The Warriors from Baldaris (PG-Violence, Mild Language)

[Rookie]

I saw this on a website and thought i'd give it a try:

Each person describes a character, any class, any race, and a little on appearence. (I will give example at end)

From the beginning this has evolved into a storyline plot so please make posts similar to this: As they overlooked the valley they could see that they were vastly outnumbered. "Well, what do we do now?" the hesitant monk asked.
"Attack!" the barbarian said leading his comrades into battle. He swung his sword and cleaved the goblin in half.

Character Interaction: throughout this, our characters will have to interact. Have characters that aren't yours act in a way that matches them. Don't have the almighty warlord dance on his toes singing Cher. For more reference please read through the posts to see how we have done this.

PvP: As far as this goes, It won't be allowed UNLESS the player attacked approves of the fight. they will take turns posting, the person playing the character will acknoledge when his player is defeated, whether killed or otherwise, but its the player who decides his characters fate.

Weapons and Items: Go ahead, find a magical golden staff of a war hero, or a horn that brings the aid of elves.

This is NOT the thread of silliness, please refrain from any off-topic posts unless the situation can relate to it, like in a cave of singing wombats or the island of annoying ranting beautiful amazons.

Anybody wishing to join in will give a description of their character, then preferably, begin their post after immedietly.

Any Questions, please contact me through private message

For my character: Human Ranger, clad mostly in browns and greens and a dark green cloak. Wields Long Bow, Sword, and a dagger.

Edit: I forgot to put this back when i edited it the first time.

As far as limitations go, try to make it reasonable. Don't go around killing things with one hit every time. If you want to find a horn that summons a troop of elves, go ahead. If you want a staff that can teleport you anywhere, go ahead. I'm not going to stop you. If you run across a thousand miles in a day, i don't friggen care, how realistic can this place be if we have magic and dragons and Evil_Gondi's character is going to try to become a god while Korkskrews is a demon-werewolf-human-warder trained-dude? (Diet Vannila Cherry Dr Pepper)

We've recently had trouble with this. So just remember, this is supposed to be fun. For example it doesn't have to make much sense. Don't get too worked up if somebody ignores your post, just make sure its stays somewhat on topic.

Also, we don't want somebody dominating the thread. if somebody comes along and starts trying to take over, like "you have to do this," or "you cant do that" or "its supposed to be like that" we're all equal here.

If you have an idea that affects other players, please discuss it first either in PM to the person/s you want to affect, or discuss it with everybody on the OOC, we don't want too many surprises, like somebody might not want their character to lose an arm or suddenly go on a blood quest or something, Approval required.

Acknoledge what has already occured, don't say stuff that happened on page 13 went differently then we posted it, keep it the same as it happened.

On the business of Gods: Don't get worked up about gods and religion people, they're just a little extra thing. No earthborne gods tearing down walls. No gods physically interfering and killing people. They can speak to the characters through visions, ethereally, visions, but not in person.

I have noticed a wee bit of this, and want to discuss it.

On the matter of getting shot by arrows (looks around):

I have noticed several characters just wrenching out arrows, or digging them out with a knife. Usually a knife is bigger than an arrow wound, so you'd be digging around in there. And plus there's always severe bleeding from arrow wounds.

In Lord of the Rings, when a dude gets shot by an arrow, he's dead. One of them (not spoiling it) got shot by four and fought, but died afterwards.

So bloodloss, shock, and organs and stuff would have definetly killed most dudes. But then again, most of our characters have survived wounds that would kill a full grown african elephant.

So tone maybe tone down the arrow survivability. Your char may be a tough dude, but you dont have to prove it by having him get shot in the leg or the back or the arm or the stomach or something.

In an effort to make the RPT More realistic i'm going to make these changes. Its not going to be anything that affects gameplay, just make it a little less DBZ.

On the matter of being impaled: Thats usually a really bad thing. It usually kills ya. It has come to me attention that a couple characters have been impaled a couple times (....no names) but the only reason we allow their puny existences to continue is because they are either plot esential, or because we say they get lucky, or they're "half-demon."

Please, no more impaling that leads to survivable.

On the subject of magic: We are aware that several players can use magic, but from what i've seen it has been used as like, uberness. So, tone down the power of the magic to a certain degree. I

On the subject of combat: I think it would be a bit more fun if we put a bit more detail and realism into this, like maybe have to hack a dude across the chest three times to bring him down instead of our one hits. So maybe include more parries, more blocks, more hits?

On the subject of PvP: I commited a bit of an error on making the fight seem pretty one-sided. So lets not have anymore one-sided fights.

On the subject of character interaction: No out of character posts by another player. Like don't make Mave go all bad-ass all of a sudden and use Vergil for a bat. Or make Arothl suddenly act like a princess. Have Mave be timid and protectful, and have Arothl be ornery but somewhat respectful. I have noticed that early posters (who are now gone) were making a character reveal something the player didn't want, you can tell.

Also Refer to the OOC Discussion thread for stuff that goes out of the plot like planning and such.

New rules will be added and changed as deemed necessary.

[Iyanden]

Character; Damal the Diseased, Rotting Bucolic of Nurgle. Wields a large repertioire of Nurglisistic spells and a Manreaper, a scythe with a daemon of Nurgle imprisoned in it. It's strapped on his back. Is followed behind by his faithful and Mischevious nurgling, Squidge (pronounced with short e sound, not squidge-e)

[LarianLeQuella]

http://www.armynabtreanid.com/larian.html Story can be found there.

[ixpitchal]

not that i'm experienced at all with this type of thread but I think we need a setting to start off in, a tavern or town or something that we can introduce our characters into, then some sort of story will be able to start up.

[LarianLeQuella]

The Green Rose Pub will no longer have Larian through their doors, so he searches aimless accross the lands for an establishment that features a wide array of wines (and extend an easy line of credit). Pretty serving wenches are always appreciated as well.

He comes upon a rather non-descript looking tavern on the outskirts of the known lands, and decides to venture in. Taking a deep breath, and not knowing what to expect beyond the doors, he makes a show of striding in fearlessly. Even his encounters at Drakknon's Tower couldn't have prepared him for what he saw beyond the doors! There were all manner of creatures at the tables. And it was more than just the crude races of Midgard, the beautiful races of Hibernia, or even the plain peoples of Albion. There were peoples he had never seen before in all his travels. Even from his vist to Norrath all those years ago, or the travels of Brittania, the array of faces almost took hi sbreath away.

Trying to recover as quickly as he could, the silver haired elf dressed in black and blue, hurried to the bar and tried to catch the attention of the being behind it.

"What ye havi' Mac?" he asked in a thick accent that Larian barely understood.

"Do you have any Levriae Wine?" Larian asked back, making sure to speak as clearly as possible.

With hardly a glance at him, the bartender relied, "Sure 'nuff, we gots it all in dis place."

Smiling to himself at this rare find, Larian asked for a glass. "What manner of place is this?" he asked after he had taken a few sips to steady his nerves.

"Oy, it's da Nexus. Anyone from anywhere can come here and have a drink. Me pappy found it by accident, and since we didn't know much else, nor what to do, we set up a bar. The place itself sets da rules," he answered with a mischevious grin. "I'll let ye figure out what that means fer yerself!"

"Thank you...I think."

With that, the bartender got back to his tasks, so Larian decided to lean up against the bar and observe the situation. Not only did the array of different peoples amaze him, but also the profusion of weapons. At first he thought that it would be dangerous, however he noticed that no one ever bothered to reach for them. Even when there were "heated" dissagreements amongst the patrons. Just to make himself feel safer, he decided to make sure his weapons were still there. His fine daggers were indeed strapped firmy to his side, and the handles were smooth and felt right in his hands. Deciding to check the draw on them though something strange happaend. As soon as his fingeres gripped just a little bit tighter to pull the weapon forth, they became nearly immaterial, and his fingers passed through them. "Well, I guess that's one of the so called rules of this place," he thought to himself. "maybe I ought to try to fins some of my own kind and learn more."

[Iyanden]

Damal paced into the pub, fuming. It was just his luck the witch hunters had spoiled his latest Carnival plan. All that rot to waste.....Squidge sat on his shoulder, gugrling happily. Damal paced over to the counter and asked for a glass of milk. A misamiac smell surrounded him and several customers moved away from where Damal sat. He grinned, his rotten teeth expelling more foul air. He glanced at the milk in his hand. It instantly curdled. Smiling he drak most of it and handed the cup to Squidge. Squidge happily ate the cup and milk. Sighing, Damal paid for the cup AND milk and sat back, planning which Empire town to strike next. Squidge, unnoticed, crawled off to infect unwary souls with his own disease, Nurglingus, which made them grow a baby daemon in thier stomachs. Damal let him go, warily eyeing customers around him. He rotted the stool under some poor nobles feet, and he came crashing to the floor, admist a heap of magoot infested wood. Damal cackled and continued pouring over his maps.

[Gramorn Soulaxe39]

Character~Gramorn Soulaxe a Dwarven Warrior wields large Double-bladed mithril axe and several mithril throwing axes. Raised around humans so is tolerable around most races except orcs and goblins. Equipped with spiked half-plate armor. Follower of Clangeddon Dwarven God of Battle.

<Walks into tavern and picks a seat away from everyone. Orders a mug of ale and stares into nothingness remembering a horrible past> The story of Gramorn is a sad one. When he was still a beardless child his clan was driven out of their mountain home. They settled in a small town where humans, gnomes, elves, and some dwarves lived. One day in late summer in the town of Bluntblade Gramorn and his childhood friend, a gnome named Davroar, were walking along to give Gramorn's father his lunch. Then the horn sounded. The horn never sounds unless there's a real problem. When they got to the forge Gramorn's father was nowhere to be seen. They looked everywhere in the shop but he was nowhere.


Then they heard his father's roar and steel clang against steel. There were raiders invading the town! The few warriors that lived in Bluntblade were already fighting the raiders. Gramorn's father slew many of them and finally the leader came down to his father. They stared at each other for a few moments. Then Gramorn's father charged the leader of the raiders. Although he was a great warrior he was no match for the leader's skills. He was slain and after they took what they needed the raiders left. Gramorn and Davroar walked up toh his father and Gramorn took his axe and Vowed from this day forth he would find that raider. And he would make him pay.

As he sat at the bar now looking at his father's axe remembering those events and that vow he took, his gnomish friend Davroar walked in and sat down next to him. Oh yes, he told himself I will get him.

[ixpitchal]

As the sun sets and the light fades to darkness, shadows begin to take shape. One such shadow slipped silently through the door, unnoticed by all but the most observant of creatures, and then only given a passing glance before being forgotten.

Standing to one side of the door, in the shadows cast by a newly lit lantern, Charlym Zaur'dan carefully surveyed the taverns interior. He made note of all the exits, windows, and positions of the tables. Memorizing several escape routes, he shifted his focus to the many patrons drinking and talking among themselves. Nodding to himself, his lips twitched in what could almost be mistaken for a smile, yes, this place could prove to be very interesting.

There was a wide assortment of races in the tavern that night, the small nameless town it resided in being one of the last safe havens before the land gave way to the untamed wilds beyond the borders. Hunters, fishermen, loggers, miners, and any other profession that relied on the rich and abundant forests and mountains for thier business, all gathered here before moving on alone or with the small caravans that left for the crossroads to the east.

Heading in the other direction, into the unexplored depths of the land, were adventurers of all types. From fair featured elves to fur covered gnolls, small statured gnomes to hulking orcs, this tavern had it all. With a small start, Charlym even noticed an Illithid, one of the most feared races of the lands. It was seated at a large table by itself, being tended by a slack faced elf, obviously its slave.

Of particular note was a tall, silver haired elf. He sat at the bar, obviously trying very hard to ignore the disgusting creature sitting beside him, a Bucolic of Nurgle, Charlym could tell by the axe at its side.

