Legacy RP

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
With no way to help the wounded horse, Salah led Zephyr to the far side of the shelter while leaving Ser Gabriel to tend to Zealot, taking stock of the inside of the shelter as he did. He suspected that the farmers' concern about Sers Ricktor and Mortimus (if such men even existed; certainly, Salah was unfamiliar with the names) were founded primarily upon the hidden distillery. The greater concerns, however, were the metallic odor and ominous words coming from the trapdoor, and - still worse - the disquiet they engendered in Ser Gabriel. His assessment of witchcraft served to unnerve Salah as well; the young knight had not expected to find such evils so near to Archades, nor was he familiar with fighting them. As he took a moment to gather his resolve, Salah hoped that warlocks died the same as other men, and that Neustarr's blessing would protect him from their foul incantations.

"Of course, Ser Gabriel." He responded firmly, drawing his sword and hoisting his shield high (to protect his head and chest) before nearing the trapdoor. Narrow as the stairwell beneath it was, he elected to grip his sword just above the crossguard, suspecting that the better mobility it would afford him was of greater import than the power behind a wide, sweeping blow. His preparations made, Salah ventured down the stairs and through the dank, dark passage, keeping a close eye out for the sources of both the now-overwhelming scent of spilled blood and swelling voices.
 

Lotus

Well-Known Member
Member
@Tirin @Easy

Zealot's wound swelled and pus oozed out of it as the dark poisons within were purged by divine intervention. A calm washed over the steed as if the God of Justice himself were whispering to it. The pus and poison spilled out onto the floor. Zealot huffed and shook his head as if in thanks. The injury itself appeared to be minor. It would provide an vicious looking batlle scar, and likely no trouble beyond that.

As Salah stepped into the stairwell to head down into the recess in the earth, a feeling washed over him. It was as if the stairwell were actually a gate transporting him to evil itself. The air was dry and the slightest sound was loud to the ears. The young knight stepped into a stone chamber constructed of hewn granite and obsidian. Multiple torches were lit, granting a decent field of view. The sound of chanting was thunderous. Prayer bowls and wax statues were scattered along the walls. The bowls were stained with blood, and the statues depicted various individuals of no obvious importance. As eerie as the chamber seemed, the most eerie about it was that no shadows were cast by the torches, or by any object within the room. Not even Salah cast a shadow.

The room itself seemed large enough to fit a score of priests, though it currently stood empty aside from Salah himself. A wide obsidian set of doors set in a granite and steel archway set at the far end of the room. The doors at the far end stood slightly opened, and the chanting appeared to be coming from beyond it.
 

Lotus

Well-Known Member
Member
@TimTh33nchant3r
The pair wandered the woods for several minutes before Camphor called a halt. "That's odd. We're wandering in circles. We should've been forced out of the forest by now. Perhaps the magics too have been warped." He knelt before a dead oak and pressed an ear against its bark. After a few moments he stood and shook his head. "It's as I feared, we're deeper in the haunted wood than one should go. Either the curse has us in its grip, or worse." He grew silent as he stared off in the distance.

"Wilhelm. Forgive me for this. I'll find a way out of these woods, if it costs me my life. I promise." Camphor declared, though the fear in his voice suggested that he was unsure of such a declaration.

"Well then, can't have you breaking such a promise, can we?" An overwhelming voice echoed through the area that left a weight on the chest. The tone inspired fear and terror. The light cast through the canopy diminished. Only small fragments of light cast through, like stars in the night sky. A transparent and wispy figure stood behind Camphor. It sneered. The look on its face was pure joy and elation. It's eyes, which displayed as nothing but stars, emitted feelings of hunger and lust. The transparent figure solidified as an entity of the void. It was dark and no light passed through it, or even near it.

Wilhelm's wounds began to ache sharply. It were as if he were being torn from within. All the pain he'd felt before was magnified intensely into this moment.

Camphor stood as if paralyzed by fear or dark magic. His eyes twitched as he slowly fought the tangible fear to reach for his blade.
 

