WAR!!! Blood upon the Battlefield

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Drazhar, standing back, looking a bit confused if not shaken, thinks aloud,
"Elven? Did he just speak elvish to me?"
Shaking his head he tries to point out in which direction the young man went in, but found it incredibly hard to track where his young quarry had ran off to, thanks to the last smell he had just cast off.
Shaking his head in frustration he starts off in the direction the blurred teenager went of in.
Drazhar, after taking a step forward, realised that he wasn't the only one giving chase to the young mage, and so, starts off at a leisurely pace, after his quarry.

 

Khazar seeing Feirhanith's plan decided to hang back from severing the giants head, and waited to see if the giant where to release itself and attack his friend.

Khazar noticed the giants free hand beggining to raise up to his neck to free itself of Feirhanith.

Khazar let off a magic missile which momentarily stunned the hand and he jumped forward, both Katanas in full flight.

His fire katana 'The Angel of Light' struck the beast first slicing clean through the giants wrist severing a major vein. The katana cauterised the wound but carried on, and ended up lodging itself in the giants wristbone thre quarters of the way through.

*Khazar realised the true benefit of having Katanas as his chosen weapons, with their uncanny ability to be the only weapons unenchanted to be capable of separating a humans top half from his lower half in one blow.*

It was then his other katanas go it was then that 'The Angel of Death' struck the base of the giants thumb, slicinag all muscles in it leaving the mighty appendage just hanging there completely useless.

Khazar before he could retract 'TheAngel of Light' shouted to Feirhanith above the giants yell of pain...

"Feirhanith, please put the poor bastard out of his misery he doesn't deserve this pain its the orcs we are at war with."

With one last pull he gave up on his katana he was not strong enough to wrench it free he decided to come back to it later.

 

Lailyn races orc arrows almost all the way to Khaza and Feirhanith before they notice him and why he was fleeing. "Use your bow goddamnit," he gasped to Khazar as he ran past the deadish giant. The orcs that had stayed behind to shoot at him were so intent on there target that they barely noticed Khazar and Feirhanith. Lailyn had by this time a arrow firmly imbedded in the heel of his shoe with arrows cliping his shoes as he ran.

 

Khazar wheeled round to see a very agitated Lailyn race past him and in response to his request notched and arrow and let it fly...

The arrow cleanly embedded itself into the foremost orc's head spraying its blood everywhere. Khazar notched another as soon as the other had left the bow and let that one fly...

 

The orc fell, yet there where two to take it's place.
With more persuers closing in, Kendil used up his last Invisibility Scroll and dissapeared into the trees, with the strange elf-type creature far behind, Kendil set out through the Eastern forest to look for Feirhanith, or a cleric who could help.

 

Running silently through the forest, barely visible, Drazhar very nearly caught up with the young mage. Not until he nearly caught the young man's cloak did he disapeer from his grasping fingers.
Footsteps echoing away from Drazhar noted that the boy was indeed still there.
Drazhar faded out of the shadows, and back into visibility, scanned the small area of woodland and sighs with still no sign of the adept mage.
After a few minutes of wasted time looking for the invisible mage did he reach under his cloak and pull out a small vial of golden red liquid.
Unscrewing the top, Drazhar takes a breath before swallowing. He looks up again, and his eyes are widener than before and are now glowing from the potion, allowing him to see through minor spellcastings and invisiblities.
Smiling Drazhar hastenes towards the moving, now visible, mage.

[This message has been edited by theholygit (edited May 28, 2002).]

 

Kendil looked behind him, and saw not only the orcs, but the elven man he had encountered before..."What do you want?" he shouted elvish back, running harder and faster than he knew himself capable of.
"What do you want with me?!"

