HomeTolderas' last moon
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by Wolkenser Thu Aug 11, 2016 2:39 pm
It was hard to say if Andrew had adopted the same disdain for him as the lumberjack, but he did take note of the blonde’s tone of voice towards him. His expression, however, remained unmoved.
The knight held his head above intertwined fingers, a hint of concerned drawn on his features. His eyes spoke of another emotion, but it was hard to tell what it was. Heindrik had made of the selective visibility of feelings an art form, the rest was an expertly built wall.
“They had left to resupply.” He answered Andrew, a hand running up and down his face briefly.
His gaze settled in Andrew only for a few moments, listening and observing him – how he said the things he did. After a couple of seconds, the knight nodded as if he understood with an apologetic hum.
“My men are supposed to cause a mess.” He said. “That is, once we get to Downwarren. A handful of mercenaries are easier to hire than individual men. I had hoped they’d understand.”
Heindrik’s voice was soft and quiet as he spoke, eyes diverted towards the dancing men and women with certain hidden contempt.
As the dancer’s song came to a close, the townsfolk clapped to the musicians, thanking them. In turn they had bowed to the crowd and retired towards the table to finally take their turn on the feast, and by the looks on their faces, they were famished.
Heindrik hadn’t touched any food or drink himself, though it could be assumed that it was due to his concern. But was that true? It was unclear, like much of what he was.
It made Halbjörn’s blood boil.
He stood beside the beer keg, back against the wall and flagon continuously being raised to his lips. Hard eyes observed the knight, judging, questioning, and watching him. The corner of his lip was curled slightly, though Halbjörn was not fully conscious how upset he looked. Not that he cared, however.
What he hated the most was the shining plate armour of knights. It was just like he had imagined it – impeccable, undented and continuously glinting with the shining flames or the rays of the sun. Was it jealousy or disdain?
The lumberjack had wanted a suit of armour just like that one, long ago – before he had accepted his meagre, impoverished way of life.
But there was something Halbjörn wanted more than that; a way to prove to himself that it was not your armour that made you a better fighter, simply your sword arm.
The redhead took a sharp intake of breath and gave a low, muffled, bitter laugh. He’d yet to have a chance.
The knight held his head above intertwined fingers, a hint of concerned drawn on his features. His eyes spoke of another emotion, but it was hard to tell what it was. Heindrik had made of the selective visibility of feelings an art form, the rest was an expertly built wall.
“They had left to resupply.” He answered Andrew, a hand running up and down his face briefly.
His gaze settled in Andrew only for a few moments, listening and observing him – how he said the things he did. After a couple of seconds, the knight nodded as if he understood with an apologetic hum.
“My men are supposed to cause a mess.” He said. “That is, once we get to Downwarren. A handful of mercenaries are easier to hire than individual men. I had hoped they’d understand.”
Heindrik’s voice was soft and quiet as he spoke, eyes diverted towards the dancing men and women with certain hidden contempt.
As the dancer’s song came to a close, the townsfolk clapped to the musicians, thanking them. In turn they had bowed to the crowd and retired towards the table to finally take their turn on the feast, and by the looks on their faces, they were famished.
Heindrik hadn’t touched any food or drink himself, though it could be assumed that it was due to his concern. But was that true? It was unclear, like much of what he was.
It made Halbjörn’s blood boil.
He stood beside the beer keg, back against the wall and flagon continuously being raised to his lips. Hard eyes observed the knight, judging, questioning, and watching him. The corner of his lip was curled slightly, though Halbjörn was not fully conscious how upset he looked. Not that he cared, however.
What he hated the most was the shining plate armour of knights. It was just like he had imagined it – impeccable, undented and continuously glinting with the shining flames or the rays of the sun. Was it jealousy or disdain?
The lumberjack had wanted a suit of armour just like that one, long ago – before he had accepted his meagre, impoverished way of life.
But there was something Halbjörn wanted more than that; a way to prove to himself that it was not your armour that made you a better fighter, simply your sword arm.
The redhead took a sharp intake of breath and gave a low, muffled, bitter laugh. He’d yet to have a chance.
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by YeweLion Fri Aug 12, 2016 12:44 pm
Andrew didn’t know whether or not to believe Heindrik, or if even wanted to if he was being honest. Though, it was perfectly plausible that the blonde was taking his frustrations out onto the man. It couldn’t be said for sure. Either way, Andrew found himself sighing.
“Well, nevertheless.” Andrew’s shoulders gave a slight roll as he shrugged them, waving a hand to indicate that he didn’t really know what to say to the man. He pursed his lips after a moment of scanning Heindrik’s concerned features. “There was really no trace of them? Not even tracks?”
Even for going into the forest at night, it was strange that there weren’t any signs pointing to where the men had gone. They were dressed heavily in armor and not many of them were small by any means. They should have at least left foot prints in the damp undergrowth.
Andrew toyed with a picked-clean bone, rolling it between his thumbs and forefingers. How strange. It was as if they had been spirited away somehow. The bone snapped in his grasp as he tossed his head to the side in thought.
“What were they hoping to find in the forest? Last I checked, your party was well stocked on food.” He peered up at the man, one brow arched questioningly.
“Well, nevertheless.” Andrew’s shoulders gave a slight roll as he shrugged them, waving a hand to indicate that he didn’t really know what to say to the man. He pursed his lips after a moment of scanning Heindrik’s concerned features. “There was really no trace of them? Not even tracks?”
Even for going into the forest at night, it was strange that there weren’t any signs pointing to where the men had gone. They were dressed heavily in armor and not many of them were small by any means. They should have at least left foot prints in the damp undergrowth.
Andrew toyed with a picked-clean bone, rolling it between his thumbs and forefingers. How strange. It was as if they had been spirited away somehow. The bone snapped in his grasp as he tossed his head to the side in thought.
“What were they hoping to find in the forest? Last I checked, your party was well stocked on food.” He peered up at the man, one brow arched questioningly.
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by Wolkenser Fri Aug 12, 2016 2:19 pm
“To an extent, yes.” Heindrik answered, not looking all that phased by the young man’s questions. “But we used a lot of our food supplies between last night and today. My men were not planning on eating from the villager’s feast.”
Idly, the knight began toying with a knife that had been resting beside his elbows, grazing its edge with a leather-covered thumb.
“Regardless, perhaps the lumberjack is right. Searching for them at this time of the night is a suicidal, at best.” He continued with a clearing of his throat.
Heindrik looked like he didn’t know what to do, if a bit resigned; stooped over the table and wrinkles deepened in the man’s expression.
Around them, the square was slowly emptying, as the townsfolk moved down the path towards the fields while some were drunkenly singing or laughing as they walked, mugs in hand.
The weapons that lay by the statues feet were slowly being picked up by their respective owners, including Halbjörn himself, who had left the flagon he was carrying on the far side of the table. The red-haired man had glanced at both Andrew and the knight, the latter with a hint of scorn.
“Seems their combats would be starting soon?” Heindrik half asked half said. He actually didn’t know, he simply assumed due to the small groups of poorly armoured townsfolk walking towards the empty farmlands, where the arena was held.
Idly, the knight began toying with a knife that had been resting beside his elbows, grazing its edge with a leather-covered thumb.
“Regardless, perhaps the lumberjack is right. Searching for them at this time of the night is a suicidal, at best.” He continued with a clearing of his throat.
Heindrik looked like he didn’t know what to do, if a bit resigned; stooped over the table and wrinkles deepened in the man’s expression.
Around them, the square was slowly emptying, as the townsfolk moved down the path towards the fields while some were drunkenly singing or laughing as they walked, mugs in hand.
The weapons that lay by the statues feet were slowly being picked up by their respective owners, including Halbjörn himself, who had left the flagon he was carrying on the far side of the table. The red-haired man had glanced at both Andrew and the knight, the latter with a hint of scorn.
“Seems their combats would be starting soon?” Heindrik half asked half said. He actually didn’t know, he simply assumed due to the small groups of poorly armoured townsfolk walking towards the empty farmlands, where the arena was held.
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by YeweLion Fri Aug 12, 2016 2:35 pm
Having been raised around forests, Andrew didn’t quite understand the fear yet knew all the same what lurked in the dark trees. He had to remind himself that not everyone was comforted by the nightlife, nor were they received well.
A hum started in his throat as the blonde hunched his shoulders, expression neutral at the expense of Heindrik. It was a shame that he had lost men, but it was honestly their own faults. It was stupid to go out at night for supplies. Ah, but then again, mercenaries weren’t paid their weight in gold for their sharp minds. Andrew chuckled quietly at his own little joke but quickly turned it into a cough, pretending to clear his throat.
“Well, no use worrying yourself over it.” He reached out to clap the knight on the back as if to comfort him, though probably coming off as insensitive. “They knew the risks, I am sure.”
As swords for hire, they were well aware of the dangers that lie ahead. Though, Andrew again suppressed a chuckle, dying by night-creatures and not by battle was pretty unfortunate and amusing. He tried to keep the amusement off his face as he watched the villagers stumble over to the statue where they had left their weapons. One by one the weapons were picked up and equipped before their owners began to wander off in the same direction.
“Seems so.” Andrew hummed, intrigued. “Though we will not be joining in their fights.”
Oh, he had forgotten to mention that bit of information sooner, hadn’t he? He lifted a soft hand to push back his hair as he stood from the bench he sat on. Oh well.
Giving his rump a pat down, he motioned to the statue. “I am going to watch, nonetheless.”
Andrew patted Heindrik on the shoulder nonchalantly as he passed and made his way over to the waning crowd. His swords lay neatly where he had left them – they stood out like a sore thumb. It didn’t matter much to him though and he paid no mind as he hoisted them up and around his waist before following after the spirited locals.
A hum started in his throat as the blonde hunched his shoulders, expression neutral at the expense of Heindrik. It was a shame that he had lost men, but it was honestly their own faults. It was stupid to go out at night for supplies. Ah, but then again, mercenaries weren’t paid their weight in gold for their sharp minds. Andrew chuckled quietly at his own little joke but quickly turned it into a cough, pretending to clear his throat.
“Well, no use worrying yourself over it.” He reached out to clap the knight on the back as if to comfort him, though probably coming off as insensitive. “They knew the risks, I am sure.”
As swords for hire, they were well aware of the dangers that lie ahead. Though, Andrew again suppressed a chuckle, dying by night-creatures and not by battle was pretty unfortunate and amusing. He tried to keep the amusement off his face as he watched the villagers stumble over to the statue where they had left their weapons. One by one the weapons were picked up and equipped before their owners began to wander off in the same direction.
“Seems so.” Andrew hummed, intrigued. “Though we will not be joining in their fights.”
Oh, he had forgotten to mention that bit of information sooner, hadn’t he? He lifted a soft hand to push back his hair as he stood from the bench he sat on. Oh well.
Giving his rump a pat down, he motioned to the statue. “I am going to watch, nonetheless.”
Andrew patted Heindrik on the shoulder nonchalantly as he passed and made his way over to the waning crowd. His swords lay neatly where he had left them – they stood out like a sore thumb. It didn’t matter much to him though and he paid no mind as he hoisted them up and around his waist before following after the spirited locals.
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by Wolkenser Fri Aug 12, 2016 4:12 pm
Heindrik had kept quiet as Andrew spoke, eyes moving between him and the rest of the townsfolk every so often. He was not surprised when the young man mentioned they would not be participating on the event, though he did not think it was much of a pity. Nevertheless, he stood and followed the traveler with regained composure. He stared slightly at the remaining weapons, noticing that if he was being completely straightforward, the he had only identified his sword easily due to the scabbard. It was not that grandiose of a weapon.
Helmet under his arm, Heindrik trailed next to Andrew as he observed the scene before him; the unlit pyre, the people and their attitude on this whole combat ordeal. They were so used to it – it was disturbing… sacrifices in the name of a god, whoever it is, is belittling.
His head turned when he heard something… above him? It had been a strange and faint snap of sorts, like a large strap of leather that was whipped against the wind with force. However when Heindrik looked up, he saw nothing but the starry and nearly black sky, stretching over the forest canopy. Though there was a vague feeling of fear in his gut, he dismissed it with a twist of his lips as he scratched his brow.
Gathering on the edges of the circled arena, the combatants seemed ready to spar; expressions of determination and excitement were clear on each of their faces. Fighters tall and short, robust and slim and both men and women looked ready for whoever foe they were presented with carrying a poise so self-secure that anyone would’ve guessed some had already won.
A solemn looking man entered the arena and stood under the banners, gathering the sleeves of humbly ornate robes that fell to his ankles. Though his hair was streaked with white, his face seemed younger than what grey locks and slim body showed. He raised an arm towards the fighters in front of him, a wide grin showing on a gentle face.