The elf was also scanning the tavern, his eyes passing right over the shadows in which Charlym stood studying him. Probably looking for more of his own kind, thought Charlym. damn arrogant elves are always so picky about who they associate with. He slipped unnoticed around the perimeter of the tavern, until he was in line with the bar and had a fairly direct path to elf. As the elf's eyes passed over him once again, Charlym saw something that he respected greatly, intelligence.

With the slightest of smiles on his hooded and shadowed face, Charlym moved closer still to the elf, those that he passed glancing up towards him breifly and then forgetting that they had even seen anyone. So unassuming was the way he moved, his plain grey travelling cloak wrapped about him, that most people did not even notice him, even if they looked directly at him. Those few who focused long enough to register his presence saw simply another traveller, headed to the bar for a drink.

As he slipped up beside the still oblivious elf, he took note of the finely crafted daggers, the familiar way they hung in thier sheathes telling Charlym that the elf knew how to use them. Yes, his respect for this violet eyed creature grew yet again. Looking away as if searching for the barkeep, Charlym felt the elfs eyes pass over him once again, and he noticed that its attention became occupied for the breifest of moments on a sad faced dwarf in a far corner.

Charlym took the opportunity to lift the elfs wine glass, inhaling the sweet scent, and taking a sip, savoring the delicate flavor. The elf had fine taste in wine, as well.

Placing the glass exactly where it had been just seconds before the elf reached for it, Charlym slipped away and crouched against a wall, covered by shadows once more.

He decided he would watch how things went for awhile, in particular he would keep an eye on this elf. It had been a very boring week, after all.

[Shandi]

Typhren shook her head as she wiped out a tall glass with a dirty rag. She couldn't help but chuckle at herself a bit. She was always coming up with a new life's ambition, and the next always worse than the last.
She'd spent her childhood causing trouble in a small village, beating the boys her age until their mothers chased her with brooms. When she'd tired of that she'd left her lonely father's home and built a fort deep in the woods near the local goblin catacombs. They'd never had a chance of catching the nimble girl as she'd steal dead rabits hanging from their wood carts. She'd always found her small frame to be her greatest attribute, until she'd decided to try her luck in the cosmopolitan city life. Then she found her hips to be useful in gaining the attention of young elvish men. She found her own kind a bit too easy, so she had moved from human prey to elvish fairly early on. Elves were more romantic anyway.
That period in her life had only taught her that she wasn't the settle down type, and as usual she took her new self-discovery to extreme.
For the past seven years she'd been adventuring. After independence, thieving and subterfuge, the natural next step was to quench her thirst for battle. She'd rarely taken up with any group for long, but she had when the circumstance dictated found company, and people seemed to like her even if she dispised them. She was by no means a perfect warrior, nor a perfect anything, but she had fun with whatever she did.
The moment she'd walked into this tavern, she'd told herself she was here to stay. She would finally settle down, enough with reinventing herself. This was the perfect place to feed her curiousity at a safe distance.
She laughed out loud at remembering that last thought as she placed the smudgy glass under the bar. How could she have believed such a stupid idea? She should know by now that she was never meant to stay put too long. The security of being a plain old bar wench was already starting to make her itch. People even called her by name! She glanced around at the faces in the room, some of them annoyingly familiar, and searched for an escape.

[Evil_Gondi]

Character- Orum. Was once a valiant knight, but after fighting against the demon lords of Kair, dark, sadistic thoughts plagued him. The thoughts eventually manifested into a seperate being inside him. Wields a claymore that is 8 feet in length and wears crimson plate, though it used to be pure silver.


Orum walked into the bar, staring blankly at the patrons. He walked up to the bar and sat down at the counter next to someone that smelled like his breakfast. "What'll ye ave?" Orum, shaking off his previous drunken stuppor, ordered some wine, and upon recieving it, drank it heavily. That's when someone busted into the bar, drawing steel and attacking Orum. Orum felt the cold steel bite into him. He turned upon the attacker and grabbing her head and-- "Hey Mac, here's your drink." Orum snapped back into reality. He always got lost in his imagination. His wife always nagged at him for that. 'Remember how you tore through her that night?' His dark self asked him. Orum drowned it out with the wine, renewing his vow to never let that darkness out again. 'Of course you remember. You remember what it was like to hear her scream in pain, the way she-'
"Shut up." Orum said without realizing. The barkeep gave him a funny look, and then went to serve another customer.
'Oh come one, you know you enjoyed it.' The darkness in him echoed.
"SHUT UP!" Orum shouted. He could feel everyone's eyes on him.
"Ye okay Mac?" the barkeep asked.
"I haven't been okay in years."
"Tell ye what, I'll give ye a room, on the house, third door on the left, down that hall way."
"Thank you."
Orum started to walk to his room, the darkness shouting in him to slaughter everyone he passed.

[Iyanden]

OOC: Gah, I've made a mistake already! It's a scythe! *smack self*

Damal sat back and eyed the new comers. The knight dressed in crimson was eanting again. He mused at his crimson plate silently, wondering if her were Khornate. Shrugging he decided it best to keep his head and not ask. Squidge, on the other heand, was up to no good. After perusing the people in the tavern, he selected someone at random to terrorize. Scurring under the bar, squidge managed to skitter along the floor all the way over to the elf's table unnoticed. Grinning with a wide asortment of razor sharp teeth, he burrowed into the elfs pretty backpack he had left lying on the floor. (What adventurer dosen't have a backpack? 8) ) Gugrling slightly, Squidge began to riffle through things, his tiny clawed hands sifting through anything shiny, or edilbe, as he crammed a cracker he had found into his maw.

[Gramorn Soulaxe39]

Looking around the tavern Gramorn noticed a small digusting looking thing climb into the elve's backpack. He decided it was time to turn in, Davroar was already asleep. As he climbed the stairs to his room he noticed several of the patrons , especially a particurally nasty looking fellow whom's pet had moved out of the elves backpack and looked up at Gramorn. He stared back and it scurried away back to it's owner. He went to Davroar's room and awoke him.

Gramorn~ Davroar wake up!
Davroar~ Damn ye Gramorn I was having a good sleep! (noticing the look on his face Davroar quieted) What do ye want?
Gramorn~ Some of the patrons...they were strange looking especially the knight. He wore crimson plate. He was talking to himself.
Davroar~ You came to my room and woke me up, because some knight in armor freaked ye out? I'm going back to bed.
Gramorn~ Yeah g'night Dav.

I should get to bed myself.


Even though Davroar had been sleeping all tiredness was now gone. He got up from bed and went to look for this knight.

[Rookie]

Dune the Ranger was raised by the elves that dwelled in the deep forests so he prefered to be alone when he could find it. He sat in a dark corner of the tavern and watched silently as the strange man talked strangely to his companion.

The two strange men got up and hastily exited the tavern. Dune left his payment upon the table and exited the tavern and walked silently into the cold night air to follow the strange men.

He bent down to locate the mens tracks and found them quickly. There was something strange about them. Dune followed the tracks down the road. he heard the tavern door creak open. He whipped around to see a dwarf exiting the building. Dune considered Dwarves a decent race and decided he was up to no trouble. Dune took off down the road to find out what was so strange about these men.

[ixpitchal]

Charlym was quickly becoming impatient. He had been crouched alone in the shadows now for nearly an hour with nothing in the tavern worth noting. The knight in crimson had intrigued him somewhat for the few moments he was at the bar, but he had dissapeared to a room fairly quickly.

Charlym shifted slightly, keeping his muscles from cramping while maintaing a perfectly balanced position. His contact was late, and this angered him. His was a precise business, and he demanded perfection from those he associated with, this included being on time for an arranged meeting.

Finally, he saw a man stride confidently through the door. The man was tall and muscular, wearing a violet cloak lined in white fox fur that marked him as a wealthy merchant. His head was bald but for a long topknot of black hair. He took a seat at an empty table and ordered a drink, looking around him disinterestedly.

In truth, the merchant, Tsarun Fulraun, was closely examining those around him, making sure that none had taken an interest in him. He caught snatches of a conversation from the next table and smiled to himself as he heard "...Randlan's family...all dead...children too.. very messy..." His money had most definitely been well spent. He had only to deliver the final half of the payment to the assassin and then he could be done with this grim business.

Charlym took one last look around, making sure that everyone was occupied with thier own friends and conversations, then he stepped from the shadows and moved across the tavern to take a seat at the empty table beside Tsarun's. He positioned his chair so that his back was nearly pressed against Tsarun's. Signaling the pretty serving wench for an ale, he casually leaned back, locking his fingers behind his head in apparent relaxation.

"You are late." He said in a voice pitched so low that Tsarun had to concentrate to hear him.

"I had business to attend to, it is of no concern to you, did you finish the job?" He replied in a similarily quiet voice.

"I wouldn't be here otherwise."
"I hear the children were killed too, that wasn't part of the deal"
"You wanted no witnesses."
"Well, you certainly took care of that, took your time and had some fun too, from what I hear."
"Would you like to hear the details?"
"No!"
"Then spare me the pointless questions. Do you have the rest of my payment?"
"Of course."

Charlym dropped his arms down to his side, taking the mug of ale from the serving wench with one hand, reaching the other slightly behind him to clasp the small pouch of coins that Tsarun had slipped behind his back. The exchange was over in a blink, and Charlym was certain that no one else had noticed.

As the two sat silently, sipping thier ale, they heard a commotion outside the tavern door. Suddenly a man rushed inside, his clothing was ragged and torn, and he had several fresh bloodstains. Most of it looked to be his own.

"Raiders! Attacking our camp in the west!" And with that he collapsed into the waiting arms of the nearest person.

"Damn!" Charlym heard Tsarun swearing to himself.
"One of yours?" He asked with mild amusement.
"No, one of Randlan's mining camps, no one was supposed to break through to the town. Damn useless orcs can't do anything right! Stick around, I may have need of your services once again." And with that, Tsarun stood from the table and strode over to speak with the injured miner.

Already a cry was going up around the tavern, people calling for volunteers to reinforce the beseiged camp. It lay many miles to the southwest, deep in the forest, at the base of the mighty Kilandras Mountain range. A good two days ride at least, though the frantic miner had made it in one.

[Tathaur]

Character: Heljarsnáði, Snáði to his friends. Gnomish mage, gray balding hair, sporting a rather obvious combover. Neatly trimmed beard and mustache. Wearing a purple robe, carrying a staff topped by a blueish gem. Wearing thick leather gloves. (So I'm using my WoW character, sue me.:P )

Heljarsnáði had been traveling for some time now he reckoned. He'd originally traveled east by zeppelin (oh, how he hated those damned goblins.. he'd spent hours arguing with the chief engineer of the so called vessel about which race made superior airborne vessels, the gnome or the goblin. He'd insisted the speed of the gnomish gyrocopters and gyroplanes made them far superior by default to the, in his opinion, slow and crude goblin zeppelin. The goblin countered with the fact that the life expectancy of the goblin crew was about three times higher than of the gnome.), then by his trusted mechanostrider (The Gnodge xl 4000 model.) which unfortunately broke down after several days of travel. Motor oil was not easy to come by outside of the dwarven kingdoms. After some discussion with the guard of the gate (a tall, masked fellow carrying a rather finely crafted halberd.) he discovered this particular locale was known as “The nexus” by the inhabitants and was apparently some sort of safe haven for something or the other. He was not really listening, as he was distracted by the tall hunched over figure of a troll casually walking towards a nearby building. As he picked up a smallish pebble from the ground, ignited it with a few words (he was not wearing thick leather gloves for nothing), and made himself likely to hurl the explosive projectile at the troll, the guard immediately proceeded to hit him over the head with the staff of his halberd, screaming that thing about the safe haven from something or the other again. No troll burning, right, got it. He decided a acceptable course of action would be resting, as his not-so-hardy gnomish physique was completely exhausted after hours of walking.

