Blood for the Abyss

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The battle was not going well. SOren and the soldiers had been pushed back from the parapet, and were struggling to remain on the outer wall itself. Between the Dorw warrior at his side, and the sergeant on his other, they were barely managing to keep the orcs at bay, but they would need something special to break back to the parapet.

The orc Soren was currently fighting was bigger than the others, and had paintings on its face that marked it as some kind of leader, though obviously an unimportant one to be thrown into the assault. Each cleave of Soren's greatsword was met by a parry of axe, and it's own attacks were becoming faster. Soren's arms were moving automatically, and had long ago gone numb, the price for wielding such a large weapon.

The orc moved for a new tactic, mainly using itssize to beat Soren aside. As it charged him, he spun away, yet its swung axe followed him, and caught him between the shoulders, and his armour barely held. There would be such a bruise, he thought as he turned again to face the creature.

They stood motionless for a moment, before the orc leaned forward and bellowed at him, smiling as it tried to make him run.

Soren felt a stirring in his blood, getting higher, higher, closer to the surface. He screamed too, and opened his eyes as wide as they would go. It was like removing a mask; twin beams of light shot from his eyes, and immolated the orc where it stood. Dumbfounded, he watched the pile of ash disintigrate, and float away on the wind. The orc had left a gap in their line, and with a roar of righteous fury, he charged in before it could be filled, taking the soldiers and the drow with him.

 

The soldier, obviously thinking Culculna in league with the orcs, rushed towards the elf. However, his mussle was not as quick as Culculna's magic. Humming an incantation under his breath, Culculna Dazed the soldier, giving Culculna the moment he needed to put a few orcs and soldiers too caught up in fighting to notice a half-drow between himself and the ignorant human.
Culculna then realized that he had landed himself in the middle of an onslaught of orcs. A gigantic axe came from above, as a small, compact, wiry orc fell from a siege ladder, screaming and swinging the axe that seemed impossibly big for his size. Culculna raised his sword in a desperate attempt to parry, and though he succeeded in blocking the blow, its sheer force knocked him to the ground and his sword from his hand. Recovering from the fall, Culculna saw his snarling orc "friend" advancing on him, followed closely by two other, larger, tusk-ridden monstrosites...

[ February 11, 2006, 02:26: Message edited by: deepfae ]

 

Valnar noticed that there were more orcs coming and smiled he shouted st the orcs "Come and die, scum" over his shoulder he said to the gnome "Careful of yourself little one, this is about to get very messy" and then he Raged. Bits of Orc were flying everywhere from his axe, anyone watching would have been startled by the savage beauty in the dance of death he wove about himself his axe a shining blur of mayhem and his shield a solid wall of defence; incredibly, slowly he started pushing them back towards the wall.

 

"Gond, this is getting boring really fast." She blindly drew another arrow from her quiver, nocked it and let it fly. The orc she aimed for ducked out of the arrow's path, but into the axe's. Giggling, Skiffle nocked another arrow.

 

Valis followed Soren through the gap. He had slipped into bloodlust and was enjoying the battle now. He slide one scimitar under the reaching arm of an arc, and slashed the other through the knee of a second. With he arms spread wide open, he was seemingly left wide open for an attack from the orc in front of him. The beast lunged and at the last second a scimitar blade cut through the spears shaft. Lashing out with a foot, Valis caught the orc under his chin and knocked it back. Plungeing both scimitars into the beasts throat, he continued on his way.

"Will they ever stop, will we ever get enough support or are we fighting a loseing battle?" He shouted looking for any answer.

 

Jeurson, sat down against a barrel fliping a coin over and over again, waiting for the battle to be over. He hated battles they were useless waste of blood, the after math of a battle is a different matter. Jeurson's arsenal was all from battle grounds, he quietly hummed a tune taught to him by his father. Suddenly he was lifted up by his shoulders and was hoisted up face to face with an ugly humanoid thing. It grinned an ugly grin and was about to slam its forehead against Jeurson. He quickly brought out one of his knifes and thrust it in it's gut. Juerson dropped lightly with agility of a snake, it was dead when it dropped. Jeurson took the monsters knife instead of retrieving his own. He hated blood and took clean ones rather than bloody ones.

