidia, are we not?"

At once, Sanctus returned to his sitting position, anger bleeding away before the reminder of the incident whereupon he'd nearly spat upon his own honor.

"I trust in God, as should we all; but we must remember that Sir William is young." Artix continued, "As such, I declare that we shall keep a closer eye on him, but that his spirit must also be subject to the trial."

Gasps emerged from the other councilors, not the least of which was Sir Andrew.

"Facing the mirror is what I believe young William requires," Artix concluded, "When he sees the error of his judgement, I know that he'll overcome his youthful antagonism."

With that, Artix rose from his seat and the meeting was adjourned.
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~BattleOn~

Sophia hummed as she strode through the gardens of the park of the capital city. It was a beautiful summer dusk, known among commonly as "The Magic Hour" when the day was not quite gone, but the night had not yet arrived.

She'd been here for nearly a day and a half now at Sir Andrew's request, but never did the city lose its sense of wonder. Everything, from the tiniest blade of grass, to the tallest most majestic building emanated magic. To a High Elf, especially one from the prosperous kingdom of Greenguard, there were few things that could content her more than to curl up in the sun with a cold glass of sweet tea.

But for now she wanted only to wander in the gardens, feeling the living earth beneath her bare, graceful feet and singing softly to herself.

Since the battle in Granemore, both she and Sir William had been recalled to the capital to rest, recover their strength and to spend time together. And since then, they'd been as thick as thieves.

It was a situation which all parties agreed to; and Sophia had to admit, she had felt more at peace than she'd been after days of fighting, but only when Sir William was around.

Only one thing bothered the Elf, however. The young Paladin had adamantly refused to share the rest of the story of what had happened in Granemore, after she'd been knocked unconscious. The last thing that Sophia could remember was that Sir William was carrying her, bridal style towards the hospital.

Afterwards, she'd been brought to the capital, had been treated for her wounds and so spent her time as best she could.

A pair of hands abruptly covered her eyes and broke her from her line of thought.

"Guess who?" a male voice whispered, but still holding tones of mirth. Sophia, her eyes covered, thought it over, then fought back a smile.

"Let me guess..." She said, placing her own small hands over the strong, calloused fingers. "You smell of horses and leather...you've got a firm grip, and you would dare to sneak up on a High Elf?" She asked in mock outrage.

A small chuckle escaped the man's lips, but he remained silent.

"Sir William!" Sophia exclaimed, surprise and delight warming her voice as she lifted the arms from her face, grinning upwards as she turned to face him.

He was clad in simple, violet and gold robes instead of his heavyset, glowing Paladin armor. His face was calm and relaxed instead of the wan, rueful grin of the hardened veteran. The ease and fluidity that Sophia responded to immediately.

"How are your wounds, my lady?" He asked, a hint of worry lingering in his tone and eyes. The formality of his words however, sobered her slightly.

"Oh, stop that, I'm Sophia."

"And I'm Sir William, nice to meet you."

Gently Sophia pushed him, then they both laughed. It felt as though a barrier between them was suddenly gone and together, they began to walk through the gardens, admiring the scenery and talking lightly. At one point, Sir William tucked his right arm in around her left and they clasped hands. It was a warm and courteous gesture, yet Sophia parted with him as she turned to get a glance at the Paladin Temple.

Hiding his disappointment, Sir William joined her and gazed anew at the vast wonder that stood before them.

Originally, the Temple was the Guardian Tower, but after the merger of both Paladin and Guardian Orders, it had been renovated to suit Artix's purposes. With multiple turrets surrounding the new outer wall, sturdy gates of iron and mythril, and a central keep with fluttering banners, the temple appeared more like a fortress than a place of worship.

"Beautiful isn't it?" Sophia said softly, slipping her hand gently onto his wrist. Sir William nodded, though his attention was focused fully on the main tower that stretched high above the capital.

"So," he began awkwardly, "What do you think of the capital so far?" Sophia turned to face him fully, her face beaming with delight.

"Its a marvelous city; coming from a High Elf from Greenguard, where magic is the birthright of every citizen, that is quite a compliment!"

Sir William nodded, then smiled as he raised his left hand to gently stroke her cheek. Gingerly, perhaps hesitantly, Sophia placed her palm upon his and guided it as he massaged her cheek. Impulsively, she released his hand and threw her arms around his waist, pressing her ear against his chest. Sophia closed her eyes and listened to his heart's sporadic, rapid beating as Sir William's hand came up, stroking her golden head.

She knew that she should pull away, she should have pulled back. It was not proper. She had acted solely on instinct when she'd hugged him. However, for all her teachings of restraint and self-discipline, she could not deny that it felt...right lingering in his embrace.

Sophia knew she should turn away, before somebody saw them together!

Instead, she lifted her face and closed her eyes.

The kiss was gentle at first; the very first either of them had ever known in fact. Utter surprise was Sir William's first response, but then he closed his own eyes and relished the feel of her in his arms. Sophia, the Elven priestess who was his friend, his companion, the very same girl who awestruck him by her loveliness and grace. For now, they could pretend that the Paladins & clerics weren’t crusading against an undead menace.

For one long, wondrous moment, they were just Sir William and Sophia, and everything was right.
AQ  Post #: 5
6/24/2010 8:29:49   
Sir Nicholas
Member

Chapter 5: Sorrow's Bridge.
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The all-penetrating Light that had been the fallen warrior's home for so very long had revealed much since his death; at first, he'd thought that he might be blinded by it's sheer radiance but he found that with his new eyes, he could see perfectly, everything and beyond. Enlightenment, a state of overpowering bliss and understanding, a point where the universe's chaotic atmosphere was revealed to be entirely in harmony, that which the monastic clerics strove so hard for was but a fraction of what he'd felt since the fallen warrior had entered through the shining gates.