He entered the inn, and was at once taken by some surprise at the variety of customers of the inn.
Besides the usual assortment of drunkards, prostitutes, and travelers, there was quite a bit of dangerous looking, armed, and humanoid creatures of all manner and description. Of particular notice was a tall elf standing by the bar, nervously glancing the (half rotten, heavily armed, obviously ill) figure sitting besides him, which was obsessing over some maps.
Also of particular interest to the brightly dressed magus were the troll he’d earned himself a nasty headache by attacking (interestingly enough, the blow would have cracked the skull of just about any other humanoid. Gnomes however, as no doubt noticed by anyone who has ever seen a gnome in person, have heads so large other races find them quite disturbing at first, and, upon getting used to them, comical. However, gnomes, as a species, are quite used to being knocked over the head by other, larger humanoids, mostly in jest, and as nature would have it, have evolved specially thick, durable skulls.).
A low, suppressed voice from one of the tables by the bar caught his attention. A heavily armed human male covered in red plate and, (not to be outdone by the others in the establishment in terms of sheer damage potential and unpredictability) quite obviously dangerously unhinged. He was talking to himself , looking down into his drink, with glazed eyes. Suddenly he stood up and screamed at no one in particular to “shut up”. The innkeeper then ushered him off down a hallway, out of the main area, presumably to a room.

Snáði walked over to the diseased figure by the bar, and informed him that he was obviously ill and needed immediate medical treatment. The figure looked at him and started talking about the blessings of some great and kind father going by the name of Nurgle. Unbeknownst to Snáði, at that point he caught the disease known in the old world (from which this diseased champion of plaques hailed) as “Nurgle’s rot.”. This disease, which in every recorded case has lead to extremely painful and prolonged death, is not curable by any physicist of any mortal (or immortal) race.
Suddenly feeling ill, Snáði orders a room, gets handed keys to said room, pays the rather unpleasant innkeeper, and retreats away from the main area of the inn.

Once inside the room, he, in a state of fevered delirium, produces a interesting mix of herbs from one of the pouches attached to his belt, a loaf of old, hard bread, and a feather from a small bird from his native lands which he intended as a spell reagent.
He then attempts to smear the herbs over the bread using the feather, a enterprise doomed from the start (for obvious reasons), and after some frustrations, eats all three. After coughing a bit on the feather, he falls to sleep on the much too large bed.
This makes him the only mortal in the history of creation to cure Nurgle’s rot, the divine plaque, through sheer luck. Unfortunately for the rest of the world, the following morning he had no idea that he had accomplished this, or of the fact that he had been sick in the first place.

[Evil_Gondi]

Orum awoke to some startled screams of the bar patrons. Deciding to try and preserve some good in himself, he goes to see what the commotion is about. Upon entering the main area he immediately saw a bloodied man collapsed in someone's arms while someone was derving information from him. Orum simply asked the barkeep, "What's the trouble?"
"Raiders are attacking one of the mines."
"Where?"
"Southwest, two days travel on horse."
With that, Orum went back to his room to gather his equipment. Though tainted with evil, it was specially crafted for him and his fighting style, an exact duplicate would be hard to find, and even harder to pay for.
Walking back into the main area, he saw that the rabble to reinforce the camp was getting more organized. Plenty of the fighters in the room were eagerly awating the chance to improve their skills, and for some of the less moral ones, get some reward money. 'Gold IS the sweetest substance.' His other half told him.
Contemplating on whether to wait for the rabble or to strike out ahead of everyone else, he decided to get a drink to help loosen his nerves. 'Of all the bad things I've told you to do, drinking was never one of them.' His evil chided. Orum ignored the comment, people drink all the time, and they are still upstanding people. Most of them anyway.
'Y'know, I've always thought of myself as a seperate entity, haven't you?'
'Very much so, I wouldn't have done those horrible things if it wasn't for you.'
'You're getting off track, the point I'm trying to make is, since I'm a seperate entity, shouldn't I have a name?'
'Demon, I despise you, why would I want to name you?'
'So you have someone else to blame for your crimes, you didn't kill your wife, I did, the demon.' Orum fancied the thought for a second.
'No, no, no, no, no. You will not sway me into the darkness.'
Orum could only hear the demon laugh. He was starting to affect him.
Orum pushed this aside, the rabble was formed, and he had to go or be left behind. Upon exiting the tavern, he pulled out of his bag a bridle. He simply dusted it off, and a horse came out of nowhere (literally) and seemed to want Orum to ride him. How this device worked, Orum had no idea, he only knew that his daughter had made it for him. He sighed, wondering how his daughter was. She was the only one whom he hadn't killed that believed he was bedeviled. Pushing that thought aside, he was about to start off, when he noticed the the rabble hadn't left yet. Apparently some people were lagging behind and they didn't want to leave them behind. Orum cursed their sluggishness, and then quickly asked for forgiveness for such vulgar thoughts, and then waited for them patiently.

**OOC: Who doesn't mind if I used they're character a bit to converse with and such? And I don't mind if you do the same with my guy, as long as it doesn't stray from his character.

[Shandi]

Well, thought Typhren, I may as well go along. She ran deftly up a narrow flight of stairs to a tiny unadorned room. From beside the only item of furniture in the room, a small grey bed, she snatched up a smallish, weather-beaten canvas pouch and then hurried back downstairs. She glanced at the innkeeper, her employer for the past two months, and smirked a crooked smile. Then she stepped across the busy room and out into the fresh night air. The breeze felt good as it flipped her tightly tied hair. This would be a good night. She enjoyed fighting orcs, and seeing orcs fight as well. If they turned out to be on-top tonight, she would have no problem standing back to watch until the fight was over, and then seeing what interesting things the late miners may have owned. Her eyes twinkled.
One problem. If she ran, the excitement would be over before she arrived. Where to find a horse? She glanced around the innyard at various creatures and their mounts, and found little use for most of them. A knight in red armour stood out to her for obvious reasons and she approached with confident caution. He was mumbling a bit to himself, kind of twitchy Typhren decided, she gently cleared her throat to announce herself.
"Ahem, sir knight, I presume you are going to battle? At the miner's village?"
The knight jumped, and looked nervously at her, his eyes were a bit wild. "yes..."
"May I please share your mount? I'm small and he looks strong enough. I'd like to go see what fun there is to be had down there, but I don't have a horse.."
"I don't think-" the knight began.
"Oh really," Typhren scoffed, "why not? Just tell me that? D'you think I'll rob you? I'd have done that already if I was going to."
"Ah, well I suppose.. Well if we're both going to the same... Why not? You may share my mount." There wasn't much he could say, Typhren thought, unless he intended to be rude, in which case I'd have had my fun right here.


**OOC: You can take that as a yes, but please, the same as you said, be true to my character.

[Gramorn Soulaxe39]

Gramorn and Davroar were at the bar when the man burst through the door of the tavern. Hearing what he said they rushed to their rooms and gathered their supplies. As they were getting on their horses Gramorn looked up to see that very same knight in crimson armor who had freaked him out not too long ago being asked by a pretty human woman if she could ride with him. I shouldnt worry about him. They rode away pushing their mounts faster and faster.

[ixpitchal]

Tsarun returned to his seat near Charlym with a look of frustration on his face. The tavern was becoming noisier as more people got caught up in the excitment of leaving for battle, so he was fairly sure that no one would overhear his conversation with the assassin. Not one to take chances, however, he made sure to keep his mouth hidden with his hand or his mug so that no one could see his lips moving.

"I have another job for you."
"who said I was looking for another job?"
"I'll pay you double what we agreed on for the last one."
"Must be important."

Tsarun was feeling a little desperate, and as hard as he was trying to hide it, he knew that the observant killer had noticed. He winced mentally as he thought of how much the man might milk out of him before he took the job.

Charlym was thinking much the same thing, inwardly laughing at how easily the merchant was manipulated. Of course he would take the job, whatever the pay. He had little use for money, he could always steal anything he needed, but he enjoyed keeping Tsarun off his guard and desperate.

"I'll take triple the last payment, who is the mark?" Charlym didn't even wait to hear if the price would be agreed on, he already knew it would.

"His name is Jerick, he's Randlan's eldest and last surviving son, and the only one who can oppose my buyout of thier family's mining business. He was supposed to have been killed in this attack on thier camp, but the orcs I hired are having a tough time breaking through the defenses of the camp."

Tsarun quickly explained the current situation to Charlym. The mining camp had just recently sent a caravan of ore to be processed and sold. A large number of the camp's guards had gone to protect it, leaving the camp the most vulnerable it had been in many months. The orcs were to attack the camp at this critical time, making sure that all were killed and none escaped. Tsarun had promised them that the resistance would be light and that the camp would be rich in supplies and precious metals that the orcs could keep for themselves.

As fate would have it, however, another caravan, also heading back to town from a different camp, had been victim to a rockslide and needed to stop in Randlan's camp for repairs. The guards and workers from that caravan had still been there when orcs attacked. The orcs hadn't been expecting such heavy resistance in the camp, and though they still outnumbered the guards about three to one, they had been surprised and fled into the woods to regroup.

"And so the orcs have encircled the camp, preventing anyone from escaping for reinforcements. Except for that one lucky worker who somehow made it out during the first battle. He is still delirious from his flight through the forest, but he claims that the orcs will overrun the camp within three days at the very latest."

Tsarun glanced around at the various adventurers arming themselves and making ready to leave. "I'm not sure that this bunch will be able to completely drive the orcs away, they are stubborn beasts when they have a chance at easy money, and there is plenty of it to be made from pillaging that camp. But I cant take the chance that Jerick will live!"

Charlym considered for a moment, then nodded. "I assume I am to make it look like he died fighting the orcs." Tsarun nodded, glancing back at Charlym, his eyes intense, "None must be able to connect me to this. I would lose my business and be driven out of town, Randlan's family was well liked here. Now if you will excuse me, I must take my leave." And with that, he stood up and strode out the door, leaving a few coins on the table for the serving wench.

Charlym sat for a few moments longer, his plans coming together. He decided to join the group that was massing in front of the tavern. As much as he hated being around other people, he was sure to be able to use the confusion of a large battle to his advantage. If the orcs ended up being driven away before he could find Jerick, he might even be able to set up one of his 'fellow adventurers' to take the blame for the young man's death. The knight was clearly not mentally stable, perhaps him..

He was getting ahead of himself though, first he needed to become a part of the reinforcements. He glanced down at his drab grey clothing, he would need to find something to wear...

A half hour later, he joined the group of people massing in the town square. He no longer stayed to the shadows, but walked in full view, an air of extreme confidence around him. He wore a dark navy blue hooded cloak, the hood was pulled up so that shadows covered his eyes and most of his nose.

He wore studded leather armor of exceptional quality over top a tight fitting black shirt, intricately tooled and fitting so perfectly that it bended with his body's movements like a second layer of skin. Closer inspection would reveal that the studs were the dull white of bone. His fine black boots, which laced halfway up his shins, were just as flexible and comfortable fitting, yet as tough as plate armor were anyone to try and pierce the leather. He wore no armor on his legs, preferring snug fitting black cotton trousers which tucked into his boots and allowed for a full range of movement and flexibility.

He had fingerless studded leather gloves on his hands, and overtop his leather sleeves, covering his wrists and forearms were two reinforced leather bracers. The one on his right arm was black with patterns of light grey stitched into it, but the one on his left was a blood red color with arcane symbols and runes done in the finest of mithril. The most observant of onlookers noticed with some amazement that the mithril inlay did not reflect light.

Though his weapons were not all clearly visible, he was far from unarmed. Strapped tightly to his back beneath his cloak were two adamantite swords. Not quite longswords, not quite shortswords, the blades measured about two and a half feet long, with the first few inches out of the hilt serrated on both sides. Down the entire length, in the center of the wide blades were gleaming white bone inlays, runes of death and decay. The handles were finely crafted bone partly wrapped in black leather for better grip. The adamantite pommels were shaped into the images of a skull and provided perfect balance to the weapons.

