Nights at Beaumont's Inn were generally busy. The barmaids would run back and forth, trying to serve a seemingly endless stream of patrons and where the occasional troublemaker would be thrown out into the street to drunkenly stumble home.
Located in the heart of commercial Damocles and a decent enough place to find a decent ale and maybe some company for the night. Tonight though, there was an air of tension and fear; rumors had been circulating of an invasion from Eisenheim and terrible demonic attacks that left many a man dead. While people usually only filtered in and out, Old Gertel, Abir, Deadrick, and the owner, Beaumont himself, shared a drink together every night for the past five years. It was something to look forward to at the end of a long work day, a drink with friends before the return to home life with children and wives.
"They're takin' girls right out of their beds! Harvestin' their souls fer some evil ritual!" Old Gertel was loud and shrill as usual, always paranoid about this or that. Once he was started, it was impossible for him to calm down.
Abir dismissed him with a wave of his hand, "Bollocks! Like any demon is going to be running around freely with men like that about." he said gesturing to the inquisitor sitting at the bar; the man's skin appeared to be made of stone and the color was almost obsidian, "What do you think he is?" he wondered.
Deadrick took one quick glance in the inquisitor's direction, turned back to his beer, and shrugged, "Dunno, had no idea the king hired statues." He laughed to himself and took a generous swig from his tankard.
"Quiet! What in the hells is wrong with you? He'll hear!" Gertel hissed, he was terrified of the stone man, but then he was terrified of most things.
"He's...probably right. Last thing I think any of us wants is to have a chat with an inquisitor, least of all that one." Beaumont said.
"Why? What'd he do?" Abir asked, risking another glance at the man.
"How about publicly beheaded two nobles and arrested a Jarl's wife?" Beaumont said, he was nervous that this man was here at all as he was well known for his rather brutal displays in the city square.
Abir's eyes went wide and he let out a slow whistle, "That was him?"
Beaumont took a sip of ale, "Yup, watched him do it with my own eyes. Some fancy beorns from out in the fields, hauled them here without so much as a trial and-" He made a dramatic chopping motion into his hand, "cut their heads clean off."
Gertel gasped dramatically while the rest frowned.
"What a bastard." Deadrick muttered into his cup as he took another gulp.
"You better believe it." Beaumont said as he recollected that day, "looked damned proud of himself too. Like he was playing a game."
Old Gertel was looking increasingly uncomfortable, "Well, can't say it's been fun..." he excused himself, tossed a few coppers onto the counter, and hurriedly made for the exit. Being this close to someone with the authority to behead him should he get the urge was a bit too much for the jumpy old man.
The rest of the men shrugged, Gertel was always the first to leave, seemed like everything spooked him these days.
"Does he seem alright to you?" Beaumont asked, "he's never been quite all there, but doesn't he seem on edge?"
Abir shrugged, "Don't read too much into it Beau, the old man's just getting on in years; my father started to act all sorts of strange as he came up on the end." He took a sip of ale.
He heard the heavy thud of booted feet walking up behind him and he turned to see the stone inquisitor.
Beaumont forced a smile though a practiced eye could still see the nervousness there, "And how was everything today sir?" he asked with faux concern
The inquisitor shrugged, "Acceptable I suppose." He tossed a couple silvers onto the bar counter and simply nodded as a farewell before marching out into the night. Beaumont collected the coins eagerly.
"Well I guess there's a bright side to having the Inquisition's finest in your establishment." Deadrick motioned to glinting silver pieces, then he waved his mug at Beaumont, "Oh, and fill me up when you get the chance?" He asked patronizingly, there was barely anyone else in the inn, Beaumont had even sent the barmaids home already.
Beaumont scoffed but complied, sliding the refilled tankard to the already rather drunk Deadrick, "Your last one mate, I won't have your woman giving me another earful." Deadrick chuckled as he continued to imbibe.