Beyond, below and all throughout, he could see everything that was, but scarce, brief glimpses of what might come to be, for the Light had guided his vision ever since that fateful day where he'd put down his sword for the last time.

Yet, even for the near-surreal experiences that he'd been subject to, it all was as nothing compared to the Light- The all-powerful, all-knowing force whose plans went far beyond. He'd been in that Light's presence. It was capable of taking any shape or form it so chose, so when he'd chosen to enter it's chamber now, at the highest peak of the celestial paradise that was his home, it took the form of a wise and withered man; with a flowing beard of white and eyes that appeared as would the radiance of suns.

"My Lord," the fallen warrior said, bowing low as to show no disrespect. Such was the case whenever he'd addressed his liege in life, but this, indeed standing before the very creator of the empyrean was indescribable. "I humbly come before your awesome presence..."

Before he could finish, there came a gentle yet firm thought that itself transceded time. In his mind's eye, he could see all paths to the future- great and terrible, each fantastical in its own right, but none of them so well weaved as the grand design.

With his white robe set apart, revealing the chest of a warrior, the fallen man placed his hands and knees upon the golden floor. None of it was understood in the physical sense of course, for this was a realm of unimaginable forces.

"Your will be done, Your Majesty." the fallen man said, bowing low with a hint of lofty relief upon his breath.

And then, as the wings and halo upon the warrior's brow and back began to dissipate, the world itself faded from sight and he felt himself slipping away.
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The ornate longsword lashed out in a deadly arc as Sir Andrew charged forward, steely muscle and sleek silvery plate armor amidst the grotesque and misshapen forms of the Undead.

He and the BattleOn Defense Force had been fighting for what felt like hours now. Already the setting sun was casting its bright orange-red glow across the land and buildings in the city below. Its brilliant light reflected off the gleaming head of his weapon moments before it landed against decaying flesh. Within an instant, the ghouls attacking, screeching and pressing in around him were as nothing before his righteous fury.

Sir Andrew pushed his way forward resolutely, moving fast and true, blessed sword little more than a blur in his armored hands. Every so often, the Paladin would pause for an instant to consecrate the tainted ground beneath his boots, golden energies exploding outward from the hard dark soil as it was cleansed and blessed by the power of the Light. The undead around him writhed and shrieked as the divine sanctification stripped them down to charred remains, but still they continued to press forward.

It seemed too soon that the master was joined by another fighter, a Paladin of his own age whom he could not recall the name of. They fought back-to-back at first; warhammer and sword aglow with the holiness that shined so brilliantly from their armors. After they had dispatched a walking carcass that appeared to be some horrific mixture of decaying flesh and machinery, the other had leapt away after a fleeing Necromancer that had summoned the creature.

On his own once again, the master fought on grimly; his arms and lungs aching from the strain of heaving the blessed weapon about. From around the corner of a burning building came yet another pack of ghouls, even more decayed and in greater numbers than the previous clusters that his company had dispatched already.

Drawing deeply upon the Light, Sir Andrew felt the warm and refreshing energy flow through his veins, leaving him renewed and ready for battle again.

No one was sure where the massive army of Undead had appeared- For it had come without warning and without mercy; silencing all who had attempted to flee or hide before messages of warning could reach the capital.

When at last, the final ghoul was but a pile of bone and dust, Sir Andrew ran his hand through his short hair, damp with sweat and lined slightly at the stress of recent events.

Fallen corpses of slain citizens littered the dirty streets leading through the city, fires from burning buildings and the loud clanging of battle all across the capital disrupted any semblance of order. As he looked out over the nearest avenue from Yulgar's Inn, he could see entrails spread across the ground, lying in pools of crimson blood that seeped into the dirt and stone-streets below.

If it hadn't been for his strict training, the knight may have cringed at the gory scene, but years of harsh battles and even worse experiences allowed the Paladin to keep himself composed. With a grim expression, Sir Andrew walked forth, his armor clanging softly. With a sigh and the brief screech of metal scraping against scabbard, he sheathed the blessed weapon into the hilt on his belt.

Further and further he went to check the pulse of each victim he passed. Uttering a prayer after discovering the passing of all he found, he felt a lump form in his throat at the sight of so many people mercilessly killed where they stood. From what he could see, most victims had been run through with sword blades, some cut so many times they were hardly recognizable. Kneeling next to a fallen child, the Paladin put his index and middle-fingers to the toddler's neck and felt for his pulse.

Having found none, he drew a line in the air with his hand and crossed it in prayer. As he was about to speak the holy words of mourning, the sound of a deeply drawn breath caught his attention. Immediately, Sir Andrew was on his feet and drew his sword, the blade of which began to simmer and glow with radiance so bright he almost narrowed his eyes.

Cutting behind a small house and crossing a makeshift path that led to Aria's Pet-Shop was a wounded citizen; blood and ghastly marks on his wrists and neck profusely spilt upon the simple farmer's clothing that he wore. The man was adorned in worn overalls stained with his grievous wounds. A series of marks all over his chest surrounded the spot where a blade had been stuck, then torn free.

Upon seeing the approaching Paladin, only a small flicker in his eyes signified his recognition.

"Holy God, what happened? Who did this to you?" Andrew asked, bending down and applying pressure with his armored gauntlet to the man's stomach to try and staunch the bleeding. A hack and a mouthful of vomit and blood intermixed into a foul, odorous fluid was exhaled from his mouth, some of it falling to the man's chin and shirt, other bits of it fell to the cold, dark streets.