Tucked into each boot was a balanced steel throwing knife, and on the side of his left thigh was strapped a sheath which carried another dagger. This dagger had a long slender blade and was made entirely out of a strange black stone.

Charlym had a few small pouches attached to his belt but otherwise carried no supplies. He walked over the group of peopel who were preparing for the trek and sat down on a short wall nearby to wait.


**OOC: you can converse with my character if you like, he will be polite and friendly if he has to be. He will NOT answer any questions about himself other than to introduce himself as just another adventurer out to make a little money and have a little fun. if asked, he will give his first name but never his last name, and he doesnt let anyone look too closely at his face and will be offended and cut off the conversation if anyone tries too hard to look under his hood. he tends to not like to waste words, and will be quick and to the point with any answers or questions. He is always interested in learning about the people and the area around him.

[Gramorn Soulaxe39]

As Gramorn and Davroar camped for the night Davroar thoguht about the strange man he had seen in the tavern. Suddenly he got up and went to his horse. "I'll be back later I forgot something in town, Davroar told Gramorn." "Ok but ye be hurrying back I dunno how many orcs're up there". Davroar came upon the tavern a few hours later and went inside looking for that strange man he had seen. Something didn't feel quite right about him. Seeing him leaning on the wall by the group of people massing to go battle the orcs he walked over to him. "Hello sir may I ask your name?" he asked the man. The man turned and said politely "My name is Charlym good gnome." "My name's Davroar." he said and extended his hand to him. He took his hand and shook it. Nice firm grip he told himself, Gramorn would have a bit of trouble with him he thought to himself with a grin. "Yer goin with them up to the fightin eh?" "Yes as a matter of fact I am." "If ye'd like I could lend ye one of my horses to get up there now. You could camp with me and my friend." "No thank you sir I'll just head out with these folks." "Well suit yerself." If ye change your mind there's a horse in the stables you could use if ye want. Good day to ye sir." "And to yourself good gnome. A couple hours later he was sleeping silently under the stars.

***OOC I also do not care if you iteract with Gramorn or Davroar but it might be hard since we already headed out :D ***

[Evil_Gondi]

How the bar maid did it, Orum didn't know. 'Why don't you just kick her off?' the evil in him asked. 'Because, these people already think me crazy, I don't want to be rude, demon.' Orum thought back. 'Why do you still refuse to call me demon? My name is Arom.'
'Fine, Arom, if it will get you to stop nagging-'
'Nagging like your wife?' Aram chided. Orum's thoughts went silent, remembering the incident. Then he realized that someone was talking to him.
"Hullo? I asked you a question." It was the bar maid.
"Oh! I'm sorry, would you mind repeating yourself?"
"I asked you for your name."
"It's, uhh..." Orum's name had a bounty on it, a rather high bounty.
'Tell you what, you can use my name, and I'll think of a different one, it sounded too much like yours anyways.'
"I guess I've been too unsocial, I almost forgot my own name. It's Arom..un. It's Aromun." Orum felt embarrassed now, being reduced to deceit.
"And what would your name be, fair maiden?"
"It's Typhren."
"Well, Typhren, would you mind if we went ahead of this rabble and... "scouted" ahead? They are taking far too long."
"Sir Knight, if it gets us to the fun faster, then make it so."
And with that, Orum spurred his steed foward towards the mining camp.

*OOC: I hope that isn't out of character.

[ixpitchal]

Watching the odd crimson armored knight ride off with the serving girl, Charlym merely shook his head, guessing at the reason that they wanted to be alone.

He considered the small gnome who had come to see him not long ago. He was surprised to learn that some fighters had already left for the mining camp, and wondered what they hoped to accomplish against a sizeable force of orcs. He needed more information about what was going on around him. Deciding to take Davroar up on his offer of a horse, he headed to the stable. He had his own mount, of course, but he preferred to use Soulfire only in emergencies or when he was alone. His loyal mount and only friend tended to raise questions.

Returning from the stable atop Davroar's horse, he picked out the young warrior who had been elected commander of this campaign. Riding up beside him, Charlym bowed in his saddle, "My Lord, as i'm sure you already know, several groups of adventurers have already left for the mining camp."
"Yeah, what of it?" came the reply.
"I would like to volunteer to perform as forward scout, and liason between these other groups and yourself."
"Well, I sure would like to know what those others are thinking they can do on thier own, it would be best if our counterattacks on the orcs were coordinated. You look fast enough, if you want to do it, the job is yours, with my thanks." and with that he turned away to listen to a report from one of his aides.

Nodding curtly to those around him, Charlym spurred his horse to the southwest, hoping to pick up the trails of Davroar, the crimson plated knight, and any others who had decided not to wait for the bulk of the reinforcements.

[Shandi]

It was a little awkward, to say the least, propped on a horse in front of a strange, twitchy knight in metal armour, Typhren decided, but at the same time she was glad she wasn't on the back, at this speed she'd be likely to fly off. She rarely rode horses unless it was quite necessary since she didn't quite trust them as much as her own agility, and so she was not very good with them. Right now though, she thought, it doesn't matter. It felt so great to be on the move again, and heading to a battle ground to boot. She was glad the horse ran so fast. Very fast. Typhren was once again thankful for her gift of small stature as she sat with the top of her head not even at the level of Aromun's huge shoulder, and was sheltered somewhat from the wind.
As the swift mount leaped over a small boulder in their path, the knight's boot knocked a concealed dagger on Typhren's calf and pain shot through an old, deep scar. That scar was the reason she kept the dagger in that particular placement. She had gotten the scar when she'd allowed a mouthy elf in a dark city street to get her hot-headed, and had attacked without thinking, savagely, but blindly. She had not got her kill that night. A fact which she found to be the bigger injury. The dagger itself was one she'd picked up because it was well-suited to her needs, but the ornate sheath had been from her father. She kept it hidden on her calf so that each time it pressed against her scar, it would remind her of her father's warnings not to blunder into dangerous situations.
At this point it occured to Typhren how appropriate that advice was just now. She was riding into Hell knows what kind of orcish insanity, with a very odd knight who didn't even know his own name, on a horse.. Well even the horse was quite unusual, she realized. She'd never seen one quite like this, and she'd never seen anyone ride at this speed. Many women might have been scared then, or would have decided a certain prudence was in order. Typhren simply flashed a wide, dimpled grin as her heart beat faster. Run fast, she silently told the horse, sprint as fast as you want, this is a good night.


**OOC: Thanks, you captured her perfectly. ;)

[Rookie]

Dune knew that there was something strange about the two men. He had followed them to their camp. The raiders were mounting there steeds and were riding off. Dune snuck up behind one raider who was struggling with his horse. Dune slowly drew his dagger and then fast as lightning, slashed the bandits throat and stole his horse. Dune rode hard through the night to catch up to the bandits. But soon he was dismounted by a raider. Dune and the raider rolled onto the rode.

Dune rolled up and surprised a pair of riders riding double. Dune drew his sword, ignoring the riders and parried the raiders first strike. He tripped the raider and as the raider fell, Dune ran him through.

"Where are you bound?" Dune asked the riders.
"I am...Aromun." the man said almost regretfully, "There is a raid on a mining camp. We are going to try to save it."
"And I am Typhren. And who are you?" She asked.
"I am Dune, Ranger of the Anathiel Forest. I was pursuing the bandits that left the tavern and they led me to their camp. More are going to the mine if what you say is true. Do not linger! They will be upon the camp soon! Are there others following?" Dune asked hastily.
"Yes, many." Typhren replied.
"I must ride back and tell them to hurry. continue, and tell any that you overcome to hurry as well!" Dune said.

He went back into the woods and found the horse. He rode out onto the road and rode towards the tavern. He came upon Gramorn and his companion, "Do not tarry! Raider reinforcments are coming to the mines!" with that he departed, telling every adventurer of what was occuring. When at last he came to the last band of adventurers, he departed back up the road.

Dune,Male,Human,Ranger
**OOC: Yeah, go ahead use my character, Dune will prefer to be alone but trusting. remember guys, no unwanted PvP combat. just a little note so its easier to remember: try to put your character name, race, and class at the end so we can remember who and what you are.

[Gramorn Soulaxe39]

Davroar and Gramorn woke to the sound of hooves clomping. They jumped and drew their weapons thinking they were under attack, Gramorn drawing out his battle ax, Davroar starting to mouth the words of a spell. But seeing it was Chalrym the man he had met last night they settled down. "I see you took up my offer good sir." "Yes you have a fine steed here." "Aye that he is, say would you like to head out with us?" "Sure I would." As they got up and headed out a couple of orcs jumped out behind them. One of them pouncing upon Davroar and before Chalrym or Gramorn could react the orcs dragged him back into their cave. Gramorn jumped off his horse and raced to get to Davroar. Chalrym followed suit and they both quickly caught up with them Gramorn taking down one of them with a chop of his axe, Chalrym taking the other out with his swords. When they got Davroar he had great news. "I know a shortcut to get to the orcs!" "Through this tunnel leads to the mining camp being attacked!" This tunnel would take them to the main front and maybe they could save some of the people there.

***OOC Gramorn is a dwarven Warrior and Davroar is a gnomish Sorcercer***

[ixpitchal]

Wiping his blades clean on a dead orc, Charlym considered the tunnel. He wanted very much to scout out the camp and the positions of the orcs surrounding it, and thsi tunnel looked to cut straight through the mountain, but he also needed to know what the other groups were planning.

"good sirs, I have a duty to the commander to relay any new information to him. If you will but wait here for me a few hours, I will report to him and return to accompany you through the tunnel."

the dwarf cocked his head, "A few hours? we are almost a half a days ride away from town already!"

Charlym merely smiled, handing Davroar the reins of his horse. He held his left arm out and traced arcane symbols in the air with his other hand. Davroar, watching closely, saw that the symbols being traced in the air were the same ones that decorated Charlym's odd red bracer. As he finished drawing in the air, the mithril runes on his bracer flared with an unearthly light, and standing before the three fighters was a magnificent horse.

At first they could see only the the outline of the tall horse, but as it moved closer to the light of the camp fire, Davroar and Gramorn both gasped in amazement, they could see through the beast! It faded into and out of view, sometimes seeming a solid black stallion and sometimes seeming nothing more than smoke in the wind. It tossed its head proudly and watched them with intense red eyes.

"What manner of black magic?!" Gramorn started to ask. But Charlym held up a hand to silence him.

"This is Soulfire, my most trusted friend." and he hopped up atop the horses back. "He will get me to town and back with the speed of the wind. Wait for me, I ask, before you cross completely through the mountain, I will catch up to you soon." And with that, he raced off in the direction of town.

He planned on first finding out what the crimson knight had planned, and if he had time, he would stop at town to inform the commander of the shortcut. The fact that orcs were around so close to town had Charlym wondering if Tsarun really had as much control of the situation as he thought.

**OOC: Charlym is an assassin/bladesmaster, no one knows what race he is or anything else about him, though some who have seen his swords with thier bone inlays suspect he has connections to the Cirr Monks of Verzon, a warrior sect of priests who worship all forms of death, death in battle most of all. Maybe we will find out more... :wink:

[Rookie]

Dune ensured that all found out about the raider reinforcments. Upon arriving at the camp he found very few had arrived. He hoped the rest would show and he drew his sword.

He hacked through the orc lines and found the defenders had formed a blockade. A crude picket fence had been leaned against crates and spears had been stuck out in random placement. the defenders lashed out with swords and spears and in the back, volleys of arrows were being unleashed. Dune made his way to the camp and was assisted behind the blockade.
"Are more coming? Did the messenger deliver the message?" the frantic miner asked.
"Yes, yes! More are on the way! Many more! The orcs have allies and they are coming to reinforce them!" Dune unslung his bow and put an arrow to the string. He fired at an orc with a double-edged axe, the orc fell, tripping his comrades. The many dwarves, gnomes, and humans defending the camp took advantage and hurled stones and arrows at the cluster of fallen orcs.