“Brothers and sisters!” The man began with voice that failed to mask the emotion. “May the fights held here be pleasing to our Lord Rhyfelwr, and if you die – may you die with your sword in hand and with valor in your heart. Pride and Battle!” The man yelled.
“Pride and Battle!” Roared the fighters in return, iron scratching the dirt beneath them, and fists raising into the air accompanied by the excited cheers of the crowd.
Though the knight clapped, he dare not cheer or yell. These were not his customs, they caused him no emotion other than a feeling of divergence and perhaps a little bit homesick. Even he had to admit, though, that the fights did prick his interest, even if just slightly.
Helmet under his arm, Heindrik trailed next to Andrew as he observed the scene before him; the unlit pyre, the people and their attitude on this whole combat ordeal. They were so used to it – it was disturbing… sacrifices in the name of a god, whoever it is, is belittling.
His head turned when he heard something… above him? It had been a strange and faint snap of sorts, like a large strap of leather that was whipped against the wind with force. However when Heindrik looked up, he saw nothing but the starry and nearly black sky, stretching over the forest canopy. Though there was a vague feeling of fear in his gut, he dismissed it with a twist of his lips as he scratched his brow.
Gathering on the edges of the circled arena, the combatants seemed ready to spar; expressions of determination and excitement were clear on each of their faces. Fighters tall and short, robust and slim and both men and women looked ready for whoever foe they were presented with carrying a poise so self-secure that anyone would’ve guessed some had already won.
A solemn looking man entered the arena and stood under the banners, gathering the sleeves of humbly ornate robes that fell to his ankles. Though his hair was streaked with white, his face seemed younger than what grey locks and slim body showed. He raised an arm towards the fighters in front of him, a wide grin showing on a gentle face.
“Brothers and sisters!” The man began with voice that failed to mask the emotion. “May the fights held here be pleasing to our Lord Rhyfelwr, and if you die – may you die with your sword in hand and with valor in your heart. Pride and Battle!” The man yelled.
“Pride and Battle!” Roared the fighters in return, iron scratching the dirt beneath them, and fists raising into the air accompanied by the excited cheers of the crowd.
Though the knight clapped, he dare not cheer or yell. These were not his customs, they caused him no emotion other than a feeling of divergence and perhaps a little bit homesick. Even he had to admit, though, that the fights did prick his interest, even if just slightly.
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by YeweLion Mon Aug 15, 2016 1:43 pm
Andrew’s voice intertwined with those around him as he joined in on the roars of excitement. There was a feeling of exhilaration that he could not explain. Something about being near such a primal crowd brought out the warrior in his heart, so much so that he felt a swell of pride for a God he did not know until it filled his gut, making his blood rush.
A grin lit his face, excitement obvious. It was disappointing that he would not be able to participate, but Andrew wouldn’t let it rain on his enjoyment of the festivities. He could be disappointed and cheer for Halbjörn too. His blue eyes searched the crowd of fighters briefly before they landed on the redhead, proud and tall in his simple armor, his axe ready at his side.
Seeing as Halbjörn was the only villager that Andrew had gotten to know, he wanted the man to win...even if he knew what that spelled for him. It would be a brutal end, no doubt, but these people relished in it. They wanted nothing more than to meet their maker and walk his halls.
Pride and Battle. These were words that Andrew could get behind. He wondered why events like these couldn’t be more common…maybe then the wars between races wouldn’t have to go on for so long, nor would they claim as many lives.
He sighed, his smile replaced with a rueful one as he whispered under his breath. “May strength find you, Halbjörn.”
A grin lit his face, excitement obvious. It was disappointing that he would not be able to participate, but Andrew wouldn’t let it rain on his enjoyment of the festivities. He could be disappointed and cheer for Halbjörn too. His blue eyes searched the crowd of fighters briefly before they landed on the redhead, proud and tall in his simple armor, his axe ready at his side.
Seeing as Halbjörn was the only villager that Andrew had gotten to know, he wanted the man to win...even if he knew what that spelled for him. It would be a brutal end, no doubt, but these people relished in it. They wanted nothing more than to meet their maker and walk his halls.
Pride and Battle. These were words that Andrew could get behind. He wondered why events like these couldn’t be more common…maybe then the wars between races wouldn’t have to go on for so long, nor would they claim as many lives.
He sighed, his smile replaced with a rueful one as he whispered under his breath. “May strength find you, Halbjörn.”
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by Wolkenser Mon Aug 15, 2016 4:55 pm
And so the Trail of Warriors had begun. The fighters moved to the outer edges of the arena, hands gripping their weapons tight as two warriors amongst them stepped forward to be the first to pass, holding their fists to their chest in a cordial salute.
The combatants met in the center of the ring with a statue-like solemnity and interchanged a bow before they took a few steps back to prepare their guard, friendly smiles becoming faces of focus and lust for battle.
Weapons clashed and the iron sang as it met in rapid cadence, swing after swing – aimed for the legs, the side, the shoulders. Where sharp iron met skin and muscle, blood flew at the soil under them; when none was willing to give in, the dim sparks that flew from their blades lit faces of fierce and undeterred determination.
They were earnest and relentless warriors – the strokes of their swords had an unexpected expertise to their techniques, and the way their challenger met the blow showed no fear.
The battles were a chorus of steel and yells from the majorly drunken crowd, though even in their stupor they seemed to pay special unwavering attention to the combats they witnessed. Each round ended when one of the fighters raised a hand and yelled, “I yield!”
Though they only yielded when they seemed about to expire – armor dipped in the scarlet of their blood mixed with sweat, and with their hands trembling violently, though unsure if it was due to the pain coursing through their body or the crackling fire of rage at the loss. And even as they were bandaged and cleaned with wet cloth by a pair of healer volunteers, they stared back at the other fighters, eyes hazy as they struggled to calm down their pants and heavy breathing.
Even so, the kinship amongst these people was palpable. The champion from each round would usually walk over toward the fallen and take them over their shoulder, assisting them the most they could so they could be tended by the healers and oft sat by their side as they, too, rest and watched. After all, they’d only have that moment to observe how their future opponent fought before they’d eventually have to face them themselves.
It was truly a spectacle to behold, a show of their primitiveness.
“Parading heretics…” Skjall hissed, an arm raised to motion towards the gathered townsfolk on the arena far from them.
He and the rest of his men were spread amidst the trees behind Tolderas, swords unsheathed and glimmering dangerously with the far-away dancing flames of the torches. There was a sound of soft whimpering behind him – a villager being held by each of his arms in the painful and spiteful grips of two mail-clad men as he was forced to kneel on the ground. His mouth and nose were covered in red, and his brow dripped blood onto his clothes and dirt-caked knees.
“Look at them – they spill their lifeblood in the name of some ‘God’, offering themselves like lambs for slaughter.” The knight spat on the ground.
“But…” Skjall turned towards the peasant, crouching in front of him with a grin that cascaded mockery. “I’m glad we could see eye-to-eye, you and me.”
The villager flinched, like he was being flailed by a thorny whip. He was given rough pats on his bloody cheek by the knight, whose laugh pierced his ears with hatred.
“You needn’t worry. Your wife won’t be touched, as agreed – you’ve already given me what I wanted. Release him.” The bearded man said with disdain, and immediately his men let the villagers arms go. But the peasant man only flopped onto the muck beneath him as if he was a straw doll, failing to find the will or strength to move. He was a betrayer to his village and his people.
Orders came rapidly, and Skjall’s men stalked through the darkness towards the huts of the village.
Some of the men had clay pots in their hands with a protruding white cloth, which were placed on the windows of the dark, empty buildings.
This was all done with deadly swiftness, as if it had been previously coordinated and gone over several times before the actual execution of the plan – and the mysterious pots were never too far, or far too close. Skjall watched in silence, frowning and with arms crossed as his dark eyes followed his men as they scurried silently and then retreated to his side. They seemed eager, impatient.
“We await Heindrik. It shan’t be too long.” He said.
Heindrik, however, did not seem to be disposed to stand. He was watching the fights with surprising interest, though he hadn’t found himself rooting for neither side.
A swift glance to the side of the ring showed the red-haired lumberjack preparing himself, as he was seemingly up to fight next. Interesting.
The combatants met in the center of the ring with a statue-like solemnity and interchanged a bow before they took a few steps back to prepare their guard, friendly smiles becoming faces of focus and lust for battle.
Weapons clashed and the iron sang as it met in rapid cadence, swing after swing – aimed for the legs, the side, the shoulders. Where sharp iron met skin and muscle, blood flew at the soil under them; when none was willing to give in, the dim sparks that flew from their blades lit faces of fierce and undeterred determination.
They were earnest and relentless warriors – the strokes of their swords had an unexpected expertise to their techniques, and the way their challenger met the blow showed no fear.
The battles were a chorus of steel and yells from the majorly drunken crowd, though even in their stupor they seemed to pay special unwavering attention to the combats they witnessed. Each round ended when one of the fighters raised a hand and yelled, “I yield!”
Though they only yielded when they seemed about to expire – armor dipped in the scarlet of their blood mixed with sweat, and with their hands trembling violently, though unsure if it was due to the pain coursing through their body or the crackling fire of rage at the loss. And even as they were bandaged and cleaned with wet cloth by a pair of healer volunteers, they stared back at the other fighters, eyes hazy as they struggled to calm down their pants and heavy breathing.
Even so, the kinship amongst these people was palpable. The champion from each round would usually walk over toward the fallen and take them over their shoulder, assisting them the most they could so they could be tended by the healers and oft sat by their side as they, too, rest and watched. After all, they’d only have that moment to observe how their future opponent fought before they’d eventually have to face them themselves.
It was truly a spectacle to behold, a show of their primitiveness.
“Parading heretics…” Skjall hissed, an arm raised to motion towards the gathered townsfolk on the arena far from them.
He and the rest of his men were spread amidst the trees behind Tolderas, swords unsheathed and glimmering dangerously with the far-away dancing flames of the torches. There was a sound of soft whimpering behind him – a villager being held by each of his arms in the painful and spiteful grips of two mail-clad men as he was forced to kneel on the ground. His mouth and nose were covered in red, and his brow dripped blood onto his clothes and dirt-caked knees.
“Look at them – they spill their lifeblood in the name of some ‘God’, offering themselves like lambs for slaughter.” The knight spat on the ground.
“But…” Skjall turned towards the peasant, crouching in front of him with a grin that cascaded mockery. “I’m glad we could see eye-to-eye, you and me.”
The villager flinched, like he was being flailed by a thorny whip. He was given rough pats on his bloody cheek by the knight, whose laugh pierced his ears with hatred.
“You needn’t worry. Your wife won’t be touched, as agreed – you’ve already given me what I wanted. Release him.” The bearded man said with disdain, and immediately his men let the villagers arms go. But the peasant man only flopped onto the muck beneath him as if he was a straw doll, failing to find the will or strength to move. He was a betrayer to his village and his people.
Orders came rapidly, and Skjall’s men stalked through the darkness towards the huts of the village.
Some of the men had clay pots in their hands with a protruding white cloth, which were placed on the windows of the dark, empty buildings.
This was all done with deadly swiftness, as if it had been previously coordinated and gone over several times before the actual execution of the plan – and the mysterious pots were never too far, or far too close. Skjall watched in silence, frowning and with arms crossed as his dark eyes followed his men as they scurried silently and then retreated to his side. They seemed eager, impatient.
“We await Heindrik. It shan’t be too long.” He said.
Heindrik, however, did not seem to be disposed to stand. He was watching the fights with surprising interest, though he hadn’t found himself rooting for neither side.
A swift glance to the side of the ring showed the red-haired lumberjack preparing himself, as he was seemingly up to fight next. Interesting.
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by YeweLion Mon Aug 15, 2016 5:25 pm
Long ago when Andrew was but a wee boy, he remembered asking his father why men fought. The answer had been…lackluster, but still, he still had it memorized. Men fought to claim. He hadn’t quite understood at the time though, considering he was still ignorant to the world, but now as he watched the warriors before him trade steel, Andrew could finally understand. Humans were amazing at making him feel lesser while he at the same time viewed them as ants.
Fame, glory, honor. They were things men fought for, but they weren’t things he wanted to claim. Andrew watched on, a calm silence in the tempest of cheers that surrounded him. Purpose. Purpose was something he sought, and as the fight continued, he could see it in the sparks of grated steel. The humans might have been primitive, but they were basic in their thought process too. It was both refreshing and loathsome, as it made him feel even worse about himself.