The unmistakable gait of armored boots drew his attention. Looking up from the dead man, Sir Andrew came face-to-face with a walking nightmare.
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In another section of the city, Grandmaster Artix and the other councilors of the order fought side-by-side. They had chosen a narrow enclosure of the city to make a stand; an alley where the entrance to the sewers was accessisble. The corridor that it provided protected their flanks against the ceaseless tide of dead things. Sir Mathew and Sir Simon stood behind the rest, casting spells and blessings as quickly as their energies would allow, for they were the only two Paladins on the council who had chosen a healing path rather than a defensive or offensive one.

The Grandmaster swung his axe in a horizontal arc, decapitating a zombie with a clean blow to its neck. The head fell to the ground with a dull squish, grey matter splattering over the elder-Master's boot like the contents of a bursting melon.

Sweat dewed his brow, concentration and grim fortitude escaping as short gasps in between swings of the massive, golden-headed axe. Sanctus was at his right, cutting, stabbing wildly but with an underlaid precision and footwork well-suited to an elder-priest. It was almost like a dance, Artix mused, as they stood together cutting apart the multitudes of monsters that were thrown into battle against them. Whereas Artix was strong and relentless, Sanctus was fast and sly and was graceful with his reflexes; every stroke found its mark. He made the best of every backhand, every swing of the stave decapitating, smashing or blistering its enemy's rotted flesh.

The two of them fought their way to the mouth of the corridor, accompanied by some of the most experienced Knights in the order, priests behind them, casting exhaustively.

Sanctus paused long enough to regain his focus, his stave connecting briefly with the blade of a scythe before the necromancer wielding it had his arm cleaved off by Artix's axe.

Turning aside with blinding speed, the Grandmaster brought his weapon about in a vertical arc that seperated the dark sorceror's head from his neck. Flashing a brief nod to Sanctus and the other members of the council, Artix turned away and sped off into the mobs of creatures pouring in from the sewers and alleys, axe vibrantly pulsing with every swing.

He had destroyed a significant number of them before he'd even realized that he'd entered into another section of the city. A hollow laugh forced the battle-weary Paladin to face with a fallen Knight-

No one remembered his true name, yet none could deny his power, his cruelty or the sheer terror that came when his moniker, Lord Drake was uttered.

He'd heard the rumors of course- A shadowy figure not unlike any other Death Knight, yet one far more powerful than most, namely because of his mysterious ability to gain power from the numbers of the Undead he raised. True to the stories, Drake was tall and broad-shouldered, the top half his face hidden behind a mask of obsidian and was decorated with the lofty visage of a horned skull.

The peak of his mask was crowned with ornate spikes that extended forward like spears, behind the face-plate were eye-sockets, the inside of which, nothing could be seen. As if the very darkness had swallowed Drake's eyes and reduced them into a shadowy void. Below his mask was what looked like a collar of some sort, triggered by a locking mechanism that disappeared beneath a breastplate of bronze and corroded runeplate. Gauntlets extended from the shoulders downwards, each of which was gloved and padded, yet was protected by a thick layer of bony armor- the decor of skeletal fingers laced inward with the metal.

A billowing cape of purple velvet was attached to the Death Knight's back, and it blew softly in the ashen wind that swept in with the soot from the fire's still burning throughout the city.

"We meet at last, Artix Krieger." Drake hissed, his fang-tipped mouth curving into a wicked grin. With but a flick of an armored wrist, hundreds more skeletons clambered to their skeletal feet from beneath the ground, a mob of the undead, three-deep approached the Grandmaster with utter disregard for their own safety- Even as the Grand-Paladin fought on, slicing them to pieces by the dozen, they were inevitably got up or were replaced by more from elsewhere.

Artix murmured words of power- His already radiant aura expanding to greater proportions with every second. Inhuman cries came from the toothy mouths of the skeletons that attacked the Grandmaster, who, upon completion of the incantation, screamed the final word of the spell and sent forth a shockwave of golden energy. The beam extended all throughout the block, seeping through the soil itself, cleansing and recoiling all Undead that it struck: Within moments, all that remained of what had been hundreds of skeletal warriors was naught but ash and dust.

The Grandmaster exhaled sharply, his eyes closed for a brief moment, but then opened widely at the sound of applause.

Much to his surprise, Drake stood before him, completely unfazed by the attack.

"Fantastic light-show," he taunted, "however, your fancy little tricks will not save you this time."

Artix raised his axe, accepting the challenge as Drake reached towards his belt and with a metallic hiss unsheathed his own weapon. The Paladin's eyes widened at the sight of the runeblade that the Death Knight drew, for it was long and etched with words of power in an ancient language- The writing made even his fierce heart quiver.

Though he'd fought and destroyed many such runeblades and Death Knights during the 'Galin-War, Artix could sense that this particular weapon was of a different kind.

"Light, give me the strength to vanquish this fiend," the Grandmaster said, grip tightening upon the hilt of the axe. With that, he felt the righteous fury singing in his veins- the very essence of which empowered him further, giving him strength and resolve. Where other men might flinch in the face of such odds, Artix reveled in them. Countless times, he'd faced down hordes of Undead and left them in ruin.


Drake extended a clawed hand and broke the silence by conjuring a bolt of black lightning. Raising his golden axe, the Grandmaster simply dispelled the dark energies. Snarling, Drake rushed forward and swung his weapon in an arc so swiftly the Paladin barely had time to dodge.

Narrowly, Drake missed his mark but the reprieve didn't last long- For the Death Knight pressed the attack, swinging his sword at Artix again and again. The blade clanged as it struck the Grandmaster's armor at the chestpiece, once on the axe's glowing head.