TimTh33nchant3r

Active Member
Member
The silver coin fell from Wilhelm's mouth as he dropped to his knees and let loose an inhuman howl of agony. The shadow-assassin had the drop on Camphor; there was only going to be one chance to help. The ax. He had to use the ax. His shoulder burned as he moved slowly, too slowly, his wound tearing open again and fresh blood running down his torso and soaking his front. "Camphor, fight!" he shouted as he lurched violently to his feet, took a shaky step forward, and swung downward with both his hands and all his weight.

Wilhelm knew he didn't have the strength to stop his swing, or really keep fighting at all, so he just let his momentum carry him forward toward the ground, the head of his ax locked in a collision course with the rear of the head of his foe. One last blow, a follow-through without reservation, he could only hope it shook Camphor from his daze and gave him a fighting chance.
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
For a moment, it seemed like Gabriel would smile. But, with the usual restraint which he took for discipline, his expression remained joyless everywhere below his eyes as he sighed with relief and fondly patted the neck of his ever-faithful equine companion. "All glory, all honor, all thanks be to Neustarr" he murmured, taking up his shield and turning at once to follow Ser Salah without bothering to stable the horse. First, because he'd promised the junior knight that he'd allow only a moment's delay. Secondly, because it was his intention that if any of the witches fled past them up the stairs, there would be a most vengeful, vicious, and unrestrained Archadian war horse waiting there for them.

A sense of foreboding and a cold sweat broke over him as he entered the chamber below. The horrid sights called forth unwanted memories of another den like this one, a foe, long dead, that still haunted the worst of his nightmares, and the mark that had never left him. Though visibly shaken, he forced calm upon himself as well as he could, drew his sword, and advanced on the far doors without so much as a word, shield held high. Something in his mind told him that perhaps he ought to remind Salah to kick open the door and take stock of the situation before charging directly in, but he said nothing, not trusting his voice to convey it.
 
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Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
Even as Salah's every instinct pushed him to flee from the haven of witchcraft, sin, and depravity that he had found himself in, his honor as both knight and noble held the young man firm. He had not joined the esteemed ranks of the Phoenix to admit defeat so soon, and the frantic pounding of his heart slowed to a steady beat as he again forced himself forward to confront the evils behind the heavy stone doors, casting the gore and figurines from his mind as he crept forward. As wide as the chamber was, Salah returned his grip to the hilt of his sword as he waited for Ser Gabriel to join him, his priorities having shifted from ensuring he would not be caught off-guard to hacking the heretics apart the instant he caught them in their foul acts of worship.

Taking a final, calming breath before the breach, he surged forward to kick the door open with all of his might, both sword and shield high as he surveyed the circumstances. Though certain his eyes would be met with cruelties beyond imagining, Salah intended to give them only a moment's glance before striking down those who had perpetrated as much. Such was the duty of a Knight of Archades.
 

Lotus

Well-Known Member
Member
@Easy @Tirin
The old wooden and wrought iron doors swung open with incredible force as dust and debris flew into the air. The cloud of dust obscured vision for everyone nearby. Wide stairs lead down into an elliptical room that was decorated with religious symbols and statues. The obsidian statues depicted faceless men and women in postures that suggested agony and suffering. There were alters of various gods here; several of which were obviously desecrated.

Across the room, a statue that once depicted the honorable Neustarr now laid on its side. Its head was shattered and the Sword laid broken upon its Altar. The sun crest on the statue's armor had deep grooves carved across it, and the sun itself displayed the black and brown of dried blood.

The only statue that stood without mar was the statue of a maiden. She wore a star-covered cloak that covered most of her features. The hood was drawn up over her head. In the palm of her hand was a silver crescent moon. In the other was a silver dagger with a black pommel stone. It was quite obviously a statue of Cera, the Goddess of the Stars, the Seamstress of Fate. Her place here seemed very wrong somehow.