Andrew had never felt the kinship he saw between the villagers either. It was…interesting, as he had never felt such closeness to his own people. It was a foreign concept, one that he wasn’t sure applied only to him or his kind as a whole. He felt the opposite of homesick. Cobalt eyes drank in the twisted sight of blood and friendship. It was both beautiful and ugly, two words that never really went together until now.
A pang of disappointment struck at his chest and he sighed almost wistfully. Even if he had been allowed to fight, there wasn’t a chance in all of the seven Hells that he would have truly been a part of their…whatever it was they had.
Still, the blonde silently cheered the villagers on and shared a small bit of sadness when they were forced to give in to their mortal bodies. It was admirable to push your flesh to the limit until your body begged for mercy.
Fame, glory, honor. They were things men fought for, but they weren’t things he wanted to claim. Andrew watched on, a calm silence in the tempest of cheers that surrounded him. Purpose. Purpose was something he sought, and as the fight continued, he could see it in the sparks of grated steel. The humans might have been primitive, but they were basic in their thought process too. It was both refreshing and loathsome, as it made him feel even worse about himself.
Andrew had never felt the kinship he saw between the villagers either. It was…interesting, as he had never felt such closeness to his own people. It was a foreign concept, one that he wasn’t sure applied only to him or his kind as a whole. He felt the opposite of homesick. Cobalt eyes drank in the twisted sight of blood and friendship. It was both beautiful and ugly, two words that never really went together until now.
A pang of disappointment struck at his chest and he sighed almost wistfully. Even if he had been allowed to fight, there wasn’t a chance in all of the seven Hells that he would have truly been a part of their…whatever it was they had.
Still, the blonde silently cheered the villagers on and shared a small bit of sadness when they were forced to give in to their mortal bodies. It was admirable to push your flesh to the limit until your body begged for mercy.
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by Wolkenser Mon Aug 15, 2016 6:12 pm
At last, it was Halbjörn’s turn and he felt ready. His knuckles were white with the force he was using to clench his weapon, but his face bore no discernible expression. The lumberjack did not move towards the ring, however, he moved towards the herald of the Trails.
The townsman smiled and greeted the lumberjack, and Halbjörn inched towards him quietly and leaned in to whisper. In exchange, he was given a slight stare of incredulousness. With a graceful half-spin, the man turned towards the crowd and raised both his arms to call for attention.
“It seems we have a challenge!” The herald said loudly.
The crowd began to murmur and gossip, though not without hiding their excitement. The townsman’s hand gestured to the crowd and pointed towards the only man clothed with silver plate. Heindrik’s stomach dropped.
“Outsider!” The man continued, “Do you accept Halbjörn Stiggson’s challenge?”
Every face turned towards the knight, who swallowed quietly. Dead silence fell over the arena, despite the ripples of whispers that float amongst the crowd as subtle as a cricket. Heindrik did not speak, he couldn’t.
He had not expected this outcome… he was not counting on it either.
Still, his honor was at stake – and he would not soil it tonight. Thus, the brunette stood from his seat, his heart pounding and stared towards the lumberjack.
Halbjörn looked like he was already tearing the knight apart with his eyes, and he was evidently hungry for a fight. After a few moments of silence, the knight finally spoke.
“I accept the challenge!” He called back, and saw the redhead smirk with a sharp intake of breath.
The crowd cheered in response, a roar in unison that echoed far and deep onto the forests and to Skjall’s men.
His eyes darted towards his fellow knight, watching from the distance as the gleam of his armor walked towards the inside of the arena.
What in hell’s blazes was that whoreson doing?!
Almost as if they knew something was amiss, his men begun to shift and stir with a sudden wave of anxiety. The dark-haired knight cursed aloud and slapped his faceguard down, growling.
“Nevermind… Get into positions!” He snarled quietly to his men, and they quickly followed him in tow as they stalked back towards the urns they had placed.
“You are not obligated to accept, outsider,” the herald began, walking towards Heindrik as the knight unsheathed his sword that resounded with a melodic whistle. The brunette seemed to ignore him, and simply began to slide his helmet over his head. Halbjörn frowned at him, nose wrinkling and chest raising with a deep breath.
“There is no dishonor in forfeit, brothers.” The herald said, almost smelling the tension that exist between the two men before him. “Spilling the blood of someone unwilling does not please Lord Rhyfelwr.”
Only until Halbjörn heard the last phrase did he turn towards the townsman, and as if he was showing his acknowledgement he gave him a nod of his head.
With this, the herald backed away and out of the ring.
The lumberjack stamped his axe on the ground, raising a puff of dirt. In silence he gave a stiff bow towards the knight, which he returned with a hand on his chest.
“May the best fighter win, friend.” Heindrik said as he reincorporated. Halbjörn only snorted and glared at him, beginning to take a few steps backwards.
“Don’t patronize me… friend.” He growled back, but Heindrik continued to smile even as he dropped the faceguard of his helm.
The redhead gripped his large axe with both hands – one on the throat of the handle and the other on its shoulder, lowering his body just a little as to make movement more accessible to himself. On the other edge, the knight raised his body and clutched the grip of his sword with both hands. They were ready.
The townsman smiled and greeted the lumberjack, and Halbjörn inched towards him quietly and leaned in to whisper. In exchange, he was given a slight stare of incredulousness. With a graceful half-spin, the man turned towards the crowd and raised both his arms to call for attention.
“It seems we have a challenge!” The herald said loudly.
The crowd began to murmur and gossip, though not without hiding their excitement. The townsman’s hand gestured to the crowd and pointed towards the only man clothed with silver plate. Heindrik’s stomach dropped.
“Outsider!” The man continued, “Do you accept Halbjörn Stiggson’s challenge?”
Every face turned towards the knight, who swallowed quietly. Dead silence fell over the arena, despite the ripples of whispers that float amongst the crowd as subtle as a cricket. Heindrik did not speak, he couldn’t.
He had not expected this outcome… he was not counting on it either.
Still, his honor was at stake – and he would not soil it tonight. Thus, the brunette stood from his seat, his heart pounding and stared towards the lumberjack.
Halbjörn looked like he was already tearing the knight apart with his eyes, and he was evidently hungry for a fight. After a few moments of silence, the knight finally spoke.
“I accept the challenge!” He called back, and saw the redhead smirk with a sharp intake of breath.
The crowd cheered in response, a roar in unison that echoed far and deep onto the forests and to Skjall’s men.
His eyes darted towards his fellow knight, watching from the distance as the gleam of his armor walked towards the inside of the arena.
What in hell’s blazes was that whoreson doing?!
Almost as if they knew something was amiss, his men begun to shift and stir with a sudden wave of anxiety. The dark-haired knight cursed aloud and slapped his faceguard down, growling.
“Nevermind… Get into positions!” He snarled quietly to his men, and they quickly followed him in tow as they stalked back towards the urns they had placed.
“You are not obligated to accept, outsider,” the herald began, walking towards Heindrik as the knight unsheathed his sword that resounded with a melodic whistle. The brunette seemed to ignore him, and simply began to slide his helmet over his head. Halbjörn frowned at him, nose wrinkling and chest raising with a deep breath.
“There is no dishonor in forfeit, brothers.” The herald said, almost smelling the tension that exist between the two men before him. “Spilling the blood of someone unwilling does not please Lord Rhyfelwr.”
Only until Halbjörn heard the last phrase did he turn towards the townsman, and as if he was showing his acknowledgement he gave him a nod of his head.
With this, the herald backed away and out of the ring.
The lumberjack stamped his axe on the ground, raising a puff of dirt. In silence he gave a stiff bow towards the knight, which he returned with a hand on his chest.
“May the best fighter win, friend.” Heindrik said as he reincorporated. Halbjörn only snorted and glared at him, beginning to take a few steps backwards.
“Don’t patronize me… friend.” He growled back, but Heindrik continued to smile even as he dropped the faceguard of his helm.
The redhead gripped his large axe with both hands – one on the throat of the handle and the other on its shoulder, lowering his body just a little as to make movement more accessible to himself. On the other edge, the knight raised his body and clutched the grip of his sword with both hands. They were ready.
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Join date : 2016-08-03
Re: Tolderas' last moon
by YeweLion Mon Aug 15, 2016 9:33 pm
This…was not something Andrew had seen coming. He watched as Heindrik sauntered into the arena with the swagger of a knight and something filled his abdomen with unease. He couldn’t quite pinpoint whether it was dread or anticipation, but the blonde’s smile didn’t return, making his usually bright face seem barren.
Surely it was unjust? A knight with armor and steel that outmatched his opponents. Perhaps it was insulting to think as much, but Andrew didn’t exactly see a fair fight. He did, however, see the burning dislike in Halbjörn’s eyes for the man he now faced down.
As the herald spoke, Andrew found himself staring a hole into Heindrik’s profile. He hadn’t seen either of the men fight and it made him antsy. It wasn’t hard to see why Halbjörn might dislike the man, though Andrew was sure there was something else that also drove the man to hate the knight. They came from different worlds. Different disciplines.
If Halbjörn were to win this fight, Andrew was sure that it would be due to experience.
The man was older than Heindrik and had the years of battle to back up his axe. Heindrik was young though and that in itself could be an advantage, not to mention he was privy to fighting styles and techniques that knights were taught. It was hard to say who would win…
Andrew watched silently as the men squared up to begin their battle. He found himself holding his breath, as it was different to watch two men that he somewhat knew, fight. Secretly, he hoped that Halbjörn would find a way to make the knight submit. Andrew always did have a taste for the underdog.
Surely it was unjust? A knight with armor and steel that outmatched his opponents. Perhaps it was insulting to think as much, but Andrew didn’t exactly see a fair fight. He did, however, see the burning dislike in Halbjörn’s eyes for the man he now faced down.
As the herald spoke, Andrew found himself staring a hole into Heindrik’s profile. He hadn’t seen either of the men fight and it made him antsy. It wasn’t hard to see why Halbjörn might dislike the man, though Andrew was sure there was something else that also drove the man to hate the knight. They came from different worlds. Different disciplines.
If Halbjörn were to win this fight, Andrew was sure that it would be due to experience.
The man was older than Heindrik and had the years of battle to back up his axe. Heindrik was young though and that in itself could be an advantage, not to mention he was privy to fighting styles and techniques that knights were taught. It was hard to say who would win…
Andrew watched silently as the men squared up to begin their battle. He found himself holding his breath, as it was different to watch two men that he somewhat knew, fight. Secretly, he hoped that Halbjörn would find a way to make the knight submit. Andrew always did have a taste for the underdog.
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Join date : 2016-08-03 -
Re: Tolderas' last moon
by Wolkenser Mon Aug 15, 2016 9:44 pm
The men began to circle each other, like hounds measuring up their opponent with slow, creeping steps and bared teeth. Every step, they drew closer and closer with their swordarms tingling with anticipation.
Suddenly, the knight swung his sword at the lumberjack’s left side with impressive swiftness.
Halbjörn deflected the blow by throwing his axe’s grip to meet the sword’s blade with a force that sent the steel blade recoiling back from the impact. Responding to the knight’s aggressiveness, the redhead gave the mighty axe a side-ways slash that aimed for the other’s torso.
Heindrik quickly jumped backwards to avoid the bite of the axe, and his arms thrust forward to stab at the large man - Halbjörn attempted to move out of the way.
The blade caught him on his side, tearing the leather that covered it with ease and a gash on the armor that revealed the chainmail underneath. He glowered at the knight, sweat beginning to shine on his forehead. In turn, Heindrik only widened his stance a small bit.
“Not bad – for a lumberjack.” The knight called beneath his helm with an echoing hollow-sounding voice.
Halbjörn replied with the baring of his teeth and an abrupt, powerful charge. Heindrik braced himself for impact as fast he could, but the lumberjack’s weight sent him stumbling backwards. Halbjörn followed with a fearsome downward cleave and Heindrik rapidly raised the fuller of his sword with his hand to meet the axe’s blade – iron met steel with a loud metallic wail that sent Heindrik crashing down onto the earth with a thud.
The crowd around them yelled, some cheering and some whooping – these were the lumberjack’s people, and naturally they cheered for their kinsman, flagons in hand or fists in the air. Though it was disheartening, it only made the fire in the knight’s chest lit ablaze all the more fiercely.
As Halbjörn insisted on pressing the knight to the soil, Heindrik raised a leg and kicked the lumberjack on the gut with all the force he could muster. The redhead felt the air in his lungs leave him almost immediately, and before he recovered he felt a stinging cold bite him on the thigh, followed by a flash of immeasurable pain that made him scream out.