While he might have been taken aback by the Death Knight's speed, the initial shock was dispelled as Artix shifted his weight to his right foot, feinted and counterattacked with a broad swing towards Drake's chest. The blade locked with the axe and both men strained, the muscles in their arms quivering with effort.

It was the Death Knight who countered, shoving against the Paladin with his free hand, he overturned his sword and held it in a reverse grip. He brought the weapon sailing forth, intending to cleave the Paladin's waist. Turning aside, Artix sommersaulted underneath the sword, leapt back onto his feet and charged Drake from behind.

When he raised his axe for a mighty swing, Artix's mark met only empty air, for Drake had simply vanished.

Sensing an incoming blow Artix threw himself to the ground. It was not a moment too soon it would seem, for the runeblade connected with a nearby lamp-post, easily hacking through the wood and bringing the whole of the structure tumbling down. The oil-lamp on the hook was smashed against the concrete, oil and flame spilling out over the road. Artix swept his right leg around, intending to catch Drake by surprise, only to find the Death Knight had already leapt up into the air, performed a mid-air sommersault, then brought down the runeblade towards him.

With the newly created blaze, Paladin and Death Knight eyed each other as their weapons clashed.

Their fight raged on, for while Artix's blows were powerful they were also controlled and carefully maintained. His axe, while blessed and deadly like its wielder was not a fast weapon, nor was his style of fighting. Drake on the other hand possessed lightning speed- his every movement a blur. He also incorporated various dark spells into the fight- Bolts of dark magic, tendrils of shadow, even at one point a blast of sickly green energy that spread foul miasma and hideous fungi wherever it struck.

Artix whirled and danced around Drake's defenses, axe singing in his hands, each blow nothing less than a killing stroke. Every attack was countered, and exceeded on Drake's part by his blinding speed- The weapon he wielded seemed able to fight all on its own.

With a grunt Artix rooted himself deeply in place, brought both hands upon the apex of the hilt of his weapon and lunged. Swinging the blessed weapon back and forth, the Paladin felt the adrenaline in unison with his own Light-driven powers. Bolts of gold energy shot from the double-bladed head with every stroke, sending shockwaves everytime it met with the runeblade.

Drake fell back, his grip on the weapon becoming uneasy as he felt his own power diminish before the onslaught. With an incoherent cry he brought his right claw up, blasted with black tendrils and held his ground. The summoned tentacles gripped Artix's left arm, tightening rapidly and causing excruciating pain with every second; for even with his mighty powers, Artix still was a mortal man.

Yelping in agony, the Grandmaster brought his right arm about in a wide swing, the steel of his gauntlet colliding with Drake's horned mask. Artix applied more force to the blow, feeling the helmet crumple beneath the attack. Finally, the tendrils released his arm and the throbbing pain halted, for the moment- The flesh that was now visible on his forearm was blistered and swelled.

Artix brought his axe back, preparing to deliver another blow when he caught sight of Drake's mask, visibly cracked by his punch.

He hesitated, a move quite unlike the Grandmaster, for Drake had simply vanished as he had before- Only this time the Death Knight did not reappear.

"Indeed- your power is befitting the leader of the accursed Order: Were I to fight you on even terms, I would perhaps be defeated." Drake's voice reverberated over the walls, bellowed from somewhere far beyond, as if he were some spectral presence rather than a walking avatar of death itself.

"Your pathetic city will live yet to see my ultimate triumph!" All throughout the city, all that could be heard was cold, hollow laughter.

< Message edited by Sir Nicholas -- 1/4/2011 23:05:06 >
AQ  Post #: 6
7/19/2010 7:28:57   
Sir Nicholas
Member

Chapter 6: Throes of the Past.
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~Many Years Ago~
Outskirts of Darkovia, near the Wolf-Lair.
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William looked up with a bright and shining face into his father's eyes- He'd always felt so...protected whenever his father held him close like this, telling him stories of his adventures. Dressed in finery, sitting upon his parent's knee with a hot mug of mead, this always was William's favorite time of the month, whenever his father returned home from the wars. He'd just finished telling an amazing story of how he'd defeated three monstrous creatures- All of them, with claws for hands and fangs for teeth, they'd intended to feast upon the great warrior's blood, only to taste the end of his sword instead.

"More stories daddy!" Will cried with a jubilant expression on his small face, "I'm not tired, I promise!" but his father merely smiled with his eyes shut for a long moment.

"No, son," he replied with a grin and his eyes opening. He turned to the clock upon the mantle of the fireplace; a delicately carved piece that was fitting the room, for this was the parlor of a very esteemed family estate- the fireplace was large enough for a full-grown man to stand in, unbowed. The logs resting on the metal grate crackled and popped as they burned, adding a reddish-orange tint to the room, giving it a warm and welcoming aura.

"You've got a big day tomorrow, considering that is when we will begin training."

Will nodded, barely able to contain his excitement. Finally, after nine years, he would at last learn swordplay- he'd heard his parents talking about it for many months before his mother finally gave in and agreed to have her son trained. Ever since the war had begun, every able-bodied man and strong teen able to wield a sword had joined the armed forces and called away to fight the Network.

"Daddy?"

The older man looked down at his offspring with a curious expression, "Yes m'boy?" he asked, rising from ornately carved wooden chair that was his seat, resting comfortably next to the fireplace.

"When I grow up, I want to be a Paladin!" Said Will, swinging his arm around as though he were holding a blade. His father chuckled in response and knelt down on one knee, placing a large hand on his son's shoulder.

"Well, I'll talk to Artix and see what I can do. The life of a Paladin is a difficult one; even if you succeed in your training, you must follow rigid discipline."