The sun was setting on the second day, if the relief didn't come soon the miners would fall. Dune looked to the sky and wondered where the others were.

Dune, male, human, Ranger

[Evil_Gondi]

It was getting dark, but Orum could see the mining camp. The only thing Orum couldn't see was the miners, only the orcs surrounding the encampment.
As they got closer to the camp, Orum handed the reins to Typhren and said, "Take these and jump over them."
"Do what now?"
"Jump over the orcs."
Orum jumped off his steed a good thriy paces away from the orcs. He wasn't sure who was screaming, Typhren, having been left on the horse alone, or the horse, having been left alone with Typhren. Had he known either one would have disagreed with him, he wouldn't have jumped. 'I hope she won't be mad.' Orum thought to himself. 'Me too.' Orum smirked, for once he and the demon agreed.
As Orum had hoped, the horse distracted the orcs, letting the defenders get in some free shots. Orum pulled out a large crimson silver hilt out of his side pouch, which was actually a bag of holding. He drew upon the magical energies of his inner demon, which in turn, summoned the Grand Destroyer. Orum then attacked the still distracted orcs, picking the one that looked strongest. Orum brought down the massive weapon upon the unlucky orc, folding him in two, and then retreated, trying to draw out the brave ones. Some of the smaller orcs panicked and one even defecated himself. Never before had they seen such a weapon. A braver orc, weilding a great axe, charged, only to be sliced in two at the waist. Unfortunately for Orum, another orc quickly rushed him before he could ready his weapon again. The orc took a dagger and stabbed Orum in between plates of his armor, and he did so repeatedly until his dagger broke. Orum hadn't planned on them being that brave. Orum released the Grand Destroyer, and pushed the orc away. He tried to steady himself, and inevitably collapsed. That's when Orum blacked out. Suddenly, Orum's hair grew longer, turning from black to a snowy white. His eyes became blood red. Orum stood up, unaffected by the damage the orc had done. But he was no longer Orum, Arom had taken over his body. The orc, seeing a man that should be dead, rise up again, did not know what to think, only thinking to bring him down again. It picked up the Grand Destroyer and upon finally bringing it over his head, tried to strike Arom with it. Arom simply dodged it and rushed the orc, grabbing it's head in both hands. "I've been waiting to have fun for years!" Arom said maniacally. He began to squeeze the orc's head, hearing bone slowly crack and watching blood seep out of its nose and eyes. Finally, the skull gave way, the orc's head no more, Arom smiling like a child at a fair. Arom looked at the rest of the orcs. They had been reinforced by one monstrous ogre. "You know, you smell like the guy I sat next to at the tavern." Arom picked up the Grand Destroyer, and waited for the ogre to attack. He was going to enjoy this.

Orum/Arom, you know him right now as Aromun, male, something less than human, Fighter

[ixpitchal]

Coming upon the tracks of the crimson knight, Charlym could see that he was traveling at a great speed and would most likely arrive at the mining camp before he did. He decided to leave the knight to his fate and head back to join Davroar and Gramorn. He needed to get a good look at the camp and its defenders if he wanted to make a plan to kill Jerick, and the more people that got there ahead of him, the less likely the orcs would break through and finish the job for him.

He turned Soulfire back towards the tunnel in the mountain, catching up with the gnome and the dwarf as they were just deciding to stop waiting and enter the tunnel.

"Thank you for waiting" he said, dismissing Soulfire. "we'll have to leave the horses, the tunnel won't be big enough for them."

A few minutes later, they entered the tunnel at a light run, Gramorn holding his axe in front of him, and Davroar supplying light in the form of a large ball of fire floating above his head. Charlym took rear guard, ready to draw his blades at the slightest hint of trouble.

They found that trouble in the form of a Hook Horror not too far into the darkness. It was feeding on the carcass of an orc when they came running into the small room. And it immediatly rose to attack.

Davroar conjured a second ball of flame and sent it shooting at the beast, leaving a small patch of soot on its hardened hide but otherwise having no effect. Gramorn, yelling a battle cry, dodged the first of the horrors claws, sweeping his axe low and taking the monsters legs out from under it. Reversing quickly to an overhead chop, he ignored a couple weak kicks and brought his axe to bear on the creatures head. Taking only a few scratches on his unarmored parts while he methodically broke through the hide and finally the horror lay still.

Charlym, keeping watch ahead and behind them, heard the flapping of orc feet heading towards them. Most likely a scout for a larger party headed towards the town. He waited near the opening in the wall that marked the continuation of the tunnel, one sword drawn and ready. As the filthy creature jogged through and into the small room, Charlym met it with a boot to the stomach, stopping it dead in its tracks and doubling it over in pain. He followed up with a quick downward slice, taking the creatures head.

He could hear many more orcs coming down the tunnel. He looked to Davroar and Gramorn, "we can run back the way we came and try to go around the mountain instead, or we can make a stand here and take them as they come out of the tunnel."

[Shandi]

"Are you crazy?!" Typhren shreaked over her shoulder as the big knight vaulted off the horse. Yes, she answered herself, of course he's crazy, almost as crazy as you. She faced forward just in time to see the wall of orcs that she was charging towards. She drew a startled breath and flinched. The pounding sound of the mount's hooves beneath her broke off suddenly as they flew high in the air and Typhren opened her eyes again just as they landed hard on the solid ground inside the ring of orcs. It was a very rough landing, but the horse did not faulter. She found herself mildly impressed with the beast and her head was back in the fight. She reeled to face the orcs again and snapped hard on the reins so that the horse reared and trampled the two nearest ones.
"This is no good," she told the horse alloud, "I don't have the right kind of weaponry to team with a brute like you." With that she dove into the fray. Deep inside the mass of putrid orcs, at her height, she could only see the black leather armor they wore, and whatever tools each had hooked to their hips. She weaved and dodged in and around the savages until she came eye to blade with a two-foot long curved saber, hanging off an orc's belt. She was noticed by an orc to her left as she slid the blade from it's rope and in one smooth arc she cut deep into his neck, turning slightly as she did so to stab the weapon's owner with the small knife in her left hand. She wasn't sure she'd hit her mark (her knowledge of orc anatomy may have been getting dusty) until she twisted the knife slightly and blood gushed from the orc's heart to soak her ragged garments. She resheathed the knife in a pocket at her right hip bone and with great effort used the saber to hack down three more orcs and clear a path. As soon as she had done that, she could see where the pathetic miner resistance was defending a makeshift wall of sorts. She ducked to the ground and summersaulted toward the barricade as a rain of arrows claimed a rank of orc warriars just behind her. Then with a running leap, Typhren jumped over the wall to take cover with the defenders. She laughed from exhilaration. She looked around with an excited smile as she caught her breath. To her left she met a man clad in the greens and browns often associated with rangers, with a green cloak about him. Typhren attempted to wipe the orc's blood from her brow, but merely smeared it. Tossing the saber into her left hand, she offered the ranger her bloody right hand to shake.
"Typh," she said simply, "and you are?"

*Typhren, human female, theif/adventurer/jack-of-all-trades, about the only thing she hasn't dallied in is sorcery or magic of any kind.

[Rookie]

"I am Dune. We met back up the trail, i warned you to hurry. But i believe it was dark when we met. the flames make it easier to see here."
"Oh yes," Typhren said recalling the meeting in the dark, "You spoke of reinforcments?"
"They are in the woods as we speak." Dune fired an arrow into the chest of a charging orc. The fray was joined by the other adventurers. The crimson armored knight swung his sword mightily, striking many at once. Dune pulled back his string and fired into the neck of an orc that was about to take the knight from behind.
Suddenly from the trees, mountain trolls came bearing clubs. these were about man sized, rough skinned but hunched over with large gorilla-like arms with shorter back legs. they roared out and charged the fray. Dune fired a shot at a troll but the arrow bounced off the armor plating. "Curses!" Dune thought, "These are more than mere bandits!"

Dune slung his bow then pulled the sword from its sheath. He leaped over the blockade and charged the line. He swung at one orc and ran through the next. He whipped around and decapitated another orc. He heard a roar behind him and turned to see a troll with its club raised. Dune rolled into a bunch of orcs, the orcs fell backwards and into the line of the trolls swing. the hit sent the five orcs flying. Dune took advantage of the exposed troll and stabbed through the armpit. The troll roared out and Dune quickly pulled back as the troll threw a tantrum and struck all nearby before it finally fell.

Dune couldn't help but feel something fouler was at work here. He looked to see Jerick rallying the men, Dune was grateful for his presence for he was a great inspiration to many. Dune resumed his attacks and watched as they began to retreat.

When all seemed well they came again, with more trolls and human allies. Dune cursed under his breath and charged with the other adventurers. The ground rumbled and suddenly a great dragon rose above the tree line. Curses and shouts came as flame erupted from the dragons mouth. Dune leaped away just as the flame struck. those unfortunate enough to be caught in the flame were killed instantly. Dune ran into the forest to see if he could kill it. Several orcs blocked his way, but were dispatched quickly. The Dragon had thick back scales and Dune saw an advantage.

As the beast began to walk forward, Dune leaped onto its back, the thick armor concealing his presence, and ran up to the neck. He brought his sword back just as the dragon broke the tree line. He swung with all his might, the neck was slightly severed but the dragon still lived. Flame began to explode from the wound and Dune continued to chop. the neck collapsed and the dragon tumbled to the earth. Dune leaped clear as the neck began to spew flame. orcs caught in front were burned alive. But the threat was not over, for another dragon flew from the sky.

Dune, male, human, ranger

[Gramorn Soulaxe39]

"Bah they're just orcs I say we take em here and now ye look like ye can handle yerself in a fight so let's get going!" said Gramorn. "Stand back." Davroar told them. He calmly walked up and took out a squished snake's intestine and smashed it together with a small leaf. A giant hand appeared in front of him and, drawing back his own hand into a fist he punched the air and the giant fist smashed the orcs up against the wall squishing the life out of them. "That should do it." he said with a smile. The three of them ran out of the tunnel and what they saw shocked them. The defenders had actually done a good job of fighting back against the orcs. Chalrym started looking around for something or someone while Gramorn charged the orcs and Davroar sent balls of flame into their ranks. "Chalrym we need your help!" Looking to Gramorn then back to the defenders he decided to help them their would always be time to find Jerick. But unbeknownst to Chalrym and even Gramorn Davroar had another specialty other than spellcraft. He was a mindreader. He had learned from his father and had known from the beginning why Chalrym was here. He had to find Jerick before him.

[Rookie]

Dune ran as the dragon swooped down and slammed into the ground. Gramorn hacked about franticly as he joined the battle. Dune had encountered the dwarf and his gnome companion when he rode to warn everyone.

Dune cursed and ducked as a giant wing almost took him as the dragon swooped past. Gramorn swung his axe upwards and hit the dragon solidly in the chin. The dragon involuntarilly looked up and flew straight up. Gramorn continued hacking away into the fray.

Dune ran through an orc with his blade and flowed through to slash a troll across its unprotected neck. He kicked over another orc and pulled his dagger out with his left hand. He stabbed into the orcs chest. he wrenched the dagger free and fought with both weapons. He blocked one axe with his sword and stabbed with the dagger.

"Is there no end to them!?" Typhren exclaimed.
Dune wondered the same thing. Fire rolled across the ground as the dragon came back. Dune was out of the way this time and saw an opening. He raised his sword as the wing came by. He slashed the wing membrane and caused the beast to falter and flap its right wing uselessly. It rose with a crippled wing beside Gramorn and Gramorn swung mightily downward and removed the head.

Dune recovered and swung the sword at an orc behind him. The sun was beginning to rise.