An elven man stood aside the statue of Cera. He lead the chanting that was now recognizable. "May our own suffering bring forth His power, that we may be bathed in his eternal glory. Our own blood flows like the Styx. It will call Him here, that He may end our Suffering forever! May we call become one with him through the pain that we know is life!"

Several cultist coughed and gagged from the dust cloud, others stood and drew weapons; small ceremonial daggers that were barbed and curved wickedly.

"Fear not these trespassers! They seek only to add to our Suffering! The have truly been brought by Him! They are our saviours!" The tall elven cult leader called out loudly.
 

Lotus

Well-Known Member
Member
@TimTh33nchant3r

The dark figure passed through Camphor, and for a moment it seemed the knife-ear had been possessed. His flesh grew pale as his form grew limp. His body fell away and only the dark form stood before Wilhelm. The cook's axe swing cleaved through the figure, but to Wilhelm's surprise, he felt no contact, as if he'd swung through thin air.

The dark figure smirked momentarily before vanishing entirely. Wilhelm's wounds ached sorely, and Camphor kneeled on the ground before him. The half-elf's face stared up at Wilhelm. Camphor's face carried a look of fear and anguish. To Wilhelm's horror, Camphor's eyes were empty sockets that seemed to stare into his own core, leaving him feeling empty, alone, and utterly useless.

Silence was washed away by the sound of the wind blowing through the woodland followed by the dull beating of Wilhelm's own heart. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. His vision blurred and he passed out.

Wilhelm awoke in a familiar tent. His wound was wrapped tightly and a cold, wet rag laid over his forehead. A maiden sat in a chair next to his bedside. She rushed to check on him as he woke up. "Wil, I'm so glad you're okay. I think I finally broke that nasty fever." She hugged him tightly, which gave him immense cause to complain. Pain shot through his right side. She set back in the chair, took the wet rag and soaked it again in fresh icewater. "You just lie back for now. Lila is here for you."

The young maiden stood up and walked away for a moment and returned with a bowl. "If you're hungry, I have this porridge that I made for you. I'll help you eat it." She smiled warmly. She seemed to know Wilhelm very well, but to his memory, he could not recall her in the slightest.
 

TimTh33nchant3r

Active Member
Member
Was he back at the camp? He had to warn them. Wilhelm lurched painfully upward into a sitting position and tightly grabbed the girl's, no, Lila's arm. Hoarsely he rasped, "The curse! Beware of Tim! The curse!" He lay back down with a pained groan as his ribs began to throb again and asked more calmly, "Did...what happened to Camphor?" Then, as thoughts raced through his mind, "Have we any silver? Did they find the pelts? Did they burn Tim's body? They need to. They must! It is imperative!" Who was Lila anyway? One thing he knew for certain: he felt like shit.
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
There was little need for the senior knight to speak as the villains fell upon them. And yet, perhaps there was more than had been expected, for he spoke anyway.

"Ser Salah." There was no way to read Ser Gabriel's expression as his platinum hair fell over the side of his face, while his head bowed down in sorrow and his limbs made ready for battle. In the half-second that he took to brace himself, things were almost quiet while the cultists hung in mid-step, and the knight's plated legs shifted toward for the charge.

"You kill if you have to." It was a declaration, beyond doubt. Spoken with conviction, with no doubt or hesitation, - and yet, lacking any hint of passion. His sword raised, and turned at just the right angle to let the torchlight cast off of the Elven runes edged along the blade - Saesennaesae. Service.

Wavering shadows and bits of straw seemed to hang in the air as the younger half-elf took in the sight of his senior's preparation, and then, without warning, Ser Gabriel's boots dug into the soil, and the powerful plate-and-muscle figure sprung forward with his shield held high in front of him. His head was leaned to and low within the crutch of his arm, and his blade held edge-out well behind. It was clear from the start that it didn't matter how many unshod peasants he had to barrel through; the elf who stood behind them was his target. Trusting in his set of hammered plate to turn aside any wildly slashing blades from those he shoved roughly aside in his unchecked fury, Ser Gabriel broke through the ranks and charged on, lifting his saber high as he reached the end, eyes flashing down at the offending elf with far more anger than mercy...
 