Will nodded, offering a salute with his own small hands and the same, innocent grin that made his parents laugh.

"I love you, daddy."
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~Present Day, Greenguard~
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Sir William yawned as he opened his eyes, rubbing the back of his wrist against the bottom of his eyelids to scrape away any bits of sleep-dust that had collected the previous night.

Another dream...the same one in fact- every night since the visit to Greenguard had begun, he'd recalled his last conversation with his father before he departed for war and never returned. Sir William never knew exactly what had happened to his father, only that he was considered a true hero for his deeds during the 'Galin-War.

Beside him, Sophia lay still asleep, her golden locks spread across her pillow in a gold mess- a beautiful one, but a messy bit anyway. With a silent smile, Sir William reached over and parted the bits of hair covering her closed eyes and leaned in to kiss her cheek. Rising to his feet, Sir William looked out over the open space that was their room in the treetop city of Greenguard- home of Sophia's family, and of the capital of the High Elven kingdom.

Today was one of special importance, for Sophia had arranged for him to meet with the Elven Queen, Lady Evenstar. The thought of this excited him greatly, for indeed, the Elven Queen was said to be the fairest of all her people- of supernatural beauty and grace, with vast power to match and a radiance that was said to make grown men weep.

The city was not as large or as grandoise as BattleOn, but it was magnificent in its own right- with graceful spires, druidic temples and trees that all but sang in the morning breezes, it was fitting for such a proud and fair race to live in harmony with nature.

The peaceful silence was interrupted only by the sound of rustling sheets; Sophia had awoken, and now was gingerly rubbing her eyes and quietly yawning. She met Sir William with a smile, but neither of them said anything as she slowly dressed herself- For indeed, nothing truly needed to be said, and neither wanted to ruin what they'd shared last night with awkward, clumsy words.

It could not be denied that the association between them – initially merely cordial and hinging upon mutual respect and admiration – had warmed into something more, suddenly and unexpectedly, but both young people had no doubt if their stations continued on as was, they'd have more time to explore their feelings for each other. Abruptly, Sophia let forth a light and melodious giggle- small hands coming to her face in a vain attempt to stifle her laughter.

Puzzled, Sir William gazed at her for several minutes as he pondered yet what could be so humorous.

His answer came when he suddenly realized that the Elf wasn't exactly laughing at him. He whirled around fast only to end up face-to-face with another Elf: What made the priestess laugh however, was the fact that Sir William was standing completely in the nude.

The awkward moment was ended when Sophia handed the sheepishly expressed Paladin a robe that she'd pulled from the closet.

The male elf, who was not unlike the lovely maiden sitting on the bed that she and the Paladin had shared last night, but the greatest difference was that he was strongly built, unlike the slender priestess and that his hair was dark and short. He had the elongated ears and pronounced forehead, along with long eyebrows typical of his race. However, his eyes were a bright, emerald green and he wore only tight leather padding with a thin sheath of armor coating his lower legs.

"My Lord and Lady," the male elf said, acting as though the inelegant moment had never occurred, "Her Majesty will see you now." and with a slightly sardonic grin, he added, "I just hope the Queen admires you as much as the Priestess, 'Sir' William."

To this, the Paladin flushed and it was only when Sophia placed a calming hand on his arm that he restrained himself; if she hadn't done so, the Paladin wasn't so sure that he might not have taken a swing at the newcomer.

"If I might ask, emissary," Sir William said, with all trace of good sincerity. "What exactly is your name and how do you know Sophia?"

The emissary turned and pounded his fist against his bicep in a mock salute, "Dimitri, and I'm her brother. Her older brother." and with that, he was gone as quickly and silently as he came, down the steps and through the doorway on the lower floor.

Sir William blinked; then he turned to the lovely priestess still clutching his arm with a slightly embarrassed grin of her own.

"You didn't tell me you had a brother." Sir William said, pointing at her in a playfully accusing manner.

She shrugged, "We Elves are a reclusive people- I would've thought it impolite to talk of my brother, namely because he's a little..." she paused, as if looking for the precise word to describe him, "Shall we say, 'wary' of strangers?" understanding then dawned on the Paladin, understanding, then irritation.

However, upon looking at her innocent expression and seeing the playfulness in her beautiful eyes, Sir William felt his anger bleed away and he swept her into his arms, kissing her passionately.

Who cared what a stuffy Elf thought anyway?
_______________________________________

~Outside New Swordhaven~

The night had passed when the last of the knights in the company stirred from sleep in the makeshift camp on the cliff overlooking the city of New Swordhaven, though at the moment, only two figures stood yet wide awake in the face of the new day. Each was tall and broad shouldered, each clad in ornately forged armor and carried impressive swords- Yet, the difference was between them in that one wore a hood that totally obscured his face, the cloak around his shoulders was tied in such a way that completely concealed his body.

The other wore thick plate armor, yet many recognized his rugged features almost immediately- For indeed, he was one of the Lord Commanders of the Guardian Order- Wuneye, his very name symbolic of the eyepatch that he wore, concealing the empty right socket.

A grim expression was on his face as he watched the dawning sun, turning slightly at his cloaked companion, the very same one who he'd met in BattleOn and at first believed himself to be mental.

"So, you're sure this will be Drake's next target?" The warrior asked, gesturing with one gauntleted hand towards the city sprawled out before them. The hooded figure nodded. "I'm counting on you to be right-" Said Wuneye with a hint of disdain in his voice, "The only reason we're on this mission is because Lord Andrew and Grandmaster Artix vouched for you."