He ran back to the wall and quickly got out his climbing tools. His little hammer and pegs that he would hammer into the mortar in the wall. He went up the barrier in a matter of minutes, on the top he found an orc in battle against a young boy. As silent as a shadow and hamstrung the orc and slipped away in a flash. The boy didn't know why he orc fell but wasn't going to stand around and ask questions. Jeurson found a cubby and hid for the remainder of the battle.

 

Hamal emerged from one of the several anncient tunnels that connected the surface of Sunglow to the forgotten tombs below and breathed deeply of the smell of the freshly dead, a smell he loved so. A small part of his was disappointed the battle would end so soon, Pelor's energy was wrapping through the city even as the sun was near set, Hamal knew more then enough of gods to know divine intervention. That young cleric had proven his worth it would have appeared, much to Hamal's displeasure, the chaos the orcs had generated made it easier to move within the city and with enough of that chaos the orcs could pull the astral deva from the temple.

The temple, Hamal was sure, housed whatever it was he was looking for, but the astral deva clearly knew his loyalties where only to himself and his evil nature made him a target of the righteous fury that dwelt within the deva.

The holy power of Pelor began to grow and Hamal began to feel nauseous as if he was boiling over with anxiety as if he had been struck by the spell Cause Fear, as the fear began to engulf him, he returned to the tombs where the power of Nerull would protect him. Hamal was sure that some reduced duration variant of the spell Hallow had settled over Sunglow, Cause Fear was obviously the spell that was attatched to Hallow.

 

The orcs grinned wickedly, and charged. Raising his voice so that the orcs could hear, Culculna began a rythmic poem in response:
Across the Faydorn mountains rolls
The mist of a thousand innocent souls
Shame on you who make them weep!
(at the point Culculna felt the sting of the smallest orc's axe in between the flesh of his chest and his shoulder)
Culculna roared:
So flee to your first cradle's Sleep!
With the completion of the verse, Culculna and the orcs blurred, their forms appearing less substantial. A second later the orcs fell to the ground in a deep, comatose slumber. Culculna grimiced. The axe had bitten deep, but had he finished his verse a second later he would now be missing an arm. "Not my best work," he muttered to himself, refering to the poem. Clutching his shoulder with one arm, Culculna searched for his fallen blade, and finding it, plunged it into the heart of the orc who had wounded him. The orc awoke for its last moment of life: its eyes widened, and a short, agonized breath escaped its lips. Culculna removed the blade and prepared to finish off the other two orcs when he heard a cry near the parapat to his left.
"Will they ever stop, will we ever get enough support or are we fighting a loseing battle?"
Culculna recognized the accent to the voice. Spinning his body to the side, he caught a flash of white hair and dark skin in the light of the dying sun. "Another Drow! The orcs can wait," though Culculna. Sheathing his blade, Culculna began a powerful, courage-inspiring chant in a commanding voice as he hurried towards the Drow:
The blood we've spilled was not in vain,
Like our fathers, who have lain,
In honored glory, with remembered name...

[ February 11, 2006, 03:24: Message edited by: deepfae ]

 

Silviras swooped into the air, loving the smell of fresh air above the thick stench of blood and dirt. He flicked his wing to the right to dodge an oncoming arrow and was caught by a slight gust of wind. He was thrown off course for a moment, then beat his wings rapidly to regain his position.

He looked over the battlefield, noticing that the steady stream of Orcs was slowly beginning to diminish. He dove towards the gate, feinting left and right to confuse the Orcish archers. he swung his mace at the unexpecting Orcs, taking out three. His backhand swing struck an Orc in the chest, sending him flying into four others.

Silviras looked to the sky. Pelor's power is growing!