Abir looked around, "Speaking of which...just where the hells is everyone Beau? Ain't this the busy hour?"
Beaumont sighed, "Frankly, I'm surprised you all showed up, I mean, between the werewolf den that got cleaned out down the street and talk of Imperial spies around every corner? It's a wonder that I have customers at all." He frowned.
"I heard about the werewolves, can't believe the Guard let a whole den go undetected for Beryllus knows how long." Abir took another sip, "Makes you wonder what else they're missing, you know?"
By now, Deadrick was passed out on the table. Beaumont helped himself to the coppers he was owed and shook the man violently.
"Deadrick." No response, "Deadrick you lazy ass, get up and go home or I swear I'll have the Guard drag you out."
Deadrick snorted and sat up, "Oh. Sorry Beau, here..." he fished around in his pockets and placed some coppers on the counter.
"Don't worry about it son, it's on the house." Beaumont replied, Abir was trying not to laugh.
"Well thank you." He slurred, he pushed himself away from the table and stumbled out the door.
Abir and Beaumont watched him leave and when the door finally shut, Abir let out the laugh he'd been stifling, "You're a better man than me. I figure if he's going to be so damn stupid, might as well make a few extra bits."
"Ah, he's alright. Just needs to hit the drink a bit less."
"Whatever you say." Abir finished off the last of his beverage and got up, "Well my friend, I think it's time for me to head home too." He payed for his drinks and said his goodbyes, "You be careful, things seem to have gotten dangerous everywhere."
Beaumont nodded, "You too, get home safe." Abir waved once more and walked out into the night.
The bartender leaned up against the wall and finished his ale before returning to work, wishing the slow nights he'd been experiencing would just end and that business would finally turn around.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
The Dual Throne: The Village Burns
Ragnald Hadrien, Crown Prince of the Throne of Damocles, took in the smell of the burning huts and makeshift homes of the Orcish people. In these five years that he had been campaigning against the orcs, he never tired of that smell.
Beautiful he thought, the way the embers danced through the air or how the remnants of their tents glowed in the intense heat, these things always brought him peace, not to mention the heat was a welcome relief from the bitter winter winds. For too long these beasts have resisted the rightful rule of the Crown, of his father and his father before him. Ragnald knew in his heart that he was the punishment of the gods for insolence of the tribes and he ached to end them once and for all.
Ragnald was tall by the standards of the kingdom, his armor black, red, and branded with his personal crest alongside the Royal Lion. His hair was blonde and his eyes blue, he stood apart from the men who were of a slightly darker complexion with dark hair and dark eyes.
"My lord, the enemy flees to the east." One of the scouts shook him from his reverie, "If we hurry we can intercept them before they find reinforcements or regroup."
"Of course Captain, we will pursue with haste." He hefted his massive tower shield onto his back and mounted his war horse, Braun, "After all, someone has to put these dogs down." He smiled and the Captain nodded, saluted, and went off to gather the men.
------
As the day wore on, the temperature felt as if it was growing colder and a light snow began to fall on their heads. Prince Ragnald shivered once into his fur cloak and pressed on enjoying the warmth when the sun did break through the treeline and cloud cover.
He was greatly anticipating the return of his scouts, hopefully the gods might be on his side as he had been pursuing this particular tribe for weeks and now, finally, the vice was closing on his quarry.
Ragnald led a sizable force through the plains and forests of Damocles, roughly 500 men and a quarter that number in cavalry. It was more than enough to crush one of the roving warbands of Orcs that have plagued the kingdom since its founding.
When he heard the sound of irregular hoof-beats he looked up in anticipation, expecting to see his advance scouts galloping toward him, instead he watched in horror as a line of Orc Horsemen charged into the flank of his soldiers and volleys of arrows erupted from the treeline surrounding them.
Prince Ragnald wasted no time, "Infantry! Fall back, regroup, and charge!" He bellowed at the confused men-at-arms around him, "Cavalry! To me!" He was alive with adrenaline as his horsemen formed a wedge with him at its head, "CHARGE!"