Despite the harshness of his words, the hooded man seemed not to be bothered in the slightest. Indeed, his every movement exhibited sleek confidence and grace- Beneath the hood, dark eyes stirred and penetrated beyond the shadow of the cowl, giving the forested area beyond the city's walls a once-over glance, as if scanning for any lurking danger.

As if on cue, there came a great clattering and the rustle of dust in the wake of marching feet could be seen far to the north where the cliff faced. In spite of several miles distance between the ridge and the unmistakable gait of a massive force of undead, the hooded man could easily decipher the faces of the commanders of the army, his eyes sharpened and focused by many years experience, while his hearing was greatly enhanced by the bloodline that he'd been sired from.

"Drake isn't with the army." Said the hooded man quietly. Whereas any other might have been almost disbelieving, perhaps even shocked, the figure knew quite well ahead that the Death Knight was not going to be present.

"Then this whole thing was a wild goose chase!" Wuneye exclaimed, clenching his fist and stomping once as a method of relieving his pent-up frustration. "I knew it was a mistake to-!"

Before he could finish, the hooded figure held up one goved hand.

"I knew he would not be here- Drake is either too cunning or too arrogant to handle matters on his own." With that, Wuneye's anger was stilled and realization dawned on him; if the Death Knight had indeed anticipated their counterattack, then it would mean that he could move his army freely elsewhere, virtually unopposed. Even if the diversion should fail, the city of New Swordhaven would be threatened and it would still prevent troops from coming to the aid of BattleOn.

"So what do you propose?" Asked Wuneye, turning to face the camp as it began to exhibit signs of activity. Clearly, the rest of the Knight-detachment was awake and now were spoiling for a fight.

"Take the detachment to defend the city- Guard it with your lives." The hooded man instructed, then he turned and walked toward the forest, his every step a confident swagger. "I must go and attend business...elsewhere."

< Message edited by Sir Nicholas -- 10/1/2010 21:29:39 >
AQ  Post #: 7
8/25/2010 14:02:31   
Sir Nicholas
Member

Chapter 7: Tears of the Elves.
_________________________

The golden trees of the Elven homeland were every bit as wondrous as the rumors had made them out to be, of that, Sir William had no doubt. However, what truly amazed him was the beauty and serenity that the Queen's own home seemed to radiate. It was built right into the forest; the soft marble and gold and tan bricks were inlaid with undertones, the color of autumn leaves.

Needless to say, the Paladin was thoroughly impressed when the Queen herself emerged, appearing more as an immaculate celestial rather than a true and living person. Her hair was waist length and seemed as spun gold. Her eyes were a sapphire blue, and her features were light and fair, but she seemed alive and fluid with grace. Blue and silver was her lofty robe, and her small hand held the rail of the stairway leading to the grand entrance of her home.

Accompanying her at all sides were several guards and attendants, many of whom bore the emblem of the four pointed star on their tabards and pointed helmets. Those who stood closest to Queen Evenstar likewise wore blue and silver armor that reflected her almost radiant light- Giving the Elf a passing semblance to that of an astral body attracting all the stars and planets together.

Sir William and Sophia bowed deeply in unison as the Elven Queen approached.

"Her Majesty- Eliac Evenstar, bids thee welcome Sir William of the Paladins." Said one of her attendants, the guards standing at attention with their long spears in salute. "And Lady Sophia," the attendant said, giving the younger Elf a once over glance with a brief grin, "Truly this is a wonderful occasion." Sophia nodded in acknowledgement, and turned to Sir William, who returned the gesture with a saluting thump on his right breastplate.

"Let us then set aside all this formality," the Queen said, her expressionless face turning to one of surprising merriment. "There's no reason why we should not permit ourselves to have a little enjoyment?"

At once, Sir William felt Sophia relax and, with but a flick of the wrist, Eliac had dismissed all of her attending personel and guard.

"Tell me my Lady," said the Paladin, his tone slightly more at ease but still containing undertones of outdated formality. "For what reason did you call upon us?"

Both Elven females laughed slightly, "You may call me Eliac, young Will," said the Queen as she outstretched one of her graceful yet surprisingly hardy palms out to shake the Paladin's own hand. "All of this stiffness grows quite tiresome after such a long while."

Sir William blinked. To be welcomed by the Queen and spiritual leader of such a proud and seemingly delicate people was surprising enough, yet for her to reveal such a casual, relaxed side of herself was something unprecedented!

Well...it may have been surprising, but it certainly wasn't unwelcome.

"Come, let us talk." Both younger people sauntered after the Queen as she stepped towards a small pool in the middle of the courtyard.

In the shimmering waters were three white doves, floating and skimming the surface of the clear blue liquid. Queen Eliac reached down with a slow and gentle pace and carefully picked one of the birds. The creature did not seem at all alarmed for it merely continued to stare and coo, even when the Elf began to stroke its feathered head with her index and middle fingers.

"I knew your father; he was my close personal friend," she said after a long moment of peaceful silence. "and not a day goes by I don't miss him,"

Sir William listened intently, but kept his curiosity from betraying his posture.

"What was he like, my father?" he asked, unable to stop himself.

Queen Eliac stood quiet, continuing to gently stroke the bird's head before she flashed the Paladin a smile and a touch on the shoulder so rapid and gentle he had to double check to ensure he'd not imagined it.

"He was a great man; strong, loyal, kind and...forgiving," she seemed almost melancholy as she spoke the last word. Her smile faded and her sapphire eyes took on a hint of deep pain.

Before he could ask, Sophia interjected. "What is it?" she asked, reaching over with one of her own small hands and petting the bird on its beak.

"He-...that is to say, we did not part on the best of terms." For what seemed an eternity, the silence returned, and the two Elven women continued to addle Sir William with their attention to the dove rather than to him. He fought hard to keep his irritation from betraying his expression while he waited, attempting to emulate some of the stoic patience that his master had instilled in him.