 

Drazhar now runing after the boy manages to catch something he said over his shoulder.
Looking to his left he spots several orc screaming through the trees.
Making sure that the orcs could not see the boy or him, Drazhar turns and runs in the direction the orc are headed as to cut them off.
Alongside one of the smelly orcs, he draws a dagger and stabs in an upward arc as to plunge it through the orcs ribcage. As he commits the violent assault his ability to hide in the shadows fails, and he soon seen by several of the orcs.
Now ignoring the boys scent the orcs turn on their attacker and swamp him in a mass of arms and shining metal.

[This message has been edited by theholygit (edited June 05, 2002).]

 

ooc: i'll take over an orc for a bit

IC: The smelly orc Hagon charged bravely at the attacker from the shadows, his spear extended. "Die smelly elf(?)" he declared. Drazah easilly dispatched the orc next to him. he spun his spear around in an attempt to catch Drazah but the spear caught nothing but air as Drazah had quickly moved aside. The last thing that Hagon saw was Drazah slaming his weapon into his chest and into his heart

 

Drazhar, pulling his dagger out from the orcs chest, whipes the black orcish blood from the blade by plunging the dagger hilt deep into the ground.
Watching the orcs corpse, black blood oozing out from the burst heart of his attacker, he sighs and looks up from the decemated scout patrol.
Drazhar scans the trees trying to find sight of the young man. Intent on letting his luck guide him, Drazhar decides to set of in the direction the boy was running in before he came upon the orcs.
Sighing deeply again, Drazhar walks on through the trees. Frowning to himself, Drazhar asks outloud of the trees surrounding him, "Why do people think i'm an elf?"
The tall platinum haired man disapeers from sight as he enters the shadow of the a great oak and continues his march after the young adult.

 

Sitting up in the tree, Kendil could see what had happened down below; the Elf had dispatched his persuers and he could now understand the mans motives.
He quietly creeped along the branch to get a better look of the elven man... "Half-Elven!, Just like that Lailyn!" he breathed...maybe a bit too loudly......

 

Drazhar looks up into the tree to spot the boy on the end of one of the branches scanning the grove for sign of his pursuer. Slowly walking into a shaft of sunlight creeping through the canopy of trees, Drazhar leaves the shadows and becomes visible again.
"Do you have any idea how not to attract attention to yourself, kid?" Drazhar asks of the young man sitting in the tree. He laughs as the accolyte startles visibly.

 

Lailyn managed to make it to the trees where he was covered enough to put his own bow to good use. That part of the orcish army died swiftly with both Khazars and Lailyns bows twanging away. After removing an arrow from the heel of his shoe he left the safty of the trees and walked over to where Khazar, Feirhanith and the dead giant were. "Good shooting friend." He greeted Khazar.

 

Back at camp, the sun gleamed on Sergeant Hoffman's well-polished breastplate as he strode up and down inspecting his troops. Twirling his moustaches he turned imperiously towards the rabble before him and bellowed, "Stand to attention you miserable shower! You there! Private Hauer! Hold your spear like a soldier - it's not a plough, boy!"

He paused. They truly were a miserable bunch. About fifty in number, shifting nervously in ill-fitting leather armour, clutching poorly made spears in hands more used to scythes or hoes. Not one of them was a soldier - they were mainly poor beggars, blinded by promises of gold, or peasant farmers who put their names to the papers in the tavern - too drunk to realise what they were signing up for. A few weeks training was all they'd had time for, and Hoffman doubted any would live more than a day on the battlefield. Still, with the "volunteers'" blood the noble lords might have their victory - and Hoffman would have his pay.

"You've been trained, men!" He barked, " Whipped into a formidable fighting unit - and soon you shall be tested in combat! When you face these orcs, you shall need all the courage and discipline you can muster! Now, begin square drill - pre-sent arms!"
(OOC: feel free to bump of any of my characters - this is war after all )

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited June 08, 2002).]

 

Kendil was rather embarrased as the Half-Elf adressed him... "I...I did not mean to m'lord, i simply request aid. In the confusion of the persuers, i thought you the enemy...my sincere apologies."

Kendil's mind suddenly jolted, a telepathic message was clearly trying to reach him...but came out vague and weak. He knew Lorand was dying...and he knew the Mage didn't want him to help...