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Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
Salah found himself paralyzed briefly by the scenes he was exposed to, absorbing and processing the profane sights without a word nor a move. The bloodied and broken effigy of holy Neustarr, and an image of Cera held captive amidst scenes of torment. The young knight felt as though his blood was boiling and his soul was afire; certainly, as the dust cleared, some divine inferno raged in his eyes. He lowered his visor and spoke the last words that many in the room would hear, in a cadence tempered with equal parts wrath and purpose: "Rejoice not, heretics. Your suffering has met its end."

He stormed down the stairs and into the sactum but a second after Ser Gabriel, but was far less kind to the cultists assembled within. His shield was held to protect him, but his focus lay in making sweeping, powerful blows that would doubtless break through the peasants' meager guard and carve clean through their unprotected flesh and bones. The lone mercy that Salah could hold himself to was not striking down the unarmed followers; those with weapon in hand were not only heretics, but traitors who had taken up arms against the knighthood and thus Archades. Death was the only sentence such men were worthy of.
 

Lotus

Well-Known Member
Member
@TimTh33nchant3r

Lila pursed her lips and placed the bowl of porridge on the side table near the bed. "Curse? Relax. There's no curse. You're just suffering fever dreams. Lie back, and I'll take care of you. I brewed up a tonic that should help break your fever." She stood up and pulled a small blue vial from a pouch at her waist. "Drink this, and I'll go get the Lumbermaster. He wanted to speak to you as soon as you awoke." She smiled as offered the vial to Wilhelm. "I'm sure he'll be able to answer your questions. I'm just the yard nurse." Lila adjusted the blankets covering Wilhelm before leaving the tent and Wilhelm alone. None of his questions were answered yet. Was that all just some fever dream? No. It couldn't be.
 

Lotus

Well-Known Member
Member
@Tolvan Opening Scene: Home of Lu-Khan, Grand Master of Gnomish Martial Arts School of the Inner Fist. Time: mid-morning.

Ericus woke up feeling groggy. A pool of vomit had dried to the side of his face and his karate-ascot. The scent of strong gnomish mushroom wine filled the room. Memories of the night before flooded his mind. Another night of drinking with Master.

The small gnome struggled to sit up as the room spun around him. A deep and vicious burp escaped his throat. Ericus closed his eyes to attempt to mentally block out the horrid odor and swallow back the taste.

Ericus climbed to his feet and looked over his small room. Everything seemed in order, but something was off. The sounds of other students practicing was silent where raging "hi-ya" should be.
 

TimTh33nchant3r

Active Member
Member
Was it all just a dream? Or maybe a vision... no, it was real. It all began with the attack on the patrol, and Wilhelm's party heading out to cull the wolves. Not all had gone as intended though. Regas had fallen against the pack, and while they'd slain the were-beast leading it, Camphor was missing after that thing had accosted them on the way back.

Wilhelm rose slowly from the bed, clutching the vial of blue liquid in his hand. He could take it, and it would probably dull the pain, but he needed to be certain that the camp was safe first. It wouldn't do to drink it and go into a drugged stupor only to be killed by werewolf Tim. His every joint felt stiff and creaky as he made his way to the entrance to the tent. He pulled the flap aside and looked out around the area he expected to be the logging camp.
 

Tolvan

Campaign Killer
Member
Shaking his head to dispell the grogginess was a mistake, Ericus realized, as he wandered over to a bucket and puked again. Grabbing for a water bottle nearby and getting it on the second try, he downed the entire bottle in one go, and readjusted his ascot as best he could.

Now,
Ericus realized that it was far too quiet, and stumbled over to the door. Bracing for whatever he might find beyond, Ericus threw the door open in a single motion, fists as ready as they could be through the hangover.

Peeking out the door, Ericus took a quick glance around, trying to discern the reason for the foreboding silence.
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
@Lotus you still owe us a thing, man. =(
 
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