He fought with a new vigor, but was pierced at the tip of his wing by an Orcish bolt. He spun to the ground, Orcs jumping on top of him, their stench infiltrating his nostrils. He screamed an incantation, tybina!, and several of the Orcs were sent soaring into the air, landing feet away, dead.

He stood up, parrying blows with his mace, trying to reach the bolt in his wing. He reached and reached, parrying blows all the time, and finally yanked the bolt from his wing. By this time there was an orange glow enveloping the city and her assailants. The sun was setting. He flew to the wall, and cried for a healer, his wing needed desperate attention.

 

Soren heard a despairing cry to his side
"Will they ever stop, will we ever get enough support or are we fighting a loseing battle?"

He ducked an axe, and cried back "We fight to the death, for every innocent within these walls! They will retreat soon, fight on brothers!"

He raised his sword up high, and it caught the last rays of the sun as they slowly slipped away. The battle was almost over.

"One push, my brothers, and we can purge them from this place. Follow"

He lunged forward, taking his opponent by surprise as he switched from defensive to offensive. He barked a prayer, and felt Hieronious's strength flow into him. Infused with this holy might, he kicked the orc from the walls, and quickly sent a ladder tumbling after it. There were only a few ladders left now, no more than four, but though the orcs were outnumbered on his area of wall, they fought like the very demons that commanded them, but numbers were beginning to take their toll, and even as he though this more died, and he finished another opponent. The ever-present gyuard sergeant began another battle hymn, this one an exultant song of impending victory. He was relieved to hear a hint of magic in the song; a bard must have joined in. He was knocked sideways by the crunch of an axe as it screeched along his chestplate, and was temporarily knocked from his feet, lost in a sea of legs. He was back with an slash that removed any chance of reproduction for the orc in seconds, and gave a cry as the sun slipped below the horizon, casting darkness over the wall. A quick enchantment lit the area, a by product of his angelic heritage, but the spell was as weak as he felt, and would not last long. STill, few orcs remained.

 

"Ya know what we need, Hymie?" she asked the blond Tall raging beside her. "A big explosion. A fireball from the sky. An arrow of detonation." With that, her stubby fingertips felt the magical arrows she pilfered from a bowyer weeks ago. She'd only been quick enough to get five before the law was called. "Or several. Keep it cool, Hymie, it's gonna get hot."

The arrow slid along the string naturally. Tugging swiftly, she pulled back and let go with a high-arcing aim. The ammunition soared quickly through the air and landed in a large clump of orcs.

FWOOSH

"Pretty red lights," Skiffle cooed, using the rest of the arrows to blast away more orcs. "How 'bout a little fire, homo sapiens orcus?"

 

Orianna's nergaz "friend" killed five of his fellow orcs before being cut down.

"Well at least their brain is now gone", thought Orianna.

Unfortunately, even without the intelligence of their nergaz chieftain to guide them, the orcs knew well enough the plan of killing everything in sight... which happened to be Orianna.

"You die now human", shouted the orc in Orcish.

"Oh if only the world of men saw me as the orcs did.", muttered Orianna in Abyssal.

As the orcs rapidly began to close in on Orianna, she placed her hands out, fingers spread, thumbs touching and muttered a short incantation. Fire burst from her finger tips engulfing the nearest orcs, but Orianna's best offensive spell lacked the power to deal with the orcs that approached her. Orianna tried to dart back into one of the abandoned building, but her normally impressive physical grace failed her, breaking her ankle as she tripped on a fallen brick. As the orcs came close to Orianna, she prayed they would simply kill her.

"Tie her up, Boss Darran would be pleased with her I am sure.", said the largest of the orcs near her.

"No, you don't really want to bring me to Darran, you see I have... diseases... that this Darran of yours wouldn't want to get.", bluffed Orianna in Orcish, "Actually I'm quite sure he'd be quite mad if you brought him a woman who's so.. experienced in the line of work I use to do and even some times still do. You never know what you're getting with women like me."

"Kill her then."

"No... you wouldn't want to do that, you see, if you killed me..."