Heindrik’s sword had sliced his thigh on its side, and the flesh of his muscle and skin hung from his bone like a teared crimson curtain as he collapsed onto his knee.
Screams and howls came from the crowd around them, as groups of the townsfolk stood from their benches and roared in their strange language. Curses and yells of protest came from them when, without any warning, they were accompanied by an ear-splitting boom that came from nothing other than the village behind them.
A ball of fire exploded from the inside of a hut in a blazing, swirling twister that flared up as if from a dragon’s own throat. Chunks of wood and splinters erupted from the huts beyond the fields, destroying the homes in gigantic blazes of fire so thick that continued to smolder as they fell.
As if they were a chain of bombs, each of the buildings on the village spewed a fiery sphere before it was swallowed up by flames and destroyed in a heartbeat. The shrieks of enjoyment and passion had turned into screeches of terror and dread.
Halbjörn spectated the show with unspeakable horror, his fresh wound causing nothing but a tingle compared with the boiling anger and gripping pain clutching his heart. His head turned towards the knight, but before he even found the man he felt a foot pressing on his back that launched him forwards and this time it was he who was pressed against the floor.
“How does it feel to have your best warriors participating in some parade of skill while your precious village burns?” Halbjörn heard Heindrik hiss in a voice so sweet it had sent a shiver down his numb spine. “Ah, if only you Tolderans were less proud and were simply… smarter.”
Halbjörn felt like he was going to retch a pool of bile. His body was filled with so much adrenaline that he found the strength to lift himself off with his arms and a roar, body trembling as he struggled to do so.
He would cut down this whoreson even if it cost him a seat in Lord Rhyfelwr’s halls!
His sudden burst of liveliness, however, was cut short as Heindrik savagely drove his sword down on the man’s back with so much force that he felt the blade even stab down onto the earth beneath them.
Halbjörn howled loudly, as his fists dug on the soil and pain ravaged all of his senses, his body being stained by a forming pool of blood that escaped him from his pierced organs and flesh.
He snarled ferociously with bared teeth as his head was lifted with a pull from his mane of red hair by Heindrik. The lumberjack’s crazed and blurry eyes raced between his burning hometown and the knight crouched atop him.
“You shan’t go nowhere, friend. You must stay and watch… watch as the Sons of Helios purge this wretched town of its pagan heresy!” The knights’ voice dripped with self-proclaimed righteousness, which downright sounded malicious. A plated hand pointed towards the curtains of thick black smoke that arose from the havoc-torn town. In its midst, his men emerged with their weapons drawn at the ready, commanded by Skjall atop his horse.
The band of travelers, of soldiers, of murderers clamored in unison as they all charged towards the armless villagers.
They had been stripped violently of their trances by a wave of panic that spread amongst them like wildfire even as the fighters from the Trails quickly ran to the frontlines to defend their people with their very lives.
Suddenly, the knight swung his sword at the lumberjack’s left side with impressive swiftness.
Halbjörn deflected the blow by throwing his axe’s grip to meet the sword’s blade with a force that sent the steel blade recoiling back from the impact. Responding to the knight’s aggressiveness, the redhead gave the mighty axe a side-ways slash that aimed for the other’s torso.
Heindrik quickly jumped backwards to avoid the bite of the axe, and his arms thrust forward to stab at the large man - Halbjörn attempted to move out of the way.
The blade caught him on his side, tearing the leather that covered it with ease and a gash on the armor that revealed the chainmail underneath. He glowered at the knight, sweat beginning to shine on his forehead. In turn, Heindrik only widened his stance a small bit.
“Not bad – for a lumberjack.” The knight called beneath his helm with an echoing hollow-sounding voice.
Halbjörn replied with the baring of his teeth and an abrupt, powerful charge. Heindrik braced himself for impact as fast he could, but the lumberjack’s weight sent him stumbling backwards. Halbjörn followed with a fearsome downward cleave and Heindrik rapidly raised the fuller of his sword with his hand to meet the axe’s blade – iron met steel with a loud metallic wail that sent Heindrik crashing down onto the earth with a thud.
The crowd around them yelled, some cheering and some whooping – these were the lumberjack’s people, and naturally they cheered for their kinsman, flagons in hand or fists in the air. Though it was disheartening, it only made the fire in the knight’s chest lit ablaze all the more fiercely.
As Halbjörn insisted on pressing the knight to the soil, Heindrik raised a leg and kicked the lumberjack on the gut with all the force he could muster. The redhead felt the air in his lungs leave him almost immediately, and before he recovered he felt a stinging cold bite him on the thigh, followed by a flash of immeasurable pain that made him scream out.
Heindrik’s sword had sliced his thigh on its side, and the flesh of his muscle and skin hung from his bone like a teared crimson curtain as he collapsed onto his knee.
Screams and howls came from the crowd around them, as groups of the townsfolk stood from their benches and roared in their strange language. Curses and yells of protest came from them when, without any warning, they were accompanied by an ear-splitting boom that came from nothing other than the village behind them.
A ball of fire exploded from the inside of a hut in a blazing, swirling twister that flared up as if from a dragon’s own throat. Chunks of wood and splinters erupted from the huts beyond the fields, destroying the homes in gigantic blazes of fire so thick that continued to smolder as they fell.
As if they were a chain of bombs, each of the buildings on the village spewed a fiery sphere before it was swallowed up by flames and destroyed in a heartbeat. The shrieks of enjoyment and passion had turned into screeches of terror and dread.
Halbjörn spectated the show with unspeakable horror, his fresh wound causing nothing but a tingle compared with the boiling anger and gripping pain clutching his heart. His head turned towards the knight, but before he even found the man he felt a foot pressing on his back that launched him forwards and this time it was he who was pressed against the floor.
“How does it feel to have your best warriors participating in some parade of skill while your precious village burns?” Halbjörn heard Heindrik hiss in a voice so sweet it had sent a shiver down his numb spine. “Ah, if only you Tolderans were less proud and were simply… smarter.”
Halbjörn felt like he was going to retch a pool of bile. His body was filled with so much adrenaline that he found the strength to lift himself off with his arms and a roar, body trembling as he struggled to do so.
He would cut down this whoreson even if it cost him a seat in Lord Rhyfelwr’s halls!
His sudden burst of liveliness, however, was cut short as Heindrik savagely drove his sword down on the man’s back with so much force that he felt the blade even stab down onto the earth beneath them.
Halbjörn howled loudly, as his fists dug on the soil and pain ravaged all of his senses, his body being stained by a forming pool of blood that escaped him from his pierced organs and flesh.
He snarled ferociously with bared teeth as his head was lifted with a pull from his mane of red hair by Heindrik. The lumberjack’s crazed and blurry eyes raced between his burning hometown and the knight crouched atop him.
“You shan’t go nowhere, friend. You must stay and watch… watch as the Sons of Helios purge this wretched town of its pagan heresy!” The knights’ voice dripped with self-proclaimed righteousness, which downright sounded malicious. A plated hand pointed towards the curtains of thick black smoke that arose from the havoc-torn town. In its midst, his men emerged with their weapons drawn at the ready, commanded by Skjall atop his horse.
The band of travelers, of soldiers, of murderers clamored in unison as they all charged towards the armless villagers.
They had been stripped violently of their trances by a wave of panic that spread amongst them like wildfire even as the fighters from the Trails quickly ran to the frontlines to defend their people with their very lives.
Wolkenser- Creator
- Posts : 66
Join date : 2016-08-03
Re: Tolderas' last moon
by YeweLion Mon Aug 15, 2016 10:34 pm
Once upon a time when innocence still existed, Andrew asked his father for a present. He didn’t ask for things often, as his father was a busy man with duties to take care of and didn’t have a lot of time to take care of a small child. So when the time came on his 5th year of life, Andrew took advantage of his father’s presence and requested a pet. A rabbit, he had been excited to say, he wanted a rabbit.
His tiny voice had explained that he had seen some in the kitchens and that he wanted one as a pet. Their soft fur was soothing to the touch and their little wet noses were laughter inducing. He remembered smiling excitedly as his father humored him by asking him to show him which rabbit in particular that he wanted. It was a small little thing, covered in brown and white fur with a pink nose that glistened. Its eyes were big and round, just like Andrew’s were.
His father told him to go play for a while, that he would work it out with the cooks. And so he did. When his father called him again to the yard, Andrew ran, he knew his rabbit was waiting for him. And it was. His father was standing in the yard, holding his new pet. Andrew smiled broadly and approached, but his father held up a hand.
Confused, Andrew listened. He didn’t understand what was going on as the houndmaster appeared from the side with one of his hounds on a chain. Andrew had never been fond of them or the way their drool glistened on their razor sharp fangs…nor what they were used for. His voice called out to his father, confused, but the man only stared at him with cold, dark eyes.
Andrew could never forget what happened next.
To his horror, his father placed the rabbit on the ground and gave a nod to the houndmaster. Faster than Andrew could gasp, the beast lurched forward and grabbed the small prey animal in his jaws. Andrew stood, frozen in place. He hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight. The sounds rang loudly in his ears…the squeals of death, the gurgling, and the silence. In a way, the silence had been worse.
“Happy Name Day, Andromedeux.”
To this day, he didn’t know what his father had been trying to teach him. Or maybe he just didn’t want to know, but as the blonde watched on in stunned silence, he felt like he was being forced to relive the lesson again.
Mouth dry and hanging open, he finally drew in a breath. It was heavy and ragged, but it stung his lungs as smoke entered his nose.
For a moment he didn’t know what to do. It was like he had been teleported to the past and he was a small child again, unable to do anything against his father’s actions. He wasn’t a child though, was he?
With hatred brewing in his gut, swirling hot and burning for blood, Andromedeux unsheathed his swords in one fluid motion. He descended upon Heindrik with a silent fury, skin itching with mana as it surged powerfully from his core as his swords arced and sliced through the air at the man’s neck and trunk.
As fire and screams fueled the chaos around him, the blonde found himself in a silent place.
He would kill the hound this time.
His tiny voice had explained that he had seen some in the kitchens and that he wanted one as a pet. Their soft fur was soothing to the touch and their little wet noses were laughter inducing. He remembered smiling excitedly as his father humored him by asking him to show him which rabbit in particular that he wanted. It was a small little thing, covered in brown and white fur with a pink nose that glistened. Its eyes were big and round, just like Andrew’s were.
His father told him to go play for a while, that he would work it out with the cooks. And so he did. When his father called him again to the yard, Andrew ran, he knew his rabbit was waiting for him. And it was. His father was standing in the yard, holding his new pet. Andrew smiled broadly and approached, but his father held up a hand.
Confused, Andrew listened. He didn’t understand what was going on as the houndmaster appeared from the side with one of his hounds on a chain. Andrew had never been fond of them or the way their drool glistened on their razor sharp fangs…nor what they were used for. His voice called out to his father, confused, but the man only stared at him with cold, dark eyes.
Andrew could never forget what happened next.
To his horror, his father placed the rabbit on the ground and gave a nod to the houndmaster. Faster than Andrew could gasp, the beast lurched forward and grabbed the small prey animal in his jaws. Andrew stood, frozen in place. He hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight. The sounds rang loudly in his ears…the squeals of death, the gurgling, and the silence. In a way, the silence had been worse.
“Happy Name Day, Andromedeux.”
To this day, he didn’t know what his father had been trying to teach him. Or maybe he just didn’t want to know, but as the blonde watched on in stunned silence, he felt like he was being forced to relive the lesson again.
Mouth dry and hanging open, he finally drew in a breath. It was heavy and ragged, but it stung his lungs as smoke entered his nose.
For a moment he didn’t know what to do. It was like he had been teleported to the past and he was a small child again, unable to do anything against his father’s actions. He wasn’t a child though, was he?
With hatred brewing in his gut, swirling hot and burning for blood, Andromedeux unsheathed his swords in one fluid motion. He descended upon Heindrik with a silent fury, skin itching with mana as it surged powerfully from his core as his swords arced and sliced through the air at the man’s neck and trunk.
As fire and screams fueled the chaos around him, the blonde found himself in a silent place.
He would kill the hound this time.
YeweLion- Creator
- Posts : 65
Join date : 2016-08-03 -
Re: Tolderas' last moon
by Wolkenser Tue Aug 16, 2016 12:12 am
Heindrik was relishing the scene unraveling before him with an almost sadistic fascination. As his men clashed with the few unwounded fighters left, ribbons of blood danced on the air before it splattered to the ground with a clash of steel. Screaming townsfolk were attempting to flee the scene, tears welling up in their eyes each time they turned and heard the thundering hooves of Skjall’s horse catching up to them on the fields – and the last they saw was a flash of glimmering steel before some of them fell to the ground, a head short.