 

ooc: your wish shall be granted ironbeard

IC: With no warning at all an orcish arrow came from the trees and through a peasant soldiers heart. More arrows fly from the trees and a few more people fall. Five orcs walk out of the trees and look rather pleased with themselves as they redy their weapons and prepare to attack the camp of untrained peasants

 

The camp immediately fell into disarray. Some soldiers dropped to their knees and tried to administer first aid to their comrades, some pulled holy talismans from under their armour and mumbled halting prayers, a few gathered together pointing trembling spearpoints towards the treeline. One who had more presence of mind than the others called out, hoping to alert the other units encamped nearby. Others simply stared dumbfounded "Cowards!" roared Hoffman, drawing his grandfather's cavalry sabre, "We outnumber these wretches, even the rats who sulk in the trees! March now and flush them out!" Pale and quaking, the peasant soldiers assumed formation and haltingly advanced.

Not all of the soldiers now advancing on the orcs had signed up willingly. Hauer was one of those. The sergeant had approached him when he was making his way back from the tavern, and spun tales of gold and heroism. Hauer had not been as drunk that night as the sergeant had hoped, he was needed on the farm and said as much. The sergeant had very amiably made to leave, and then a leering thug had appeared out of nowhere and cracked Hauer on the head with a sap. The next thing he remembered was waking up in the training camp, miles from home.

The orcish siege camp was similarly in turmoil. Ghazgul, slightly built and cowardly for an orc, took one look at the devastation and darted back into his tent. For a long time he had wondered whom he feared more, Commander Zul or the pink-skinned forces arrayed against the orcs. Now he knew. He scrambled about gathering charts and reckoning tables, then burst from the tent flap. A few steps later, he turned around, snatched a leatherbound tome from its hiding place under a pile of clothes, and tucked it under his arm. The lettering on the spine read "Ye Principles of Geometrie", and it had been penned by some long-dead human sage. Ghazgul had kept the book safe from all the orcs who enjoyed tormenting a scholar (or such as passed for one in orc society) and was not prepared to lose it now. With his treasure safely tucked under his arm, Ghazgul fled his tent and bolted for the treeline.

(OOC: I plan to introduce a number of minor characters - perhaps one every post or so, and run them sort of simultaneously.
Further description of Sgt. Hoffman:
Tall man, about 6'3. Well built, has close cropped blond hair and a large moustache. Level 5 fighter.)
(OOC: rearranged slightly to make more sense)

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited June 09, 2002).]

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited June 10, 2002).]

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited June 10, 2002).]

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited June 11, 2002).]

 

Drazhar ears pricked and he looked in the direction of the psionic call.
Looking back at the boys surprised face he asks, "What?" of the boy.
"You heard that?" Was his reply.
Of course he had, he had been trained to detect simple psionic messages like that, that and among many other abilities were requisit of the "Job".
Smiling Drazhar asks of the boy, "Come down from there, sounds like some one is in trouble, yes?"

 

Ooc: Some info on Kendil here. He's a human 1st level Adept/ 4th level mage. 18/19 years old. About 5'8" with a long pony-taled brown hair. He was taught in the art of magic by his mentor the Archmage Lorand. Lorand is in his late 60's, and a level 12 Mage. With short gray hair and a dark face.

Ic: Kendil jumped down from the branch in front of the Half-Elf, and slowly rasied his face to level Drahzars; "You heard the call?" he now asked in common, as it was easier than elvish. "the Master does not want help!" he barked, he'd been taught total obedience in his early years, "We will not help him, we cannot, it is against his wishes!"
Kendil turned away, a tear slowly running down his cheek. "We must now work for the greater good of the battle, my master can handle himself"

He started walking off but caught Drahzars piercing stare, and said "we should some of the other mage's, they could help".

 

ooc: Oi Khazar!!! Would you mind replying to Lailyn in the near future. He's getting a bit bored waiting for your answer