By now his sword was unsheathed and held high, ready to fall on the first beastman that came within reach.
As the distance closed, the flow of time seemed to almost come to a stop and Ragnald was able to take in the details of his enemy, they were ill-equipped with only piecemeal armor and their weapons were far from uniform; some wielded cudgels while others used axes and still other used plundered Damoclesian blades. They were covered in pelts and fearsome war-paint; their animal howls made even Ragnald uneasy.
Why would men let themselves become beasts? he wondered idly.
A tide of muscle and steel thundered toward the Orc Horsemen, who stood ready to engage the charging Knights. With the clang of metal on metal, the battle was joined.
Ragnald collided with a massive brute of an Orc, very nearly being thrown from his horse in the process, and sent him careening off his mount onto the snowy ground; the sheer force of Braun's collision seemingly killed the smaller steed outright and its rider was brutally trampled in the furious melee that raged around him. He quickly and expertly swung his sword from left to right, finding flesh with each swing. The chaos of battle was where he was at home, nothing mattered here except the next kill; with every enemy felled, the kingdom would be safer. The Prince was proud of the work he did, he was proud of the ruin he brought to the enemies of Damocles.
For what felt like an eternity he slashed madly at the Orc riders all around him: a head would be lopped off here and a throat slashed there, he plunged his sword through the breastplate of an enemy rider puncturing the heart, arterial spray splashed his face as the man ceased his struggle and slumped in the saddle. Ragnald slapped the horse in the rump with the flat of his blade, sending it running wildly through the enemy formation.
He took a moment to take stock of his surroundings; the enemy cavalry had lost its momentum and their fight steadily became one of desperation, arrows still flitted from the trees and rained down on his men, and as his infantry finally began to close in, orc warriors came screaming out of the forest with their massive trademark axes glinting in the sunlight.
Ragnald set his jaw, they were caught in a well coordinated trap. Arrows seemed to come from every direction, a few men at a time would simply gurgle and die as an arrow pierced his visor or scream in pain if it managed to puncture his armor.
This was going to turn into a rout unless he did something and quickly.
"Mages! Set fire to the deep forest edge!" He roared as loud as his lungs would allow and prayed that his runners were still alive.
A moment passed and then the forests spontaneously erupted in flame and smoke soon obscured his vision; he noted with satisfaction that the steady stream of arrows whizzing all around them had nearly stopped as the archers not only couldn't see, but were very much in danger of being burned alive.
But then, so are we. he noted grimly.
He pushed the doubt from his mind, "Press the attack! Let none survive!"
He urged the men forward, to not let up. The day can still be theirs and this thrice damned tribe of degenerates will finally be rotting in the sun. Ragnald turned and charged into the smoke and that's when he saw him.
The leader, the chieftan of the tribe, if he could kill the head then the body would surely follow. He spurred Braun sharply in the side, trying to eek as much speed and power out of his steed as he possibly could, eager to lay the orc leader low and end this. The damned fool wasn't even looking at him, he was just standing there as if in shock!
Ragnald thundered closer and closer, victory so close he could taste it. He raised his sword and swung at the orc chieftan's neck, intent on removing his head from his shoulders, though flesh is not what his sword found but instead the flat side of an ax, the orc had parried with incredible speed and with his free hand punched Ragnald hard in the throat.
The force of the blow threw him from the saddle and he landed on the icy ground, gasping for breath. He struggled to his feet and looked around wildly. He saw that the orcish warriors were being beaten back, they looked as if they would soon break. He shifted his gaze back to the orc chief, who was seemingly unaware of the imminent destruction of his kinsmen. The chief's gaze was locked solely on Ragnald as he spurred his horse into a charge at the dismounted prince. Ragnald threw his tower shield to the ground to increase his mobility and braced, watching his opponent carefully. He ducked low under the massive axe that threatened to remove his head and plunged his blade into the flank of the chieftan's mount, tearing out a significant amount of muscle and organ, sending the horse sprawling and the orc flying through the air.