Little time did he have to revel, however, as something unexpectedly tackled him. Hard.
The knight had little time to recoil from the attack before he was assaulted by a flurry of slashes. Heindrik attempted to dodge as fast he could, but he felt the singing steel of Andrew’s blades carve a path on his breastplate easier than it should.
The only reason he recognized the young man through the attacks was his rusted locks of blonde hair.
“Ah, the peculiar traveler!” The knight found the time to gloat through his pants, thick armguards rising to try and deflect the relentless blows. “I suspected you’d empathize with the faithless peasants! A pity you could not save your pet Tolderan.”
Heindrik treated his exchange with Andrew like a dance – though weaponless, the brunette knight truly knew how to hold a guard. After all, there’s no greater counter than a great defense.
The scent of iron and blood became stronger on the battlefield around them, as the fight dragged out.
Tolderas’ Trail’s fighters were putting up a surprising and marvelous resistance against Skjall and Heindrik’s men, who seemed matched in skill on combat. Though there were some fighters that had been gravely wounded in the arena’s early rounds, they had found a miraculous return of strength when they saw their village being razed to the ground.
With desperation clear in their faces, they had flailed themselves at their assaulters and had given everything they had, bodies still aching through and through as their wounds once again dripped scarlet lifeblood.
Most had inevitably been felled as a blade caught them unexpectedly, and they collapsed motionless onto the mud.
Things to Halbjörn had begun to obscure into a fog of dancing shadows and flashes of light – whether it was due to his pain or to his dying, he was unsure. The rush of adrenaline that once surged through his veins had all but evaporated and left behind a slowly weakening husk.
He could do nothing but watch as his town, his people, his family was slowly slaughtered before him. Heindrik’s blade had pinned him to the ground like a moth on a glass display, possibly to craze him with impotence as the grim whispers of Lady Death became louder in his ear.
To see his friends slaughtered so, to see his hometown crackling as it was charred in flames – this was not the warrior’s death he sought, but regardless, it seemed that he’d be meeting his Lord tonight after all.
Little time did he have to revel, however, as something unexpectedly tackled him. Hard.
The knight had little time to recoil from the attack before he was assaulted by a flurry of slashes. Heindrik attempted to dodge as fast he could, but he felt the singing steel of Andrew’s blades carve a path on his breastplate easier than it should.
The only reason he recognized the young man through the attacks was his rusted locks of blonde hair.
“Ah, the peculiar traveler!” The knight found the time to gloat through his pants, thick armguards rising to try and deflect the relentless blows. “I suspected you’d empathize with the faithless peasants! A pity you could not save your pet Tolderan.”
Heindrik treated his exchange with Andrew like a dance – though weaponless, the brunette knight truly knew how to hold a guard. After all, there’s no greater counter than a great defense.
The scent of iron and blood became stronger on the battlefield around them, as the fight dragged out.
Tolderas’ Trail’s fighters were putting up a surprising and marvelous resistance against Skjall and Heindrik’s men, who seemed matched in skill on combat. Though there were some fighters that had been gravely wounded in the arena’s early rounds, they had found a miraculous return of strength when they saw their village being razed to the ground.
With desperation clear in their faces, they had flailed themselves at their assaulters and had given everything they had, bodies still aching through and through as their wounds once again dripped scarlet lifeblood.
Most had inevitably been felled as a blade caught them unexpectedly, and they collapsed motionless onto the mud.
Things to Halbjörn had begun to obscure into a fog of dancing shadows and flashes of light – whether it was due to his pain or to his dying, he was unsure. The rush of adrenaline that once surged through his veins had all but evaporated and left behind a slowly weakening husk.
He could do nothing but watch as his town, his people, his family was slowly slaughtered before him. Heindrik’s blade had pinned him to the ground like a moth on a glass display, possibly to craze him with impotence as the grim whispers of Lady Death became louder in his ear.
To see his friends slaughtered so, to see his hometown crackling as it was charred in flames – this was not the warrior’s death he sought, but regardless, it seemed that he’d be meeting his Lord tonight after all.
Wolkenser- Creator
- Posts : 66
Join date : 2016-08-03
Re: Tolderas' last moon
by YeweLion Tue Aug 16, 2016 1:21 am
Sons of Helios… It’s what they had called themselves, wasn’t it? Andromedeux cursed under his breath. He had known that there was something off with the militia the moment he had laid eyes on them, and as his swords cut swiftly at armor he knew that Heindrik had been quite good at playing them all.
“What are you doing?” Andromedeux’s voice was thick with annoyance as his eyes seemed to grow a darker shade of blue until they appeared black.
Men fought to claim, but what could they possibly claim in this rural village? The blonde fought for words, for he didn’t understand their motives. Surely he had heard wrong. He sincerely hoped that the people of Tolderas were not being slain simply because they believed in a different God.
It was this ugly side of humans that he could not stand, the side that he could not relate to. They were so judgmental and hateful for no reason. It was as though they sought reasons to attack one another!
With a growl Andromedeux leaned back on one leg after a particularly angry swing of his left sword and threw all of his weight into a square kick at Heindrik’s breastbone. He thought he felt a crack, but he couldn’t be sure due to the chaos that was the village.
The blonde swordsman backed away quickly, putting some distance between them as he lifted his right blade up and his left arm out. He stared straight at Heindrik with a dark expression that held no feeling of friendliness. Heindrik was nothing but a stain on the earth he walked upon, and briefly he wondered if these Sons of Helios had anything to do with the disappearances of his kind. He held his expression as he slowly pulled the sharp edge of the blade along the flesh of his forearm, lips moving while a foreign language hit the air with finality.
“Rŷnettúlar khomlō mëar...”
Andromedeux stood strong, never faltering even as he drew a significant amount of blood that dripped heavily from his arm, trailing down in rivulets until it finally fell to the ground, marring the dirt arena with its’ dark hue. He was no stranger to the action and held no fear of being cut. With a rueful smirk, he spoke.
“Amorta.”
And suddenly, as if a fuse had been lit, the blood began sizzling and seemed to grow its puddle in size as it spread in front of the blonde man, until shapes turned into figures and figures turned into creatures. Before him stood 3 fae hounds, each with their own hatred for the enemies of their master. They stood thick and monstrous, coming up to Andromedeux’s waist and twice as wide. What they lacked in eyes they made up for with their sense of smell and aggressiveness. They waited grimly for their orders, and when Andromedeux hissed their break word, they darted off in opposite directions after the slayers, leaving their master to point his left sword at Heindrik.
Blood still dripped from his self-inflicted wound, but if it bothered him he didn’t let it show. As his beasts tore after the men, Andromedeux let out a slow breath and allowed his mana to flow freely into his arms and swords. With a tilt of the head he acknowledged the knight with a single order.
“Come.”
“What are you doing?” Andromedeux’s voice was thick with annoyance as his eyes seemed to grow a darker shade of blue until they appeared black.
Men fought to claim, but what could they possibly claim in this rural village? The blonde fought for words, for he didn’t understand their motives. Surely he had heard wrong. He sincerely hoped that the people of Tolderas were not being slain simply because they believed in a different God.
It was this ugly side of humans that he could not stand, the side that he could not relate to. They were so judgmental and hateful for no reason. It was as though they sought reasons to attack one another!
With a growl Andromedeux leaned back on one leg after a particularly angry swing of his left sword and threw all of his weight into a square kick at Heindrik’s breastbone. He thought he felt a crack, but he couldn’t be sure due to the chaos that was the village.
The blonde swordsman backed away quickly, putting some distance between them as he lifted his right blade up and his left arm out. He stared straight at Heindrik with a dark expression that held no feeling of friendliness. Heindrik was nothing but a stain on the earth he walked upon, and briefly he wondered if these Sons of Helios had anything to do with the disappearances of his kind. He held his expression as he slowly pulled the sharp edge of the blade along the flesh of his forearm, lips moving while a foreign language hit the air with finality.
“Rŷnettúlar khomlō mëar...”
Andromedeux stood strong, never faltering even as he drew a significant amount of blood that dripped heavily from his arm, trailing down in rivulets until it finally fell to the ground, marring the dirt arena with its’ dark hue. He was no stranger to the action and held no fear of being cut. With a rueful smirk, he spoke.
“Amorta.”
And suddenly, as if a fuse had been lit, the blood began sizzling and seemed to grow its puddle in size as it spread in front of the blonde man, until shapes turned into figures and figures turned into creatures. Before him stood 3 fae hounds, each with their own hatred for the enemies of their master. They stood thick and monstrous, coming up to Andromedeux’s waist and twice as wide. What they lacked in eyes they made up for with their sense of smell and aggressiveness. They waited grimly for their orders, and when Andromedeux hissed their break word, they darted off in opposite directions after the slayers, leaving their master to point his left sword at Heindrik.
Blood still dripped from his self-inflicted wound, but if it bothered him he didn’t let it show. As his beasts tore after the men, Andromedeux let out a slow breath and allowed his mana to flow freely into his arms and swords. With a tilt of the head he acknowledged the knight with a single order.
“Come.”
Last edited by YeweLion on Thu Aug 18, 2016 8:20 pm; edited 1 time in total
YeweLion- Creator
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Join date : 2016-08-03 -
Re: Tolderas' last moon
by Wolkenser Tue Aug 16, 2016 2:19 am
“As I said, master Andrew…” Heindrik replied, crazed amusement twisting his voice.
“Purging.”
The splashes of sparks as Andrew’s blades fell on his armguards were driving the knight into steady exhaustion. The protection plates that covered his arms looked like they had been mauled by a wretched beast with the way the blonde had unrelentingly sliced and diced at them, but they had done their job well.
Unexpectedly, Heindrik felt a hard blow right above his stomach. The sheer force of it sent him reeling backwards, but it was not until the knight attempted to regain his composure that he felt a stabbing pain under his skin.
Ah, he had definitely cracked a rib.
He was preparing himself for perhaps another attack but it hadn’t come. Looking up, the knight stared in wonder at Andrew’s confusing actions.
All signs of mockery and taunting smiles immediately melted from the knights’ face as he watched what the traveler did, a hand pressing on his ribs.
“And thus the wolf tears away his sheep disguise.” He said quietly, his face wrinkling into an expression of pure and utter disgust. “I knew there was something off about you.”
This time, it was Heindrik who showed tints of anger in his once gentle voice. The emerging blood-creatures made his skin crawl, and although now he felt defenseless and naked, he was preparing himself for an untimely death between the gross monster’s jaws.
Alas, this fate did not come, as the malignant servants of Andrew quickly darted past him and towards his men. Thus, Heindrik turned against towards the young-seeming man and regarded him without blinking. He walked towards the motionless body of the lumberjack without taking his eyes off of Andrew, - a strong tug of his weapon released it from the others flesh, who did issue a noise in response.
Lifting the blood-covered blade across his chest, the knight prepared himself for battle once more, ignoring the gnawing pain on his rib.
On the turmoil of battle, some of the knights’ men that stood close to the fires had unexpectedly begun to lit aflame themselves – as if the blazes that consumed the village had gained fiery tendrils that crept towards the soldiers through the gaps in their armor.
It started like a cold-like feeling that began on their back or their legs and slowly began to eat and bite at their flesh as their grunts of battle transformed into full-fledged screams of agony, their skin merging with their armor and blackened with the heat. The Tolderan townsmen and women that had been battling with them could do nothing but stare in awe as it appeared that the flames themselves were taking revenge on the traitorous, outsider worms - though perhaps out of the hatred in their hearts they used the opportunity to stab the men for good measure.
Scorching wildfire singed the armored men, implacable and indomitable. Once its current hosts’ screaming had died out, the fire seemed to look for its most proximate victim like a leaping serpent that opened its maw to engulf them in mortal flames.
Pretty soon the soldiers had begun to quickly scurry away from the battle, seeking their leaders as desperately as a fly seeks an open window.
They chased the dark-knight atop his horse, calling his name with distinct desperation. In turn, Skjall pulled on his mount’s reins and steered towards them in a gallop.
“What is it?!” He barked at them.
“Lord Skjall, there’s witchcraft! Black magic turns the fires against us!” One of his men yelled. The knight turned sharply towards his minion and growled, but a second soldier rushed towards him before he even opened his mouth – face pale and short of breath, with a noticeable stutter in his step.
“My Lord… monstrous dogs!” The man panted, his hand clenching a bloodied hip. “Great beasts summoned out of thin air! We’re being slaughtered!”
And certainly, they were. Despite downing almost twice their number in townsfolk, his party of soldiers was being quickly disposed of by nothing other than out-worldly enemies… They were losing. Veering his horse around, he kicked the animal with the stirrups to issue it into a gallop.