[Evil_Gondi]

The ogre was nearly dead. Arom didn't bother finishing it off, it couldn't do anything. Instead, he turned his attention to the dragon flying above. "Hell. I thought I was just going to kill some orcs, and here they go and bring me a nice dragon to slay. I'm going to hve to give them a little something extra." And with that, he threw the grand detroyer at the dragon above, clipping its wing, catching it off gaurd. "Ah, damn." Arom hoped it would have brought it down. That's when a gnome jumped out of a bush and threw some cookies around, and then ran away, all the while naked. 'The hell was that?' Arom thought before shortly being brought back to reality by an angry dragon. 'Okay Orum, any ideas?'
'First, work on fighting skills, I was brought down way too easily.'
'What about the dragon?'
'Second, you give me back my body.'
'I'm starting to dislike you.'
'Third, I should have a lance for dragons in my bag.'
'THANK YOU!' Arom reached into the bag, almost instantaneously grabbing the lance. He pulled it out only to feel its bite. He collapsed and fainted, the letting Orum back out. 'You big meanie.' Urom ignored that, dragons always take first priority. He jumped out of the way, grabbing his lance at the same time. Unlike it did to Arom, it did not bite Orum. The lance was sentient, only letting its master hold it. "Ah, master, how nice to see you."
"Time for talk later, blast that dragon!"
"Gladly." And with that, a brilliant bolt of light shot forth at the dragon. The dragon screeched as it fell to the ground, though it did not die. Orum ran up the dragon's back, and stopped upon the head. Orum drove the lance into the dragon's eye, piercing its brain, ending it's life. "Such a magnificent creature, if only-" The dragon was not dead, but it was very mad. "WHY DON'T THESE THINGS EVER DIE?!" 'It's a magnificent creature, you have to cut off the head.' Orum reached into his bag of holding, franticly searching for a weapon before the dragon regained its wits. He pulled out a dagger. The dragon, now regaining whatever wits a dragon has, took flight, hoping to throw Orum off, but Orum buried the dagger in between the dragon's plating and used it like a handle, now holding on for dear life. He could survive most wounds, all he had to do was concentrate and the wound would heal for the moment, but would always reopen later. But a fall... Orum did not want to know if he could survive one.

[ixpitchal]

Watching Gramorn charge straight into the orcs, Charlym decided to back him up. Judging from the numbers of them pouring in, he would probably need the dwarf and the gnome to help him break through to the camp.

Heading to reinforce Gramorn's flank, Charlym felt the ground rumbling beneath his feet. He looked behind him to see mountain trolls charging from the treeline! He was directly in thier path with nowhere to run. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an arrow zip out and bounce off the chest plate of one in the rear, distracting the creature and causing it to turn and head towards the elf that had fired. The rest came at him however, sensing an easy kill.

Drawing his swords from his back, he calmy drew a large circle in the dirt around him with one of the blades. Standing in the cirlce with his swords down at his sides, he waited for the first troll to cross the line.

Seeing the man apparently in a vulnerable position, the closest troll raised its club high over its head, meaning to crush Charlym with one mighty blow. His club never came anywhere near its mark, as soon as the troll had one foot over the line in the dirt, Charlym spun, lightning quick, dropping the beast with a perfectly aimed slice to the throat. Using the momentum of his spin, he kicked that one aside and dropped to a crouch as the next took a sideways swipe at his back. The club came a mere inch from his head, but he was perfectly balanced and leapt from his crouch to kick the troll in the face, parrying a stab from a third troll's longsword in mid-air with his left hand, and slicing downwards with his right to sever the spear of a fourth.

He landed in a spin to the left, following through with his parry to stab through the trolls exposed flank, his enchanted blade biting deep. As the troll slumped to the ground, Charlym followed him down, roling into a forward somersault and pulling out his sword as he went, kicking off the legs of the one he had kicked in the face earlier, he knocked the beast down and used the kick to send him in a backwards roll, avoiding the stab of the fourth who had dropped his broken spear and pulled a sword.

He came out of the roll on his feet, swords a mere blur around him, taking out the troll who was still wondering why he was stabbing empty ground by slashing it across the backs of the knees and then taking its head as it fell to the ground. Stomping the throat of the one he had knocked over before it had even finished bouncing, he kicked it aside and stood up straight, ready for the next charge.

He was once again alone in his circle in the dirt, the four troll bodies lying around it on the outside. The other trolls had stopped and were staring at him with a little less enthusiasm than they had shown a moment before. He regarded them calmly, not even breathing hard, a slight smile on his lips. His hood had fallen down from his face as he rolled on the ground, and though anyone looking at him from the direction of the defending camp would see only thick black hair hanging not quite to his shoulders, the trolls stared in fearful awe at his face, he took that moment of hesitation to pull his hood up more securely about his head.

The trolls, giving a roar, charged once again, and again Charlym weaved his swords around him, stabbing and slicing, kicking and rolling, never leaving the circle in the dirt and not letting a single troll cross the line without dropping back screaming in pain.

Davroar glanced back to see the deadly dance, his eyes widening at the simple elegance of it. He watched as Charlym dispatched the last of the trolls, then stood in the center of the ring of about two dozen bodies. He traced his swords along the line in the dirt once again, redrawing the circle. Amazingly, no troll bodies had so much as a finger inside that line. Charlym made a few strange motions in the air with his swords, ending with a salute to the fallen, then strode over to Davroar.

"You might want to incinirate those things before they start to regenerate."

Nodding vaguely, Davroar ran over to burn the troll corpses as Charlym joined Gramorn at the orc ranks, his blades cutting a deadly swath through the line.

In his mind, he could still hear Charlym thinking about finding Jerick, but that thought was pushed to the back of his mind, overshadowed by one very powerful conclusion, 'something has gone terribly wrong here, this is no simple orc raid'.

[Rookie]

Dune felt an an evil wind blow from the west. He paused, his elven trained senses telling him something was wrong. He turned slowly to the west, temporarily ignoring the battle. he looked expectantly to the sky. Black clouds were beginning to gather rapidly, unusually rapidly. To the north, clouds gathered quicker.

"Millandrer." He whispered. The Dark Wizard to the north. He surely must be behind this. He had conquered the northern realm years ago. There would be only one way to end this quickly. But now they had to end the fight here.

Charlym saw his moment to strike. Jerick was alone and swarmed with orcs and trolls. Charlym could leap into the fray, proclaim he would save Jerick, kill him then kill the trolls and orcs. The trolls could conceal the...removal...and it would appear he wasn't fast enough to save Jerick. This would be perfect.

Dune saw a swarm of trolls in one area,but was unable. Soon he was brought into close quarters fighting. He bumped back-to-back with somebody. He glanced back and saw Typh parrying blows.
"Wonderful situation we're in!" Typh said.
"Indeed." Dune replied, "But I'd rather be back on the dragons back."

Dune, male, human, ranger

**OCC: Please ignore the off-topic posts.

I am setting up a great journey to the north to fight this big bad wizard.

[Gramorn Soulaxe39]

Davroar looked up to the sky to see the dragon flying about and sighed. "I hate dragons." He started muttering a few words and then out of his hand flew a tiny icicle that grew bigger as it got closer to the dragon. When it finally reached it the giant ice spear pierced the dragon's chest and dying almost instantly it fell to the ground. Smiling he turned around to go back to fight the orcs. He turned to see a ranger and a woman surrounded by trolls. He fired a few fireballs into their ranks and most of them ran away still burning. Some were still alive and as one was about to smash the woman Gramorn hurled his axe into the trolls forehead. "Ye both look ok we're moving on ye can come or not suit yerselves," said Gramorn to the two.

***OOC: Gramorn is a dwarven warrior and Davroar a gnomish sorcerer

[Evil_Gondi]

Orum did not know whether to thank whoever brought down the dragon, or to kill them. He put his arm back into its socket. 'He killed a dragon, thank him.' Orum had to agree, though he could have killed the dragon if Arom had not thrown the Grand Destroyer. He pulled the lance out of the dragon's eye and proceeded towards the defenders. He had taken one too many hits and his wounds were starting to reopen. Concentrating on them once again, he went to see if anyone had anything to heal with. He managed to find Typhren.
"Typh, got any healing potions?" Orum
Typh threw him some bandages. "Make due." She said as she parried and stabbed an orc. Orum pierced the orc through the head and tried to catch the bandages, but he missed, and the surrounding orcs wouldn't have given him enough time to bandage himself anyways. He let out a fercious yell and all the surrounding orcs and trolls fell to the ground. Arom was getting back some of his powers that had fallen out of use. 'It wouldn't have happened if you had kept us in semi-constant battle.' Orum was too busy trying to stay awake and kill orcs at the same time. 'Okay, I have an idea to keep us alive, but, you might not like it.'
'Whatever the consequence, it beats dying.' Suddenly, a fine red mist surrounded him. With every orc he killed he felt a bit stronger. He felt the life force siphon out of the orc and into him. 'Stop this at once!' Orum urged. 'Why?' 'Because you're tempting me.' Arom laughed mentally, Orum had seen threw the trick, but atleast the risk of them dying was no more. The red mist vanished almost instantaneously. Orum ended another orc before the enchanment worth off. If he had not ended it, he would have lost to the demon again. Seeing another part of the camp being hit more heavilly, he ran to enforce it, and luckily found the Grand Destroyer on the way. Wielding it once again, he vanquished the orcs more easily. He swung the Grand Destroyer in wide arcs, killing the orcs and bringing down the trolls. But then, the fighting stopped, and all looked to the north. Something unimaginable was coming. Someone Orum and Arom had hoped to never see again. "Millandrer."

Orum/Arom, Known as Aromun, Less than Human Male, Fighter/Demon

[Gramorn Soulaxe39]

Looking to the sky Gramorn and Davroar saw the Dark Wizard Millandrer. Davroar froze in place. "Something wrong, friend?" Gramorn asked Davroar. "That's my teacher, Millandrer. he taught me all he knew before he turned to the dark side." he said through gritted teeth. He turned his attention back to the orcs and saw half a dozen ogres charge Gramorn. One of them dodged his axe swing and smacked him with it's club. Flying away Gramorn landed up against a tree. Davroar threw a bolt of lightning at them then, using his special spell, black tendrils flew out of his han d and wrapped around the ogres. Gramorn got up and shook his great hairy head, and with a song to his god on his lips he cleaved one of the ogre's head's off. Then his body began to glow with a dark blue. Lighter blue shined out of his eyes and his axe also. Looking to Davroar he charged the orc line and no blade could touch him. He fought and hacked and slashed his way to the middle. He took up his axe once more and was about to cleave the orc's head in two when he realized it was Jerick. Breathing hard he turned around and slew more of the orcs and made his way back to Davroar. "What has happened to you?" Davroar asked him. "My god answered me call I'm guessin." "I found their leader. Name's Jerick I'm thinkin." Davroar's eyes widended and he looked to Chalrym. "Well let us go to them and help defeat the orcs then."

[Evil_Gondi]

**OOC: ARgh! I got's writer's block.

[ixpitchal]

Charlym could see Jerick, standing atop a hill, attempting to rally his men around him as he fought off wave after wave of orc attacks. If he wanted to make his move, he had better make it fast. He started to cut his way through to the human leader.

Looking down on the battlefield, Milandrer could see that his army was being slaughtered with the help of these heroes who had arrived. He could see thier leader, that arrogant merchants son Jerick, rallying his forces for one final push to repel the orcs once and for all. He was standing atop a hill, a perfect target, Milandrer grinned wickedly and began chanting. He murmered strange words, shouted "Pyros!" and pointed a long finger in Jericks direction.

Charlym and the three orcs he had been fighting were knocked off thier feet as a huge fireball roared over thier heads. Looking up, he saw it engulf the hill that Jerick was on just as 10 of his men reached him. There was a few quick screams of pain, and then all that remained atop the hill was ash and charred bones.

A horn sounded from the north and the armies began to retreat. The fighters in the camp, too shocked by the sudden death of thier valiant leader, didn't even bother to give chase.