Ragnald turned around quickly, intent on finishing the fight if it wasn't already over, and was horrified to see the chief had not only landed on his feet but was in a full-blown sprint toward him.
He brought his sword up and deflected the first blow,
and the second,
but the third was more successful. He gasped as the huge tribal axe rent the armor at his flank and cut a section of flesh from his body.
It was at this moment that the orc lines had completely dissolved, they were in full retreat and they ran howling past the two dueling leaders. All the commotion shook the chieftan from his state of concentration and he looked away from Ragnald briefly, the prince was quick to capitalize on his enemy's distraction. He slashed at the chieftan's tendons in the heel, and with a snap the orc fell screaming to the ground. Not willing to underestimate him again, Ragnald unceremoniously plunged the blade into his chest. He gurgled, his eyes went wide with fury, and then he expired.
Ragnald sat back, still gasping for breath and found it harder and harder as the air became thicker with smoke. He struggled back to his feet and whistled for Braun; the horse found his way back to his master and he mounted up signalling to his runners to sound the retreat. To pursue the remnants of the tribe into land only they know would be disastrous, not to mention the growing forest fire.
They regrouped and retreated from the flames; finally Ragnald was able to take stock of their losses.
Well over half of his original force was dead. He cursed, though at the same time, was thankful even that many had gotten out or that they had even won at all.
"My lord...your orders?" One of his aides cautiously inquired, not wanting to further upset his liege.
Prince Ragnald sighed deeply, "We are hurt badly, but this is still a momentous victory. The majority of the orc warband is dead and their chieftan slain by my own hand, this is a loss from which they will never recover." He considered his options carefully, "Tell the men we make for Damocles. It's time to go home."
Beautiful he thought, the way the embers danced through the air or how the remnants of their tents glowed in the intense heat, these things always brought him peace, not to mention the heat was a welcome relief from the bitter winter winds. For too long these beasts have resisted the rightful rule of the Crown, of his father and his father before him. Ragnald knew in his heart that he was the punishment of the gods for insolence of the tribes and he ached to end them once and for all.
Ragnald was tall by the standards of the kingdom, his armor black, red, and branded with his personal crest alongside the Royal Lion. His hair was blonde and his eyes blue, he stood apart from the men who were of a slightly darker complexion with dark hair and dark eyes.
"My lord, the enemy flees to the east." One of the scouts shook him from his reverie, "If we hurry we can intercept them before they find reinforcements or regroup."
"Of course Captain, we will pursue with haste." He hefted his massive tower shield onto his back and mounted his war horse, Braun, "After all, someone has to put these dogs down." He smiled and the Captain nodded, saluted, and went off to gather the men.
------
As the day wore on, the temperature felt as if it was growing colder and a light snow began to fall on their heads. Prince Ragnald shivered once into his fur cloak and pressed on enjoying the warmth when the sun did break through the treeline and cloud cover.
He was greatly anticipating the return of his scouts, hopefully the gods might be on his side as he had been pursuing this particular tribe for weeks and now, finally, the vice was closing on his quarry.
Ragnald led a sizable force through the plains and forests of Damocles, roughly 500 men and a quarter that number in cavalry. It was more than enough to crush one of the roving warbands of Orcs that have plagued the kingdom since its founding.
When he heard the sound of irregular hoof-beats he looked up in anticipation, expecting to see his advance scouts galloping toward him, instead he watched in horror as a line of Orc Horsemen charged into the flank of his soldiers and volleys of arrows erupted from the treeline surrounding them.
Prince Ragnald wasted no time, "Infantry! Fall back, regroup, and charge!" He bellowed at the confused men-at-arms around him, "Cavalry! To me!" He was alive with adrenaline as his horsemen formed a wedge with him at its head, "CHARGE!"