Skjall needed to find Heindrik, they needed to fall back. What they had come to do was done, he was sure they had branded this village forever.
“Purging.”
The splashes of sparks as Andrew’s blades fell on his armguards were driving the knight into steady exhaustion. The protection plates that covered his arms looked like they had been mauled by a wretched beast with the way the blonde had unrelentingly sliced and diced at them, but they had done their job well.
Unexpectedly, Heindrik felt a hard blow right above his stomach. The sheer force of it sent him reeling backwards, but it was not until the knight attempted to regain his composure that he felt a stabbing pain under his skin.
Ah, he had definitely cracked a rib.
He was preparing himself for perhaps another attack but it hadn’t come. Looking up, the knight stared in wonder at Andrew’s confusing actions.
All signs of mockery and taunting smiles immediately melted from the knights’ face as he watched what the traveler did, a hand pressing on his ribs.
“And thus the wolf tears away his sheep disguise.” He said quietly, his face wrinkling into an expression of pure and utter disgust. “I knew there was something off about you.”
This time, it was Heindrik who showed tints of anger in his once gentle voice. The emerging blood-creatures made his skin crawl, and although now he felt defenseless and naked, he was preparing himself for an untimely death between the gross monster’s jaws.
Alas, this fate did not come, as the malignant servants of Andrew quickly darted past him and towards his men. Thus, Heindrik turned against towards the young-seeming man and regarded him without blinking. He walked towards the motionless body of the lumberjack without taking his eyes off of Andrew, - a strong tug of his weapon released it from the others flesh, who did issue a noise in response.
Lifting the blood-covered blade across his chest, the knight prepared himself for battle once more, ignoring the gnawing pain on his rib.
On the turmoil of battle, some of the knights’ men that stood close to the fires had unexpectedly begun to lit aflame themselves – as if the blazes that consumed the village had gained fiery tendrils that crept towards the soldiers through the gaps in their armor.
It started like a cold-like feeling that began on their back or their legs and slowly began to eat and bite at their flesh as their grunts of battle transformed into full-fledged screams of agony, their skin merging with their armor and blackened with the heat. The Tolderan townsmen and women that had been battling with them could do nothing but stare in awe as it appeared that the flames themselves were taking revenge on the traitorous, outsider worms - though perhaps out of the hatred in their hearts they used the opportunity to stab the men for good measure.
Scorching wildfire singed the armored men, implacable and indomitable. Once its current hosts’ screaming had died out, the fire seemed to look for its most proximate victim like a leaping serpent that opened its maw to engulf them in mortal flames.
Pretty soon the soldiers had begun to quickly scurry away from the battle, seeking their leaders as desperately as a fly seeks an open window.
They chased the dark-knight atop his horse, calling his name with distinct desperation. In turn, Skjall pulled on his mount’s reins and steered towards them in a gallop.
“What is it?!” He barked at them.
“Lord Skjall, there’s witchcraft! Black magic turns the fires against us!” One of his men yelled. The knight turned sharply towards his minion and growled, but a second soldier rushed towards him before he even opened his mouth – face pale and short of breath, with a noticeable stutter in his step.
“My Lord… monstrous dogs!” The man panted, his hand clenching a bloodied hip. “Great beasts summoned out of thin air! We’re being slaughtered!”
And certainly, they were. Despite downing almost twice their number in townsfolk, his party of soldiers was being quickly disposed of by nothing other than out-worldly enemies… They were losing. Veering his horse around, he kicked the animal with the stirrups to issue it into a gallop.
Skjall needed to find Heindrik, they needed to fall back. What they had come to do was done, he was sure they had branded this village forever.
Wolkenser- Creator
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Join date : 2016-08-03
Re: Tolderas' last moon
by YeweLion Tue Aug 16, 2016 2:39 am
Andromedeux couldn’t help the scoff that left his throat. Him, the wolf? Well, he smirked, playing the part wouldn’t be that difficult. If Heindrik’s twisted mind thought him the beast in all of this, he would enjoy feeding his beasts the knights’ entrails.
“Tell me, knight.” He didn’t bother using his name, “Why do you stink of piss?”
This man before him was afflicted with a broken mind. Andromedeux had seen such pitiful creatures before, but he hadn’t seen one so gifted at switching faces as Heindrik was. Had he been birthed this way? Or had something happened along his way that led him to this path? It was hard to say, but the only thing for a rabid dog was putting it down and out of its misery.
Andromedeux’s blades almost glowed with his mana’s essence as he darted low at the crazed knight before him. He sliced upwards with the swords and relished in the sound of enhanced steel on armor, though paying heed to dodge any blows that might come his way. Magic or not, a sword to the place would never be pleasant.
Still though, as he fought, the blonde couldn’t help but reel over Heindrik’s words. Purge? That was a dangerous game to play across the lands, not with how diverse it was. He made a mental note to check up on the so-called ‘Sons of Helios’, as he was sure they had to have had something to do with the disappearances – and now that he was witness to it, murders.
It was hard to split his attention between the knight and villagers, but Andromedeux couldn’t help himself when he heard the agonized screams sounding from all around. They came so sudden that he was caught off guard, open momentarily for attack as he stared wide-eyed at men that had somehow caught fire. This wasn’t ordinary fire though…
Beyond him, his grotesque beasts were lunging and biting at whatever enemy flesh they could get a hold of. It was no secret that beasts such as these were starved on purpose so that their bite was more vicious. A practice most brutal, but effective. They did their job of keeping on the soldier’s heels and mauling their flanks, and if you looked close enough, you could see their tails wag...but then again, if you were that close, you were probably about to be dead.
“Tell me, knight.” He didn’t bother using his name, “Why do you stink of piss?”
This man before him was afflicted with a broken mind. Andromedeux had seen such pitiful creatures before, but he hadn’t seen one so gifted at switching faces as Heindrik was. Had he been birthed this way? Or had something happened along his way that led him to this path? It was hard to say, but the only thing for a rabid dog was putting it down and out of its misery.
Andromedeux’s blades almost glowed with his mana’s essence as he darted low at the crazed knight before him. He sliced upwards with the swords and relished in the sound of enhanced steel on armor, though paying heed to dodge any blows that might come his way. Magic or not, a sword to the place would never be pleasant.
Still though, as he fought, the blonde couldn’t help but reel over Heindrik’s words. Purge? That was a dangerous game to play across the lands, not with how diverse it was. He made a mental note to check up on the so-called ‘Sons of Helios’, as he was sure they had to have had something to do with the disappearances – and now that he was witness to it, murders.
It was hard to split his attention between the knight and villagers, but Andromedeux couldn’t help himself when he heard the agonized screams sounding from all around. They came so sudden that he was caught off guard, open momentarily for attack as he stared wide-eyed at men that had somehow caught fire. This wasn’t ordinary fire though…
Beyond him, his grotesque beasts were lunging and biting at whatever enemy flesh they could get a hold of. It was no secret that beasts such as these were starved on purpose so that their bite was more vicious. A practice most brutal, but effective. They did their job of keeping on the soldier’s heels and mauling their flanks, and if you looked close enough, you could see their tails wag...but then again, if you were that close, you were probably about to be dead.
YeweLion- Creator
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Join date : 2016-08-03 -
Re: Tolderas' last moon
by Wolkenser Tue Aug 16, 2016 3:20 am
Heindrik did not reply to Andrew, but instead he stared at his glowing swords with well-hidden fear and interest. The knight kept his stance as tight as a shell when the other man came at him, an armguard covering his hurt side with special care.
He continuously gave a step back with every blow he attempted to parry, but it was obvious that his armor was no match for magic-enhanced steel. The plate was bending easier and even his sword was being scarred by the sharp edges of Andrew’s swords.
Heindrik would not hold much longer.
Behind him, there was a loud crackle from the burning huts.
The towering flames on the buildings had begun to ripple, as if a gale blew over them - though no wind caressed the skin. The fire flickered and roared as if speaking its own language, awful sounds that resembled that of crumbling ash; it danced and swirled into a vortex that twisted itself towards the ground with astounding speed.
The center of the square was enveloped by a gathering inferno of incandescent and threatening luminosity, burning the wooden statue of Rhyfelwr into flying golden embers that dissolved amongst the gathering fire.
And then, as fast as a heartbeat, the fire spread towards the battlefield like a gigantic hand with long, molten claws that reached as far as Tolderas’ very limits.
The dead and the living alike that were unlucky enough to be in the way of the fiery limb as it came upon them were consumed by living flame, flesh and bone melting in an instant.
Skjall looked above his head, his armor beginning to slowly redden at the mere proximity of one of the claw-like tendrils, and he snapped the reins of his horse with urgency to pressure it to reach its gallop’s limit.
As the claw came down, it missed the knight and his horse only by a few meters; though the fire smoldered the tips of the horse’s tail.
The earth beneath them began to rumble loudly as the conjured, flamed hand met the earth; even the soil itself hissed and went up in dancing white smoke.
“Heindrik!” The dark-haired knight called to his companion, who turned his head almost immediately from the spectacle of fire to both his sides.
The time had come to leave – but the brunette did not think it would be easy to shake Andrew off.
It was almost like Skjall had read his mind. He straightened his back atop his horse and took aim at the blonde man – not with a ranged weapon, but with his very own sword. Grabbing the sword by its grip, the bearded knight launched the weapon towards Andrew with force.
He continuously gave a step back with every blow he attempted to parry, but it was obvious that his armor was no match for magic-enhanced steel. The plate was bending easier and even his sword was being scarred by the sharp edges of Andrew’s swords.
Heindrik would not hold much longer.
Behind him, there was a loud crackle from the burning huts.
The towering flames on the buildings had begun to ripple, as if a gale blew over them - though no wind caressed the skin. The fire flickered and roared as if speaking its own language, awful sounds that resembled that of crumbling ash; it danced and swirled into a vortex that twisted itself towards the ground with astounding speed.
The center of the square was enveloped by a gathering inferno of incandescent and threatening luminosity, burning the wooden statue of Rhyfelwr into flying golden embers that dissolved amongst the gathering fire.
And then, as fast as a heartbeat, the fire spread towards the battlefield like a gigantic hand with long, molten claws that reached as far as Tolderas’ very limits.
The dead and the living alike that were unlucky enough to be in the way of the fiery limb as it came upon them were consumed by living flame, flesh and bone melting in an instant.
Skjall looked above his head, his armor beginning to slowly redden at the mere proximity of one of the claw-like tendrils, and he snapped the reins of his horse with urgency to pressure it to reach its gallop’s limit.
As the claw came down, it missed the knight and his horse only by a few meters; though the fire smoldered the tips of the horse’s tail.
The earth beneath them began to rumble loudly as the conjured, flamed hand met the earth; even the soil itself hissed and went up in dancing white smoke.
“Heindrik!” The dark-haired knight called to his companion, who turned his head almost immediately from the spectacle of fire to both his sides.
The time had come to leave – but the brunette did not think it would be easy to shake Andrew off.
It was almost like Skjall had read his mind. He straightened his back atop his horse and took aim at the blonde man – not with a ranged weapon, but with his very own sword. Grabbing the sword by its grip, the bearded knight launched the weapon towards Andrew with force.
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Join date : 2016-08-03
Re: Tolderas' last moon
by YeweLion Tue Aug 16, 2016 3:44 am
Andromedeux grinned smugly at his advancement in the fight, knowing full well that a mere human would never be able to stop his blades if they fought with plain weapons and armor. It was an unfair advantage, sure…but Heindrik and his men had started it when they staged a coup on Tolderas. He was going to deal with Heindrik like the houndmaster dealt with beasts that bit the hands of their masters. With a swift and painful death.
Behind him he felt a firey tempest swarm and rake its death-inducing claws along the ground, and briefly Andromedeux wondered if it would claim him next. It was hard to say because his eyes were preoccupied with the man in front of him…or at least they were until a stray flame licked at his exposed flesh. He hissed and glanced away for but a moment…but a moment was all that was needed.
Unknown to him, Skjall aimed with precision, and with a sickening sound his sword pierced the unarmed flesh of Andromedeux’s side, for he wore no armor as he never felt the need. Needless to say, he wished he had. He gasped and staggered to the side, taken by surprise. Shocked eyes darted down to where his lifeblood was beginning to stain his shirt, and in moments he felt it.
An unearthly screech ripped from his throat as flesh sizzled and melted, dulling any pains he might have felt before and forcing his grip on his swords to weaken. Memories of his father flashed before his eyes but they disappeared quickly only to be replaced with a mind numbing pain as steel clattered at his feet. It was hard to describe… Somehow it was worse than fire, yet it wasn’t nearly as hot.