"Sir Nicholas Geschke, one of the greatest Paladins of the Order-" said the Queen, pausing for only a brief moment as the memories came flooding back into mind. "-he was once the apprentice of Grandmaster Krieger himself. Once inducted, he quickly rose through the ranks, becoming the youngest master to ever emerge. I can remember him, standing there as you do, his every action exuding confidence and sleek grace."

The younger Elf chipped in, "Is it true, Your Majesty?" she asked, "That he was the father of our dear friend Will here?" Sophia turned slightly to the impatient Paladin standing before them with his arms crossed.

Eliac nodded, "I can clearly see the resemblance between him and you, young William." she reached out one hand, the other still holding the delicate bird, and turned William's face from side to side. Eliac's blue eyes widened with unshed tears as she examined him thoroughly, "You truly are your father's son."

Just then, both females sobered, their long ears twitching and their expressions turning grim.

"Evil draws near-"
________________________________________

~Somewhere in Greenguard's outer defenses~
________________________________________

Elven warriors fought with courage and steel and cool determination against the thundering abominations that reared down on them. Many had fallen, only to rise moments later as one of the enemy; dull eyes glaring at the survivors and bizzare, jerking motions like that of puppets. Where the strange creatures had emerged from in the forest without alerting the woodland kingdom's legendary scouts, no one knew, but all were determined to see the attack halted here and now. Screams of the dead and dying were everywhere, and no mercy was given to either.

In synchronized, martial lines were legions of pale blue clad warriors on one side. Arrows and swords of elegant yet deadly design stood at the ready. On the other were horrible parodies of the living, with pale and bloated creatures fresh from their graves or long dead and rotting in the cruelest form of conscription the world had ever seen.

The elves fought gallantly, yet the sheer number of the enemy began to turn the tide. Indeed, the merciless waves of the enemy seemed limitless, and for every warrior that fell in battle, another potential recruit was raised by the black magics of the living necromancers at the army's rear, casting spells that decayed the forest and corrupted the ancient trees with virtual impunity.

Any sense of pity among the still living warriors was evaportated instantly, only to be replaced by fear and loathing for their inability to halt the tide of the dead creatures.

"Hold!" Shouted Dimitri as he drew a spear and shield, bringing the tip of the weapon plunging into the throat of a fallen comrade. He'd brought with him a contingent of fresh troops, battle-ready and eager to defend their ancestral homeland. However, even these faltered at the sight of the disgusting monsters and gross disregard for the newly dead as they fought against their former allies.

Dimitri paused just long enough to shout another command, stabbing wildly into the ranks of the undead as they came at him, ten thick.

Among the shattering spears, whirling swords, falling arrows and dying ranks there stood one figure taller and stronger than all the rest. His poise betrayed the chaos around him, and he advanced into the battle with an eerie silence. Throughout the melee, he did not speak a word - not when his horrific troops melded into the lines of the elves, who continued to fight heroically and not when hundreds more of his own warriors fell under dozens of arrows.

Not a word.

The elven captain ripped his spear free from the body of a freshly slain ghoul, swinging his shield about and cursing in the language of his people as the undead continued their assault. Stabbing wildly, what once was a coordinated, precise effort on part of the elves became a frantic fight just to stay alive. Few didn't feel the terror that came when the hideous creatures unleashed another wave of their vanguard into the fray with their gutteral yells.

It seemed almost too late, even for his enhanced senses when he realized that a runeblade came straight for his heart. Dimitri raised his shield and blocked the intended finishing blow, only to have a booted leg violently kick his legs out from under him. The elf hit the soil of the ground more dazed than hurt- struggling to rise and continue to fight against the furious monsters threatening his homeland.

"I salute your bravery elf, but this fight is over." Said a voice which struck him as oddly familiar.

Dimitri blinked his searing eyes and barely made out the shape of a figure dressed entirely in black armor raising a massive sword that he instinctively recognized as the same one that he'd blocked.

A hammer obstructed its path just before it came down upon Dimitri's chest; one that seemed to glow a bright gold in contrast to the blackness that surrounded the runeblade. Turning away, the elf felt soft yet firm hands gripping him as he fought to stay concious. From elsewhere, he almost could make out the familiar shape of a slender female frame. With a violent, hacking cough he blinked his hazy vision as it faded just in time to see a second figure clashing with the armored black one in fierce combat. Then, a third one emerged from somewhere else, one that did not strike the fading elf's memory.

Then, the blackness overwhelmed his vision and his eyes saw no more.

< Message edited by Sir Nicholas -- 10/1/2010 21:28:41 >
AQ  Post #: 8
10/1/2010 21:27:10   
Sir Nicholas
Member

Chapter 8: Fear Not the Darkness.
_____________________________

Three hours of fighting without any rest should have exhausted any normal man, yet a Paladin was no ordinary man- Sir William and this strange new arrival fought the approaching Death Knight with all the skills at their command, yet their combined efforts seemed to be of little concern to the dread figure. Early on in the battle, Sir William had bludgeoned the dark warrior's head with the edge of his hammer, but, much to his surprise the attack did not faze his opponent in the slightest. He came on and on, relentless. Worse, he used a new kind of power that rotted the ground and the trees and any foolish enough to stand in his path.

In contrast to the warrior he'd defeated in Granemore, this figure's face was completely exposed: His was no less ghastly however. What blotches of skin remained on the cheeks was a pale green, while the exposed bones on the forehead was crawling a shade of light grey and riddled with maggots. The armor the figure wore as they fought back and forth should have been shattered many times over- given its rust and the sickly amalgamation of various pieces of degraded steel plates. The skeletally thin warrior had no trouble however getting back up after every attack; for indeed, his injuries were severe enough to apparently make him immune to pain.