Charlym finished off the orcs he had been fighting, and ran to the hill top, confirming that Jerick had not survived. There was no sign of life. Shrugging his shoulders, he strode back down the hill to help Gramorn finish off a few ogres. 'I suppose that was easier than trying to kill him myself' he thought, 'I wonder if Tsarun realizes the size of the army that he has invited into the area.'

His task finished, he was in no hurry to return to town, leaving suddenly would raise too many questions. He would linger for a while at least, and see if he could discern some more of what was going on. Perhaps he could find an orc that hadnt died of its wounds yet, orcs tended to give up information fairly quickly when you applied the right methods of interrogation. He smiled to himself as he saw an orc struggling to crawl away, this was going to be fun...

[Rookie]

Millandrer laughed wickedly and rode away on a foul wind. Dune fired an offhand shot which richocheted off an invisible shield. Dune cursed.

The orcs had dispersed and the attack was broken. He and the other heroes gathered in the main building in the camp. Many cleaned weapons of blood and tended wounds. But they were mostly silent.

"So he has returned?" someone asked.
Dune sheathed his blade and rose up, "Indeed! He was never gone! merely dormant. He has relaunched his attack. This time he may succeed."
"Aye!" Gramorn said, "He nearly beat us!"
"But he didn't we have victory this night, even if the price was high." Dune said. All bowed there heads remembering the charred body of Jerick.
"Well, what shall we do?" Aromun asked.
Dune shifted his pack, "I leave on the suns rising. I head north to the dark sorcerers fortress. We must end this before it can fully start. Any who wish to join me?"

Outside thunder rumbled as The Great Storm approached. rain began to pour. This would be a storm that would not end until its caster was vanquished. Dune cocked his head and looked out the broken window.
"Who shall join me?" Dune repeated with a grin. It was a grin of determination, that bolstered the moral of the men.

[Shandi]

Typhren chased the orcs for several miles after they broke, hacking down stragglers with vicious determination. Her muscles were aburn with exertion and her ears boiled with the unbidden fury of battle. When the rain suddenly began to pour down on her steaming skin, she stopped to enjoy the cool shower, catching her breath. She let her hair down to lay drizzling across her drenched shoulders. From the top of a hill she watched the beasts loping away into the wide basin for a bit, and then turned back toward the camp.
Once she felt rested, she began to run again and reached the battlegrounds swiftly. As she arrived she stared at the carnage that had been the miner's camp. The mangled bodies of men and some dwarves and few elves mingled with the hewn corpses of orcs and trolls and the great dragons. As she jogged across the camp she watched as puddles of blood became diluted with rainwater. She looked down at her bloodsoaked clothes and sighed out loud, "Oh well, the grey was getting old anyway."
She noticed that some of the able-bodied men were now packing up to leave as she approached. Seeing a familiar silhouette, she walked up to red knight. He was staring off to the north, and Typhren joined him in doing so for a few moments before asking, "Whatcha lookin' at?"
Aromun was clearly startled, his armor clangled a bit as he turned and looked down at the small female figure beside him. He cleared his throat.
"Millandrer,"
"Never heard of him," Typhren interrupted. "So what is this bunch getting up to?" She turned slightly toward the tired but rallying men.
"The ranger has convinced them to quest into the north, after the great foe we witnessed tonight."
"Hm," she shrugged, "I suppose he's the one to chat at then. See you around," Typhren winked and made her way into the slightly dispersed crowd, searching for Dune. She found him speaking quietly but quickly with a battleworn archer, and patiently waited her turn to find out about this "quest". Who knows, she thought to herself, I may just decide to go along, when it starts to get smelly around here.

[Rookie]

Dune dug out his oilskin cloak from his pack and put it on before he became soaked. He turned around to see Typhren standing close by. "Where are you off to?" Typh asked.
"The North, Millandrer is preparing to attack, but we must attack him first. We are going first to the temple of the Islarian Monks, to find out how to defeat him."
Typhren nodded and wandered off to think. Dune looked at the gathering men around him. He wanted to be sure he wasn't leading them into harms way. Too many would die before this was over, he was sure of it. Whether it be the courageous miners, or several adventurers, but he would feel responsible. He pulled up his hood quickly as the rain began to pour harder.

"Probably not going to be the best idea to be carrying around metal weapons and such during a lightning storm." Davroar commented.
"Well, i can't defend myself with a stick as well as i can a sword. Its been mostly rain anyway."
"And ye' wont be cleavin' too many heads with a wet stick!" Gramorn said to his companion. The dwarf and the gnome wandered off laughing about some jest Gramorn had made.

Dune wandered around the camp, answering questions and giving aid where he could. He did not want to lead this campaign, but for now he was the only one who had a clue of what he was planning.
a miner called out, "An hour till sunrise!"
'So it will come to this.' Dune thought looking towards the black skied north. He prayed quickly to the Diety of Rangers and continued aiding the camp.

[Gramorn Soulaxe39]

Everyone turned their heads up at the sound of heavy footsteps thinking the orcs were back. But they were not orcs but the Gramorn's clansmen of Clan Soulaxe. 50 dwarves poured into the fray. "That you Gramorn?" "Thought ye were dead for sure." the leader of them said smiling. "Ain't met an orc yet who could match me in battle." Gramorn said back to the leader." "Where we goin?" the leader (who's name is Belamros Goldbludgeon) asked Gramorn. "We're heading up to fight Millandrer." "Aye we'll come along then." "Who's the leader?" "Dunno. "Jerick was killed by the wizard." "Let's go find the ranger."

[Rookie]

Dune was approached by a rough group of dwarves. "Well, Lad! where are we headed." Gramorn asked.
"We are first going to the Temple of Islarian monks to find out if there's a way to beat Milandrer. They may be able to bestow magic weapons upon us that can defeat him."
"Well there's your answer! We're leaving in less than an hour." Gramorn said to his companions.
"Five minutes to be exact." Dune said.
"Alright, get ready!" the dwarf leader said to the rest.
The pouring rain would make difficult traveling conditions, but if they didn't do it soon it may be too late. Five minutes later Dune took the lead. "Alright! Lets move!" the adventurers departed the mining camp and began to move around the mountains. A weeks walk to the Temple of Islarian Monks. The Orcs would surely have patrols all along the way.
Dune led the way as the thunder began to roll again and the hidden sun lightened the world.

[ixpitchal]

**OOC: Charlym will be going along, with a hidden agenda of his own of course, something involving the temple and the monks, dont have time to think anything up right now but you can use him in any fights on the way there, he will particularily watch the backs of davroar and gramorm, having earned a decent amount of respect for them after fighting beside them.

[Evil_Gondi]

Orum was pondering which was worse, being saddle sore or walking in the rain. 'You see how you were fighting back there? You need exercise, walk fatty.' Arom chided. 'Like you were any better 'OH MY GODS! A DRAGON! PLEASE, ORUM, WHAT EVER DO I DO?'' Orum taunted back. Arom's thoughts fell silent. 'Speak--thinking of the battle, why'd you forget all your powers again?'
'It was your do-gooder zeal.'
'So why'd they come back?'
'Because you're getting evil.'
Orum's thoughts became troubled. He did feel different in this battle, as if it had revived him. He certainly felt more alive than the other night.
'Just give in already, it'd make us more powerful.'
'More powerful for what exactly?'
'So we can destroy Milandrer, you know, finish the job. Besides, he's gotta be stinkin' rich.'
'It's a simple procedure. Won't even take long, and hey, you'll even get rid of me to boot.' Arom was once again trying to convert Orum. That thought did tickle Orum's fancy. Tickled it a lot.
The party to destroy Milandrer was beginning to move, Orum summoned his horse and kept pace with the group. All the dwarves looked like a mass of helmets bobbing up and down.
'Now, what exactly is this procedure?' Orum took to a canter to keep pace with the small army.
'Well, I simply bind our souls into one.'
'How'd you learn to bind souls?'
'I lay dormant for a couple years, gotta do something in the meantime.'
'Hmm... well, can we just make sure that you don't go too evil? The ultimately evil guys always die.'
'You can say that again.' Arom had lived over five millenia ago, killed by some ancient race everyone forgot.
'So, powerful, but not too evil.'
'Gotcha.'
Arom began the binding their souls. It was no easy task, being a component and all. Orum took off a contorted piece of his armor and began hammering back into shape.
"Excuse me, sir knight?"
Orum let out a deep sigh, passed out, and fell over, still on his horse. Arom's soul binding had a minor side effect he just now learned.
"Uhhh.... are you okay?"
Typhren checked Orum for any signs of poison that she knew about. Seeing him not poisoned, she thought it was just exhaustion and hopped on the horse for a free ride.

[Rookie]

Dune scouted ahead while he left the main party on the trail. Strange man-like footprints had caught his attention so he scouted ahead. He crawled on his stomach over a hill and peaked into a narrow pass. Man-Orcs, Humans bred with the orcs to create this foul race. They had spotted the troops movement between the two mountains and had set up a spiked wall, perfectly crafted unlike the miners makeshift at the battle. Dune watched as the armed Man-Orcs patroled. He saw one way around, but it would have to be carefully planned to avoid confrontation.

The Man-Orcs were stronger than the average orc, so a fight had to be avoided. Dune saw a narrow ridge, unpatrolled with low bushes along the edge.

The company was sitting about the trail when Dune returned. "Three hundred Man-Orcs have sealed the pass ahead. There's one way around, but we've got to crawl on our bellies, the horses will have to be left behind. Any noise and we'll be attacked." Dune reported.
Charlym appeared indifferent. several fully armored warriors were slightly discouraged. The Dwarves appeared dissapointed at the thought of avoiding a fight, but complied.

Dune led them over the pass slowly. Over 100 adventurers slunk along on their bellies making no sound. All had weapons drawn and ready in the moment they may have to attack. The sound of the rain echoed through the pass and concealed much of their movement.
Then, the clink of armor. Dune looked back in horror. Some unknown armored warrior looked at his side in shock as an arrow protruded from his side. Soon, arrows flew everywhere. Dune jumped up with the others and leaped into the Man-Orcs below.

Dune, male, human, ranger

[Shandi]

Typhren was soaked to the bone, but she didn't mind. She had spent years without being dry and it almost felt like home again. Home again, crawling through the mud under a cold downpour. The orc's saber she'd held onto was now wrapped in cloth, the sleeves torn from her shirt, to keep it from making noise. She been glad when they were told to leave the horses behind. She didn't know what could have possibly posessed her to get on that horse for such a slow pace. That was part of why Typh hated travelling in large groups, you can only get anywhere so fast as your slowest member.
She was far off to the side from where the knight was hit with the first arrow. She ducked her head at first, and when she identified the source of the sound, she quickly wriggled around a struggling dwarf and rolled off into the tree cover. She considered what she may have done just then, as she sat under an oak fairly deep into the section of wood. She may have silently made her way around their army, not snapping a twig or bending an unbent blade of grass, not making a sound or leaving a track. She may have anxiously slunk up behind the ranks of the enemy with professional precision. She may have drawn a long, slender dagger from the small of her back, without the sound of steel sliding from its sheath. She may have silently crept among the rear regiment, cutting deep into the lungs and throats of their archers. She may have noiselessly killed well over twenty of their number in a short time, carefully dispersing her kills so that they may not be noticed. Two swiftly here, one there, just to the left one...
She may have drawn her half-dull saber and a combat dagger from above her left knee and joined the retaliation of the rabble of dwarves and miners. She may have raced into fierce battle, to the aid of her new acquaintances. She may have grimly cut down maybe ten or fifteen of the enemy in close combat, one agonizing stroke after the next. Slicing, turning, rolling, running, hacking. Breathing death and exhaling fury...
Just now though, she sat under an oak, and drifted into a vigilant half-sleeping state. She figured their army would win this battle, and if they did she could catch up with them further down the trail and join the war. This was the least they could do. If they couldn't pass this test they were no use. She shrugged her shoulders and wiggled herself down into a crook in the trunk of the great tree. She was quite comfortable. Rain, cold, and the sounds of anguish nearby lulled her into a restful state.