“Aggh-!” Andromedeux nearly lurched up the contents of his stomach as he sank to the ground. Once smug, now on his knees as his eyes swam blindly. Somehow he was bright enough to reach up and grab hold of the blade that stuck out from his side, but not strong enough to bite back another scream as he yanked it out, burning his hand in the process.
Fury raced through his veins alongside pain, but his nerve endings were fried. Cobalt eyes shot venom daggers at the human men while his blood ran down his hip – it appeared that it wasn’t clotting as fast as it should.
It occurred to him that he might die here, in a human village razed by flame, and that flicker of fear jumped in his chest.
Behind him he felt a firey tempest swarm and rake its death-inducing claws along the ground, and briefly Andromedeux wondered if it would claim him next. It was hard to say because his eyes were preoccupied with the man in front of him…or at least they were until a stray flame licked at his exposed flesh. He hissed and glanced away for but a moment…but a moment was all that was needed.
Unknown to him, Skjall aimed with precision, and with a sickening sound his sword pierced the unarmed flesh of Andromedeux’s side, for he wore no armor as he never felt the need. Needless to say, he wished he had. He gasped and staggered to the side, taken by surprise. Shocked eyes darted down to where his lifeblood was beginning to stain his shirt, and in moments he felt it.
An unearthly screech ripped from his throat as flesh sizzled and melted, dulling any pains he might have felt before and forcing his grip on his swords to weaken. Memories of his father flashed before his eyes but they disappeared quickly only to be replaced with a mind numbing pain as steel clattered at his feet. It was hard to describe… Somehow it was worse than fire, yet it wasn’t nearly as hot.
“Aggh-!” Andromedeux nearly lurched up the contents of his stomach as he sank to the ground. Once smug, now on his knees as his eyes swam blindly. Somehow he was bright enough to reach up and grab hold of the blade that stuck out from his side, but not strong enough to bite back another scream as he yanked it out, burning his hand in the process.
Fury raced through his veins alongside pain, but his nerve endings were fried. Cobalt eyes shot venom daggers at the human men while his blood ran down his hip – it appeared that it wasn’t clotting as fast as it should.
It occurred to him that he might die here, in a human village razed by flame, and that flicker of fear jumped in his chest.
YeweLion- Creator
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Join date : 2016-08-03 -
Re: Tolderas' last moon
by Wolkenser Tue Aug 16, 2016 4:36 am
Honestly, neither of the knights had expected the blow to hit – but once they saw it had jarred Andrew, they wasted no time.
Skjall commanded the horse to take a swift turn, and the animal obeyed with a whinny of fear and complaint as it galloped back towards Heindrik in a wide curve as the horse momentarily slowed to a canter as it neared. Both knights held their arms towards each other, and with appalling expertise, Skjall grabbed ahold of his companions’ arms and pulled him up onto his moving horse, though not without struggle.
Finishing Andrew – whatever he was – off would take time, and time was in this very moment one of their most precious resources. Thus, they did not waste it.
The flames seemed to screeched loudly, as if it was conscious that its prey had not been swallowed by their scorching heat, and the once large hand of flame dissipated into swift fiery snakes that swiveled dangerously fast through the earth, snapping at the stallion’s hooves. The animal could only pant and snort, as neither the fire nor his ruthless master gave way for it to slow its pace for a heartbeat.
They galloped past Andrew with nothing but a glance over their shoulders as the distance between them grew greater and greater; a glance filled with hate and unspoken threats.
The flame serpents chased them down until past Tolderas’ ruined gates, where their form balled into a sphere and erupted into a thousand tiny cinders with an unnatural cry that dissolved into silence… it was over.
Nothing but the fizzle of the fire and the whistling wind remained. The once cheering and celebrating town had become a literal graveyard.
The curtain of flames that was dancing around the town square fell suddenly like it was burning rain suspended in the air – strangely, the statue that had burned seemed to be there.
Excepting that it was not a statue. It was much, much larger and almost pitch-black in the darkness that the dancing flames had left in their wake… and it moved. With the silence that had befallen the land, a low guttural rumbling came from its chest, eerily similar to breathing.
The large creatures’ colossal wings stretched as wide as the square itself, menacing sharp talons bending inwards like claws attempting to grasp the air around them.
The creatures’ formidable figure was covered head to toe in almost black reddish armor adorned with skulls and large, dangling chains; the suit appeared so thick it made plate seem frail in comparison.
Massive forearms covered in fearsome spikes lifted slowly, and almost immediately, every patch of lingering flame all around the town flew through the air towards them, lighting up a vicious, horned helm… or were those the creatures’ horns?
The ground cracked and crunched under immense hooves as the horrifyingly imposing figure took his first steps towards the corpse-covered field, the only audible sound its snarl-like breathing.
“Dewch, gweision.” The deep voice of the creature resonated like grumbling thunder.
“Ymuno â mi i farwolaeth.”
The bodies of the deceased Tolderans sizzled when the monstrous being passed them and a whitish, silk-like drape rose from their corpses and softly, silently began to swirl around the entity – around their Lord Rhyfelwr.
Skjall commanded the horse to take a swift turn, and the animal obeyed with a whinny of fear and complaint as it galloped back towards Heindrik in a wide curve as the horse momentarily slowed to a canter as it neared. Both knights held their arms towards each other, and with appalling expertise, Skjall grabbed ahold of his companions’ arms and pulled him up onto his moving horse, though not without struggle.
Finishing Andrew – whatever he was – off would take time, and time was in this very moment one of their most precious resources. Thus, they did not waste it.
The flames seemed to screeched loudly, as if it was conscious that its prey had not been swallowed by their scorching heat, and the once large hand of flame dissipated into swift fiery snakes that swiveled dangerously fast through the earth, snapping at the stallion’s hooves. The animal could only pant and snort, as neither the fire nor his ruthless master gave way for it to slow its pace for a heartbeat.
They galloped past Andrew with nothing but a glance over their shoulders as the distance between them grew greater and greater; a glance filled with hate and unspoken threats.
The flame serpents chased them down until past Tolderas’ ruined gates, where their form balled into a sphere and erupted into a thousand tiny cinders with an unnatural cry that dissolved into silence… it was over.
Nothing but the fizzle of the fire and the whistling wind remained. The once cheering and celebrating town had become a literal graveyard.
The curtain of flames that was dancing around the town square fell suddenly like it was burning rain suspended in the air – strangely, the statue that had burned seemed to be there.
Excepting that it was not a statue. It was much, much larger and almost pitch-black in the darkness that the dancing flames had left in their wake… and it moved. With the silence that had befallen the land, a low guttural rumbling came from its chest, eerily similar to breathing.
The large creatures’ colossal wings stretched as wide as the square itself, menacing sharp talons bending inwards like claws attempting to grasp the air around them.
The creatures’ formidable figure was covered head to toe in almost black reddish armor adorned with skulls and large, dangling chains; the suit appeared so thick it made plate seem frail in comparison.
Massive forearms covered in fearsome spikes lifted slowly, and almost immediately, every patch of lingering flame all around the town flew through the air towards them, lighting up a vicious, horned helm… or were those the creatures’ horns?
The ground cracked and crunched under immense hooves as the horrifyingly imposing figure took his first steps towards the corpse-covered field, the only audible sound its snarl-like breathing.
“Dewch, gweision.” The deep voice of the creature resonated like grumbling thunder.
“Ymuno â mi i farwolaeth.”
The bodies of the deceased Tolderans sizzled when the monstrous being passed them and a whitish, silk-like drape rose from their corpses and softly, silently began to swirl around the entity – around their Lord Rhyfelwr.
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Join date : 2016-08-03
Re: Tolderas' last moon
by YeweLion Tue Aug 16, 2016 4:58 am
Andromedeux had steeled himself for burning bite that never came. To his surprise, the humans chose to flee and leave him be, a choice he would make sure they would regret one day if he ever crossed paths with their filthy selves. Still though, he couldn’t stop the heavy breath of air that left him when they galloped past. Had he been holding his breath? How pathetic…
It was hard to hate himself though as pain radiated from his side. It lanced him over and over again, sending waves of hurt that were having an easy time deflecting the healing tendrils of his mana.
“Fuck…” Andromedeux winced and placed his non-injured hand to the wound but just as quickly pulled it away with a hiss when the tender flesh protested. He had never been injured by an iron weapon before…it was seriously unpleasant and he was beginning to wonder why in the seven Hells he never wore armor.
Suddenly a low growling began to his left and right, quickly growing loud as he noticed that two of his surviving hounds had approached him. A swell of pride and affection grew at their presence. They were ghastly things, but they listened and assisted so well. Andromedeux noticed they weren’t focused on him however, and he quickly glanced over his shoulder, wincing in pain as he did. It took him a moment to lock onto what they were alerting to but when he saw it… It was enough to make him gasp and freeze in fear.
“….” Silently the blonde’s mouth dropped open and he found it hard to conjure up words. His fae beasts couldn’t see the sight before them, but it was obvious that they sensed the dark entity because all of the scales and hairs on their bodies were bristled. A gulp tightened his throat when the hounds became nervous, because that meant bad things, very bad things.
To Andromedeux’s amazement all of the corpses that belonged to the villagers were disintegrated as if they were cremated, only this was much more grim, if not beautiful. Despite his growing fear, the thought of the people of Tolderas meeting their maker was a heartwarming sight…. Or so it would be if Andromedeux wasn’t so close to blacking out.
A gasp left him when he tried to move and he cursed under his breath at the wretchedness of it all. The man-like beast was speaking in a language he didn’t recognize and each one of its breaths was like an earthquake. Andromedeux was finding it difficult to be brave, though he figured that without his annoying side wound he would be much more cockier and probably much more dead.
It was hard to hate himself though as pain radiated from his side. It lanced him over and over again, sending waves of hurt that were having an easy time deflecting the healing tendrils of his mana.
“Fuck…” Andromedeux winced and placed his non-injured hand to the wound but just as quickly pulled it away with a hiss when the tender flesh protested. He had never been injured by an iron weapon before…it was seriously unpleasant and he was beginning to wonder why in the seven Hells he never wore armor.
Suddenly a low growling began to his left and right, quickly growing loud as he noticed that two of his surviving hounds had approached him. A swell of pride and affection grew at their presence. They were ghastly things, but they listened and assisted so well. Andromedeux noticed they weren’t focused on him however, and he quickly glanced over his shoulder, wincing in pain as he did. It took him a moment to lock onto what they were alerting to but when he saw it… It was enough to make him gasp and freeze in fear.
“….” Silently the blonde’s mouth dropped open and he found it hard to conjure up words. His fae beasts couldn’t see the sight before them, but it was obvious that they sensed the dark entity because all of the scales and hairs on their bodies were bristled. A gulp tightened his throat when the hounds became nervous, because that meant bad things, very bad things.
To Andromedeux’s amazement all of the corpses that belonged to the villagers were disintegrated as if they were cremated, only this was much more grim, if not beautiful. Despite his growing fear, the thought of the people of Tolderas meeting their maker was a heartwarming sight…. Or so it would be if Andromedeux wasn’t so close to blacking out.
A gasp left him when he tried to move and he cursed under his breath at the wretchedness of it all. The man-like beast was speaking in a language he didn’t recognize and each one of its breaths was like an earthquake. Andromedeux was finding it difficult to be brave, though he figured that without his annoying side wound he would be much more cockier and probably much more dead.
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by Wolkenser Tue Aug 16, 2016 6:16 am
Arms covered in a bone-like chitinous shield toyed with the smoke that rose to meet them in circling ribbons, clawed fingers rising and descending with the figures that formed about them.
And then, from the charcoal-stained fields to creatures’ left came the growling of Andrew’s fae beasts that drew him to a full stop.
Though his features were concealed under the shadow of his helm, the human-like monster stared hard at the creatures and their master on the ground and took in the scene; the disregarded, bloodied iron sword on the ground next to a pain-stricken young man, and a pair of ghoulish hounds covered in fur and scale on each of his sides, both fashioning empty eye sockets.
Millennia of experiences had given him ample knowledge of the creatures that lurked about in human guises, though it was difficult to guess from simple sight to which of the tribes of fairies did this one belong to.
However this fairy – he stinked of blood and ash. It was strange to see one attempting to fit into a human society, and he could not remember ever seeing anything like it. He was curious… a feeling he had not felt for what seemed like dozens of years.
“Tylwyth Teg.” The monster said, his voice an echoing growl. Not due to aggressiveness, it was simply how the creature spoke. “What are you doing in my lands, fae?”