Sir William fought on grimly; the newcomer backing him up everytime that he'd seemed to falter. The Paladin had no idea who this figure was or why he had joined the fight, but was grateful for his timely arrival. What was else that the strange fighter possessed tremendous skill with the blade that he wielded. What struck the Paladin as odd however was the brown cloak and hood that he wore to conceal his identity- Underneath his sleeves, he wore gloves that left no flesh exposed. Even as he fought like a dervish, the warrior had no trouble maintaining his disguise.

The Death Knight raised one of his skeletally thin arms for a renewed attack when the hooded man raise his own gloved hand and cast a spell. Instantly, the death knight's arm was engulfed in red flames- Yet this made no difference, even as the smell of burning carrion filled the living warrior's lungs, the Death Knight continued his attack, completely oblivious to the fires that burned at his forearm.

"Do you despair!?" Said the diseased carcass as he renewed his assault on the Paladin, his voice was shrill and ghoulish; while his jaw creaked as he spat out the words. "Feel Pestilence's love!"

With that, the death knight raised his other arm, his long fingers raised and began to glow a sickly green energy.

Then, clawing their way through the dirt beneath their feet came three zombies- long dead and their empty eye sockets pulsating with the same green tint.

"Pestilence gives them the gift of the plague!"

Sir William felt like retching, but fought to keep his nerve from betraying his righteous fury as he struck at the first corpse with his hammer. The glowing head smashed into the torso of the carcass, sending it sprawling. A second blow, parallel to the ground crippled the legs of another of the zombies, while the final attack ripped the skull cleanly from the neck of the last.

Much to his surprise, Pestilence did not grimace or cry out in anguish as he witnessed his minions fall before the Paladin, but instead grinned and even began to giggle incongruently.

The Paladin reared his head for another attack at the Death knight when he realized with horror that the zombies were still moving. His dark eyes widened as one of the creature's he had dispatched simply reached over and reattached its severed head.

He had heard stories; read of such terrible creatures who could regenerate, but this- This time he really did retch. The hooded warrior put one hand onto Sir William's shoulder to steady him, and then he lunged with reflexes that made even Pestilence's rotting face jerk back in surprise. The three zombies were so suddenly hacked into pieces that the glow in their eyes hadn't fully dissipated before their chunks hit the ground.

Sword in hand, the hooded man bounded forward and effortlessly sliced off the still-burning arm of the Death Knight, who this time shrieked and writhed in agony. Pestilence's arm had splattered into a gory mess onto the ground, but it was the quickness of how it evaporated into spectacles of fowl-smelling ashes that surprised everyone.

Raising his hammer, Sir William followed the stranger and swung; delivering a swift blow to Pestilence's midsection. The holy energy pierced the disease and foul miasma that once protected the Death Knight and sent him flying. When the Death Knight landed with a wet thump some yards away, his legs were bent at odd angles and did not stir for a very long moment. A sudden beam of black and red lightning forked into the body of the fallen Death Knight, its source was a cloud of smoke that billowed as if from nowhere- the Death Knight's eyes opened and Pestilence then began to piece himself back together; the lightning abruptly cut off as a second figure appeared from the mist.

"So, you are the Paladin that destroyed War?" Asked the smoke-covered entity.

Briefly, Sir William thought back to the dark warrior that he'd defeated in Granemore and wondered if that truly was the Death Knight's name; the eldritch energies that twisted and corrupted him now seemed to emanate from the clouded-entity standing before him.

"I am Famine- Second of the Four Horsemen. Brother of Pestilence and Conquest, and servant of Lord Drake."

Gritting his teeth, Sir William raised his hammer as if to challenge the two dark figures, but neither stirred in response.

"I am Sir William, Paladin of the Holy Light -" Said William strongly, meeting the smokey grey eyes of Famine stare-for-stare. "Mine is the bane of your kind and destroyer of these cursed Undead you create."

Pestilence grinned, "Lord Drake will be much pleased when Pestilence gives him the gift of a plagued Paladin!" his voice was laced with dark delight, yet a misty arm held him back.

"No brother. It is not yet time for this one to die," Famine said, flashing a wink in Pestilence's direction. Nodding slightly, the other Death Knight grinned once more at the Paladin. "but die he shall, and so he will serve our Lord."

And with that, both figures vanished into the mist as if they had never been; the undead they had created reduced to scattered bones and pieces of flesh until none remained.

Turning his attention to the one who had fought beside him, Sir William witnessed the brown-robed figure cross his arms, apparently deep in thought, then began to walk towards the gateway leading outside the elven kingdom.

"Wait!" Said the Paladin, outstretching his hand. The figure halted, then turned his hood slightly. "Thank you for fighting beside us; can I at least know your name before you go?"

The figure did not respond immediately, instead, he reached deep inside his robe and pulled out a book. He took Sir William's outstretched hand and laid it in his palm.

"Study it well," he said in a voice that was both clear and strong, containing undertones of deep sadness and wisdom. And then, he was gone in a swirl of blue light, not a trace of him remained.

Sir William blinked; the strange man had disappeared just as mysteriously as he had appeared, had said nothing other than those three words, and yet something in his heart told the Paladin that the man possessed tremendous power.

Whether ally or foe, the man had fought beside him, even saved his life- that meant little choice other than to trust him.

Glancing down at the book in his palm, Sir William's eyes widened as they darted across the scarlet words written over the cover.

"Dark Waltz".
AQ  Post #: 9
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