[Iyanden]

OOC: Bah, this charcter will never fit in this setting...Time for Nurg to arrive. Suffice to say that Damal is stil sitting there pouring over maps hehe
New Char: Nurg Eadsplittur-Ogre Maneater of the Eadsplittur Tribe. Leader. ON a pilgramage to eat new things. Follows the Great Maw. Most of you don't play Wahrhammer, so i'll explain. He is a gigantic eating machine off to taste new things on his leadership rights test. He will fight if you pay him, or he may just attempt to eat you. :P Follows the Great Maw, a god of Endless Hunger and Violence.
Wears: A huge hulking Belly plate, emblazoned with maw over his sacred organ, the stomach. A assortment of rust mail armor. A gigantic 2 handed Mace with spikes. Approximatly 8 foot tall, Nurg is big, even by Ogre standards. Huge, jutting teeth and a smart (for an Ogre) brain. He speaks Ogre only.

Nurg lumbered through the human camp, frowning, his incisors sticking up. There was nothing new to eat. He went over his mental checklist: Humans-plently Halflings: Plenty Elves: Few, too stringy....
He looked up from the pitches tent and saw the battle field. Orcs! he hadn't had those, least a ways, not ones form this area of the cosmos. He trundled over, plopped down next to a body, and began gorging. After awhile, he started cracking the bones to suck out the marrow. Munching happily, he looked over to see a girl under a tree, soaked, staring at him in utter revulsion.
Nurg looked her over before shrugging and grunting "Whut am lat's problum? Hur?" He stood up and began walking purposfully over towards her.

[Rookie]

Warcries and sounds of battle erupted suddenly. Dune ripped his blade from its sheath and knocked away a man-orc blade. He struck across the beasts chest and followed through and stabbed into another one behind him. Dune realized there were far more Man-Orcs then first thought. He picked up a dagger from the ground and hurled it into the neck of a man-orc that was going to strike down an adventurer. Dune jumped back as a large axe struck the ground where he was standing.

Dune suddenly noticed Typhren was missing. Could she have been shot during the first strikes? Dune put aside his worry figuring he just couldn't see her. He fought his way to the otherside of the canyon wall and found Aromun and a man-orc squeezing eachothers throats. Finally the man-orc collapsed and Aromun rejoined the battle. Dune held his sword firm, took a breath and charged the main force again.

He kicked one down and stabbed it through the chest and pulled it out. In the same motion he hit a man-orc in the crotch, bringing the beast to its knees. Dune decapitated it and turned around to see the other adventurers were being pushed back. the Dwarves fought their way until they were all backed against the wall. Dune felt cold wet rock against his back as he parried away the blows.

Davroar conjured a shielding spell which protected them. "This won't last long!" Davroar said.
"What can we do!?" one adventurer asked.
"Brace ourselves. Thats all we can do. The journey may have been short, but my life will last a bit longer by thunder!" Gramorn roared, "And we be taken a few of the heathens down with us!"
The shield dropped, "CHARRRRRGE!!!" they yelled and the adventurers pushed forward. Dune severed arms legs and heads as they dove into the enemy ranks. Suddenly a strange horn blew above them at the edge of the cliff. The elves had come.

Dune, male, human, ranger

[Shandi]

Typhren immediately suppressed the urge to scream, that would get her nowhere fast. Then she fought the instinct to run, she may be quick on her feet, but this thing was huge. She almost laughed at herself as she cursed her short legs. Instead she stood up and steadied herself, and picked up the orc's saber she carried, in the least offensive way one can draw a weapon. Then she just stood and watched seriously as the giant ogre approached her. She had never seen one so big. She'd never been eaten either, was her automatic next thought. She studdied him as he lumbered across the shrinking gap between them. He wore rusty chain mail under a belly plate big enough to make a luxurious bed for Typhren, and carried a massive mace. She couldn't help but think, thats gonna hurt. She noted his huge tusks and sheer size and decided he must hold some rank among his kind. She simply let the saber hang loosely in her left hand, knowing it would be no use against this giant, and wished she spoke more ogre.
"Hullo," she said in a clear voice, looking way up as he stopped a foot or two in front of her, "you don't happen to understand me do you?"
He just looked at her.
"Can I help you with something or are you just hungry?"
Still he just studied her. She figured if he was going to eat her he'd have just walked over and had a bite. That was her understanding of ogres. She sighed and looked at the ground. Quite frankly she didn't know what to do next. She must not have offended him yet as she wasn't dripping off his mace so she wished to quit while she was ahead. Finally he said something. He grumbled in a barely intelligable tongue something including the last two words, want orc.
"Yes, well," Typhren said quietly, "I'll try not to bother you any further. If you want the orc, by all means, finish it. I didn't mean to interrupt."
He just stared at her in seeming incomprehension.
"Look I'm sorry," she said getting nervous now, "I don't really speak ogre. I don't know what you want from me. If you're going to eat me, well there's not much I can do about that, but if you aren't, then what?" She glanced toward the sounds of the battle, wondering if she should bother calling out. Well I suppose this is something I can see myself doing, she thought, standing here like a drown rat chatting at an ogre who has no clue what I'm on about. So she stood for several moments, until an elven horn sounding drew the attention of both unsuccessful conversationalists.

[Gramorn Soulaxe39]

His men being shot down and cornered Gramorn had to do something...and quickly. "Belamros take half of your force and try to push through the line of man-orcs!" Gramorn took the remaining half of his force and went around trying to find an escape route for his men. A large group of monstrous ogres charged for him and his men, but then he heard the hum of bowstrings and the ogres started to retreat. He looked up to see the large group of elves that had helped them. Nodding to the leader of the elves he took his men and went back to Belamros. On his way back to the frontlines he saw a human woman and the largest ogre he had ever seen. She had apparently tried to talk him out of eating her, but it didn't seem to have gone well. He walked slowly behind the ogre. Winking at the woman he took his battle-axe and slammed it full force into the back of it's head. It fell down and thinking the fight over Gramorn started running back to his men. But then the ogre leaped up and grabbed Gramorn with one of it's huge hands, and began squeezing the life out of it. But then Davroar, having gone looking for Gramorn ran through the bushes with 20 dwarves armed and with full battle-regalia. His men went charging and scored quite a few hits on the behemoth, but he kept fighting while keeping Gramorn in his hand. Davroar conjured up a huge ball of fire over his head and flung it at the ogre. It hit him right in the chest and he went flying into the bushes his life extingueshed. Gramorn ran back out with part of his armor scorched but besides that he was fine. Smiling they all charged back to help dune and their brethren.

[Remban]

"I thought they could just sneak by these wretched things since we took out their sentries but nooooo, they just have to wake up the entire army!"sneaks up behind an ogre and stabs a dagger into both of its kidneys, and it falls over quite dead."Honestly, I thought they were smart enough to just slink by. But noooo..." Slits the throat of a man-orc, then quick tosses a dagger at a man-orc attempting to sneak up behind one of the elves, hitting it in the eye and killing it.

Jassa, night elf rogue, female.

[Shandi]

**OOC: Wasn't there a rule about no unauthorized PvP? Or was Nurg's brutal death authorized in some way I don't know about?

[Rookie]

**OOC: Yeah, there was a rule. Only if both characters are on opposing sides in a full scale battle and/or if the player attacked aproves the fight. So Nurg's death isn't authorized unless Nurg approves of it. If Nurg wants to have his character to come back he could just have it get back up and resume their fight.

A flurry of arrows fell from the sky into the Man-Orc ranks as the elves assisted the adventurers. Dune watched as the arrows struck down the man-orc garrison. When the last one fell the Elves ran down and greeted the adventurers.
"Dune! We meet again." a young elf said jovially.
"Tethenar! Last I saw you was when i left the elven fortress!"
"Yes, much has changed since then. Our borders have been breached by all manner of foul beasts. We followed this band to here. It appears we were lucky to find you." Tethenar said, "What brings you here?"
"We are journeying to the Islarian Temple, then further north to do battle with the Dark Wizard." Dune said in the elven fashion of not naming a living evil being.
"I wish i could join you, but we must return to our borders and ensure we are safe." Tethenar said, "If you follow this path, you will see a fallen log with an ever watching owl. Turn right here and go into the forest. You will find a secret trail there. You will reach the temple faster that way."
"Many thanks, we will regroup and rest. Then we shall depart during the night."
"Good luck to you and your party." Tethenar said. The elves hastily departed. The lightning began to flash again as the thunder returned.

Dune, Human, Ranger

[Iyanden]

OOC: Um..yeah daggers could kill a 4 foot wide ogre. You've not killed him, just succeded in ticking him off with a "pokey". Not smart, as well that you've damaged his gut, his most holy organ. Start running elf. I won't kill you, so long as you stay away. I wasn't going to hurt Typh anyways, just be puzzled.

IC: Nurg rose up, roaring in defiance. He whirled with his mace and managed to slam the ground next to the nimble elf. She danced away into the fray and Nurg gave up. She had only priced him anyways, as he drew the tiny dagger no more size than his thumb from his side. He looked back towards the nearly petrified human girl running towards the battle. He turned his massive head and viewed the melee below in the hilly depression. Massagin his cut side, he pondered that eating would help him feel better. His massive frame trundled none too slowly towards the flank of the orcs and Nurg hit it like a battering train, his dervish blows taking orcs in the side and heads, collapsing ribs and pulping skulls every swing. The small orc contingent he had hit finally regrouped and began bearing down on Nurg, his decresed armspace now showing a toll. A mound of bodies began to build up around him, and a ring started to form as dozens of orcs flooded in a a time, only to be added to the pile. Nurg was bleeding from dozens of nicks, and his body was coated in gore. His red stained axe rose and fell, taking a terrible toll on the orcs. A nearby archer fired a bolt towards Nurg's neck, but it only managed to imbed the bolt, not even wounding the gignatic creature. Nurg roared and continued to fight, his spare hand grabbed a nearby orc and, roaring, Nurg began to close his fist, smuching the unfortunate orcs skull. Nurg took a huge bite from it's still pulsating body, and the rocs quit. They streamed back to thier own lines, yowling in terror. Nurg sat down, pulled several arrows form himself, and began to gorge, his considerable regeneration healing his none to sugnificant wounds. Several nearby soldiers began to gawk and be sick. Nurg grunted, mumbling to himself "Hur, skahin uruks. Nurg hungrier now."

[Gramorn Soulaxe39]

Sorry bout that guys never saw Iyanden's post :) I guess that never happened then

[Rookie]

**OOC: Nice recovery guys. Glad we could fix it :)

*IC: An owl flew past them as they neared the foretold log. "Here it is." Dune said to Aromun.
"Yep, thats the log the elves told us about."
Dune led them into the woods and found the trail. So in single file, the adventurers traveled through the woods in the pouring rain.

The party soon found themselves before a great temple. Islari, the Goddess of Light and Goodness, had her monks here. They huddled around the great gates of the pyramid shaped temple. Dune knocked solidly on the metal doors. A small slot opened, "Who wishes entry into the Goddess's halls?" a monk asked.
"We are a group of warriors who seek your guidance. We are looking for a way to defeat Milandrir, the Dark Wizard."
The slot closed and then a small door opened. "Come in warriors, Father Ementhat will be with you shortly."

The drying warriors were scattered through the main chamber. Many checked weapons for rust and took time to rest. Then the high priest entered. "My brothers tell me you seek a way to defeat the wizard to the north."
"Yes, high priest." Dune replied.
"We can help you with this. To defeat him, you must cut his power source. You must go deep into the north, and find a giant green gem, called the Murmachemas. Destroy it and you can defeat the wizard. But you will need special weapons. Come with me." the high priest said.