The menacing wings of the creature fell beside his shoulders like a thick, leathery cape – though one that fashioned fearsome armored talons.
This fae, and the humans… they had brought misery on the village. His village.
The humans had slaughtered all the townsfolk that revered him, that had offered themselves as a willing sacrifice to him for centuries. Now? It was nothing more than burnt ruins and piles of corpses. And the survivors? Well, they had not shown themselves, if there were any.
A burning desire was making itself known inside the beings chest, he wanted someone to blame. Someone to hunt.
And then, from the charcoal-stained fields to creatures’ left came the growling of Andrew’s fae beasts that drew him to a full stop.
Though his features were concealed under the shadow of his helm, the human-like monster stared hard at the creatures and their master on the ground and took in the scene; the disregarded, bloodied iron sword on the ground next to a pain-stricken young man, and a pair of ghoulish hounds covered in fur and scale on each of his sides, both fashioning empty eye sockets.
Millennia of experiences had given him ample knowledge of the creatures that lurked about in human guises, though it was difficult to guess from simple sight to which of the tribes of fairies did this one belong to.
However this fairy – he stinked of blood and ash. It was strange to see one attempting to fit into a human society, and he could not remember ever seeing anything like it. He was curious… a feeling he had not felt for what seemed like dozens of years.
“Tylwyth Teg.” The monster said, his voice an echoing growl. Not due to aggressiveness, it was simply how the creature spoke. “What are you doing in my lands, fae?”
The menacing wings of the creature fell beside his shoulders like a thick, leathery cape – though one that fashioned fearsome armored talons.
This fae, and the humans… they had brought misery on the village. His village.
The humans had slaughtered all the townsfolk that revered him, that had offered themselves as a willing sacrifice to him for centuries. Now? It was nothing more than burnt ruins and piles of corpses. And the survivors? Well, they had not shown themselves, if there were any.
A burning desire was making itself known inside the beings chest, he wanted someone to blame. Someone to hunt.
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by YeweLion Tue Aug 16, 2016 6:36 am
Andromedeux flinched at the harsh growls that he assumed meant something, he just wasn’t well versed in…whatever it spoke. He wasn’t dead yet, so that was a good sign…right? Humor faded from the blonde’s mind though the moment his cover was blown. Was his disguise fading? A quick but horrified glance said no, but his mind quickly tried to soothe itself. His guise was mainly for humans, as they weren’t so bright when it came to magic.
A gulp sounded from his through but Andromedeux remained his composure, albeit slipping thanks to his wound and the fact that it wasn’t healing as fast as he wanted it to.
“Forgive me for not…standing.” The blonde pursed his lips anxiously as he tried to think his way out of the situation he had found himself in. So far it wasn’t working. “I am a bit preoccupied at the moment.”
Mentally he slapped himself, because honestly, he wished his nervousness didn’t show in awkward word vomiting. Not that he could help it. One glance over and Andromedeux was very certain that the winged-man-creature-thing in front of him could snap his body in half if he really wanted to. The blonde might have been full of himself, but he wasn’t stupid.
“Are you… Rhyfelwr?” Andromedeux licked his lips and furrowed his brows before correcting himself. “Er, Lord Rhyfelwr?”
It was pretty obvious that the creature was upset. Andromedeux figured he would be too if his followers had been cut down on a holy day. At that revelation he paled. Halbjörn was gone. Anger surged again and Andromedeux growled a curse under his breath. “Those damn knights…”
A gulp sounded from his through but Andromedeux remained his composure, albeit slipping thanks to his wound and the fact that it wasn’t healing as fast as he wanted it to.
“Forgive me for not…standing.” The blonde pursed his lips anxiously as he tried to think his way out of the situation he had found himself in. So far it wasn’t working. “I am a bit preoccupied at the moment.”
Mentally he slapped himself, because honestly, he wished his nervousness didn’t show in awkward word vomiting. Not that he could help it. One glance over and Andromedeux was very certain that the winged-man-creature-thing in front of him could snap his body in half if he really wanted to. The blonde might have been full of himself, but he wasn’t stupid.
“Are you… Rhyfelwr?” Andromedeux licked his lips and furrowed his brows before correcting himself. “Er, Lord Rhyfelwr?”
It was pretty obvious that the creature was upset. Andromedeux figured he would be too if his followers had been cut down on a holy day. At that revelation he paled. Halbjörn was gone. Anger surged again and Andromedeux growled a curse under his breath. “Those damn knights…”
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by Wolkenser Tue Aug 16, 2016 12:29 pm
The creature observed the fae from behind his helm in silence, aside from the continuous breathing that vibrated from his chest.
He dismissed the others’ jokes with nothing but an ever-so-slight twitch in his wings; he was not amused.
Still, he maintained himself motionless a few feet away from Andrew and his beasts, though the silvery silk appearing vapor continued to arise from nearby fallen villagers and snake towards him with a whisper-like hush to them – and eventually it, too, rose from the fallen lumberjack’s body.
Once his name was spoken, the creature’s reverberating breathing seemed to shift into a strange purr if only for a few seconds.
“That is what the villagers called me, but it is not my name.” The monster said grimly.
There was a hurtful quality in the fact that he talked about his village in past tense, so much so that the soil beneath his enormous hooves began to scorch. The sad, outraging reality that a once dedicated village that was so faithful and loyal to him were nothing short of massacred under his very nose was slowly settling in his gut with stinging fury. But outside, the creature hadn’t faltered, hadn’t wavered, hadn’t even blinked.
Instead, he regarded the fae outsider with care; he could almost taste the bitterness and anger in his voice. It was fascinating… and delicious. Not that he did not share the sentiment, but a creature such as him fed on these emotions – on the strife.
“These were not your people.” The monsters’ voice became a murmur that glossed over his own hidden wrath.
He talked simply like he did not understand what it was to empathize, as solidarity was a feeling he had seldom -if ever – felt. Rage in the name of others was something a monster like him had never concerned himself with, it was foreign and alien. Then again, he did not know the fae’s motives for rage, though there was another glaring issue that interested him more.
“I'll ask again, fae... What are you doing in my lands?”
He dismissed the others’ jokes with nothing but an ever-so-slight twitch in his wings; he was not amused.
Still, he maintained himself motionless a few feet away from Andrew and his beasts, though the silvery silk appearing vapor continued to arise from nearby fallen villagers and snake towards him with a whisper-like hush to them – and eventually it, too, rose from the fallen lumberjack’s body.
Once his name was spoken, the creature’s reverberating breathing seemed to shift into a strange purr if only for a few seconds.
“That is what the villagers called me, but it is not my name.” The monster said grimly.
There was a hurtful quality in the fact that he talked about his village in past tense, so much so that the soil beneath his enormous hooves began to scorch. The sad, outraging reality that a once dedicated village that was so faithful and loyal to him were nothing short of massacred under his very nose was slowly settling in his gut with stinging fury. But outside, the creature hadn’t faltered, hadn’t wavered, hadn’t even blinked.
Instead, he regarded the fae outsider with care; he could almost taste the bitterness and anger in his voice. It was fascinating… and delicious. Not that he did not share the sentiment, but a creature such as him fed on these emotions – on the strife.
“These were not your people.” The monsters’ voice became a murmur that glossed over his own hidden wrath.
He talked simply like he did not understand what it was to empathize, as solidarity was a feeling he had seldom -if ever – felt. Rage in the name of others was something a monster like him had never concerned himself with, it was foreign and alien. Then again, he did not know the fae’s motives for rage, though there was another glaring issue that interested him more.
“I'll ask again, fae... What are you doing in my lands?”
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by YeweLion Thu Aug 18, 2016 4:50 pm
It was hard to not collapse under the intensity of the creatures baleful glare, even if Andromedeux couldn’t actually see its eyes. His eyes? The blonde wasn’t even sure if the hulking figure had a gender, though it surely had the physique of one, if its’ growl of a voice wasn’t hint enough. He gulped, not missing the change in regard when it came to the creature’s name.
Andromedeux’s brows knitted slightly in concern before a brief expression of hurt flashed over his features as if he had been slapped. It shouldn’t bother him. They weren’t his people. That wasn’t something to be fought, as it was as obvious as the sky was blue. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he gritted his teeth together, forcing air from his nose. Slowly his dark eyes rose to where he assumed the beasts’ were.
“Will they still be able to walk the halls?”
It was a dangerous line Andromedeux was walking… While he was seriously interested in the fates of the fallen that lay silent around him, he was also keen on hiding his own secrets. Such as why he was in the village of Tolderas. His kind didn’t travel often outside of their limits. Well, they didn’t do it much at all really. He wasn’t surprised to be questioned by the winged creature but Andromedeux found it hard to just come out and state his business.
It was too dangerous. He was already going to die anyways… His throat convulsed as he thickly swallowed and clawed at the mixture of dirt and ash at his side. It was still warm from the raging fire that had swept through it moments before. Beside him his beasts stayed silent but coiled, ready to launch their thick bodies at the slightest threat. It was commendable, but Andromedeux knew it was partly because they couldn’t actually see what actually stood before them. That wasn’t something he shared in common with them.
Briefly, with morbid humor, the blonde faerie wondered if he would be eaten for being the last alive.
Andromedeux’s brows knitted slightly in concern before a brief expression of hurt flashed over his features as if he had been slapped. It shouldn’t bother him. They weren’t his people. That wasn’t something to be fought, as it was as obvious as the sky was blue. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he gritted his teeth together, forcing air from his nose. Slowly his dark eyes rose to where he assumed the beasts’ were.
“Will they still be able to walk the halls?”
It was a dangerous line Andromedeux was walking… While he was seriously interested in the fates of the fallen that lay silent around him, he was also keen on hiding his own secrets. Such as why he was in the village of Tolderas. His kind didn’t travel often outside of their limits. Well, they didn’t do it much at all really. He wasn’t surprised to be questioned by the winged creature but Andromedeux found it hard to just come out and state his business.
It was too dangerous. He was already going to die anyways… His throat convulsed as he thickly swallowed and clawed at the mixture of dirt and ash at his side. It was still warm from the raging fire that had swept through it moments before. Beside him his beasts stayed silent but coiled, ready to launch their thick bodies at the slightest threat. It was commendable, but Andromedeux knew it was partly because they couldn’t actually see what actually stood before them. That wasn’t something he shared in common with them.
Briefly, with morbid humor, the blonde faerie wondered if he would be eaten for being the last alive.
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Re: Tolderas' last moon
by Wolkenser Thu Aug 18, 2016 5:35 pm
“Do not talk about the peasants like their fate concerns you.” The monster said dangerously. The echo of his breathing turned into a deep hiss, and his patience was quite evidently wearing thin.
It did not take much effort from the young male to rot the interest he was feeling; like a bitten fruit that was left unattended for too long. Then again, his kind was not known for their patience, and they tended to dispose of any rotten fruit before it attracted any flies.
Immense armored wings unraveled from behind his back with ghastly grace and stretched to encompass the small fae before him, nearing more and more towards him with coarse steps; the ground he had been standing in rose in small strings of smoke that smelt faintly of sulfur.
Obviously he did not give a rat’s ass for the hounds. They might quite possibly kill themselves first if their jaws clenched anywhere in his body. If not for the treacherous spikes, the heat of it would more than be able to burn their maws.
“You would not like the halls I can drag you in, fae.” He continued in a hushed yet severe voice.
The monster crouched a mere couple of feet away from the small fae-creature, its large, clawed hands hanging from its knees like he was engaged in a casual conversation – and quite conveniently close to grasping a limb should he feel the need to.
“Speak your peace, lest I give you a trespassers welcome. I doubt your silver tongue is worth your life.”
It did not take much effort from the young male to rot the interest he was feeling; like a bitten fruit that was left unattended for too long. Then again, his kind was not known for their patience, and they tended to dispose of any rotten fruit before it attracted any flies.
Immense armored wings unraveled from behind his back with ghastly grace and stretched to encompass the small fae before him, nearing more and more towards him with coarse steps; the ground he had been standing in rose in small strings of smoke that smelt faintly of sulfur.
Obviously he did not give a rat’s ass for the hounds. They might quite possibly kill themselves first if their jaws clenched anywhere in his body. If not for the treacherous spikes, the heat of it would more than be able to burn their maws.
“You would not like the halls I can drag you in, fae.” He continued in a hushed yet severe voice.
The monster crouched a mere couple of feet away from the small fae-creature, its large, clawed hands hanging from its knees like he was engaged in a casual conversation – and quite conveniently close to grasping a limb should he feel the need to.
“Speak your peace, lest I give you a trespassers welcome. I doubt your silver tongue is worth your life.”
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