Orianna didn't finish her sentence as the terror began to mask the faces of the orcs around, causing them to run blindly out of Sunglow screaming and cursing.

[ February 11, 2006, 22:57: Message edited by: Ilmater's Suffering ]

 

As Soren severed the orc's head, he heard a great cheer being given, and looking around, he saw that the battlements were empty of living orcs. It was done, the remnants of their army was fleeing, back to their abyssal masters.
SOren sheathed his weapon, and slumped his shoulders for a moment, before falling back into the manner of a paladin. He congratulated those men who still stood, and made his excuses. He had a report to give.

He headed down from the walls, and and made his way to the temple, entering and approaching the astral deva. WHen he knelt before her, he suddenly becamse acutely concious of his blood-soaked clothing, and the variousinjuries he had sustained, and the fatigue quickly set in, and it was only his will power keeping from from collapse.

"My lady, I bring you report of the day's battle."

 

Juerson peeped out of the cubby and made for the stairs down to the cortyard. He was about to slink off in the shadows when a hand clapsed on to his shoulder, yelling in shock he grabbed a knofe and spun around. It was no orc but a human officer who was yelling at him something about all scouts must follow the orcs to see if they actually left. Jeurson was appalled he was no mere scout but he thought up a different plan.

" Well than could you pick me up and put me on the battlements?" he asked very politely, he was hoisted up and scurried down the pegs he placed in the wall. He hit the ground when he heard the curses of the man, he seemed to have lost his purse. Jeurson grinned and shrugged his shoulders he didn't have anything better to do, so he skulked off after the fleeing orcs and humanoids.

 

Culculna leaned against the stone wall, exausted. He had sustained many more wounds while lending the magic of his voice to the tumble of the fray. But this did not matter at the moment. It was all over: the orcs were fleeing, while the night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the battle. Culculna had always liked the night best-for though he had been raised in the lands of light, he almost instictvly preffered the night. "The other Drow nust feel the same." thought Culculna. With that thought, he stood up, albeit with the reluctance of exaustion, and went off in search of the scimitar-weilding Drow.

 

As things began to die down and those few orcs either brave enough or berserk enough to not run with their fellows where cut down, a trumpet sounded from the battlements of the keep, summoning those who had fought on the wall to the parade grounds. Most likely Mayor Greendale had plans to discuss about what was to be done with the time given by Pelor's blessing, it was likely that a select few groups of brave adventurers would be sent beyond the wall to find anything that maybe of aid against the Balor Lord.

 

"I thank you for your courage, for without it, death would have left a darker stain upon the walls.", said the astral deva.

The sound of a trumpet reverberated though out the walls of the temple.

"I believe the Mayor now has need of you in his presence."

 

Wearily Ja'a'la rose from tending hers and Shalm's wounds. She follow the others to the Parade Ground. The open ground was a relief after the buildings although the mass of people was uncomfortable. Shalm pressed against her leg, growling softly.

 

Hamal began rummaging though the coffins within the forgotten crypts beneath Sunglow, he needed to find something that would allow to to act within the city and something that would allow him to pass the deva's Detect Evil. As he moved deeper into the crypt, he found a small antechamber that he had never seen before. Opening the coffin, he found the corpse within to be clutching a scroll within its hand. Hamal unravelled the scroll and began to read over it, it was a scroll of Moral Relativism. Hamal smiled, two could play the game, Pelor could protect his people, but Nerull could too.

 

Orianna ignored the summons, she was in no position to go and stand within a parade ground with a broken ankle, she would have to take herself to the Temple of the Shining Sun before she did anything else.

"Mother, why could I not have inherited your wings? I could really use them at a time like this... though I suppose the last thing I need are more external demon traits, your eyes and teeth are enough.", said Orianna in Abyssal to a third party that appeared to be beyond sight, up in the sky. Orianna disliked that she constantly found herself speaking Abyssal, but it could not help but roll off her tongue nor was it as bad as that she thought in Abyssal instead of Common.