By now his sword was unsheathed and held high, ready to fall on the first beastman that came within reach.
As the distance closed, the flow of time seemed to almost come to a stop and Ragnald was able to take in the details of his enemy, they were ill-equipped with only piecemeal armor and their weapons were far from uniform; some wielded cudgels while others used axes and still other used plundered Damoclesian blades. They were covered in pelts and fearsome war-paint; their animal howls made even Ragnald uneasy.
Why would men let themselves become beasts? he wondered idly.
A tide of muscle and steel thundered toward the Orc Horsemen, who stood ready to engage the charging Knights. With the clang of metal on metal, the battle was joined.
Ragnald collided with a massive brute of an Orc, very nearly being thrown from his horse in the process, and sent him careening off his mount onto the snowy ground; the sheer force of Braun's collision seemingly killed the smaller steed outright and its rider was brutally trampled in the furious melee that raged around him. He quickly and expertly swung his sword from left to right, finding flesh with each swing. The chaos of battle was where he was at home, nothing mattered here except the next kill; with every enemy felled, the kingdom would be safer. The Prince was proud of the work he did, he was proud of the ruin he brought to the enemies of Damocles.
For what felt like an eternity he slashed madly at the Orc riders all around him: a head would be lopped off here and a throat slashed there, he plunged his sword through the breastplate of an enemy rider puncturing the heart, arterial spray splashed his face as the man ceased his struggle and slumped in the saddle. Ragnald slapped the horse in the rump with the flat of his blade, sending it running wildly through the enemy formation.
He took a moment to take stock of his surroundings; the enemy cavalry had lost its momentum and their fight steadily became one of desperation, arrows still flitted from the trees and rained down on his men, and as his infantry finally began to close in, orc warriors came screaming out of the forest with their massive trademark axes glinting in the sunlight.
Ragnald set his jaw, they were caught in a well coordinated trap. Arrows seemed to come from every direction, a few men at a time would simply gurgle and die as an arrow pierced his visor or scream in pain if it managed to puncture his armor.
This was going to turn into a rout unless he did something and quickly.
"Mages! Set fire to the deep forest edge!" He roared as loud as his lungs would allow and prayed that his runners were still alive.
A moment passed and then the forests spontaneously erupted in flame and smoke soon obscured his vision; he noted with satisfaction that the steady stream of arrows whizzing all around them had nearly stopped as the archers not only couldn't see, but were very much in danger of being burned alive.
But then, so are we. he noted grimly.
He pushed the doubt from his mind, "Press the attack! Let none survive!"
He urged the men forward, to not let up. The day can still be theirs and this thrice damned tribe of degenerates will finally be rotting in the sun. Ragnald turned and charged into the smoke and that's when he saw him.
The leader, the chieftan of the tribe, if he could kill the head then the body would surely follow. He spurred Braun sharply in the side, trying to eek as much speed and power out of his steed as he possibly could, eager to lay the orc leader low and end this. The damned fool wasn't even looking at him, he was just standing there as if in shock!
Ragnald thundered closer and closer, victory so close he could taste it. He raised his sword and swung at the orc chieftan's neck, intent on removing his head from his shoulders, though flesh is not what his sword found but instead the flat side of an ax, the orc had parried with incredible speed and with his free hand punched Ragnald hard in the throat.
The force of the blow threw him from the saddle and he landed on the icy ground, gasping for breath. He struggled to his feet and looked around wildly. He saw that the orcish warriors were being beaten back, they looked as if they would soon break. He shifted his gaze back to the orc chief, who was seemingly unaware of the imminent destruction of his kinsmen. The chief's gaze was locked solely on Ragnald as he spurred his horse into a charge at the dismounted prince. Ragnald threw his tower shield to the ground to increase his mobility and braced, watching his opponent carefully. He ducked low under the massive axe that threatened to remove his head and plunged his blade into the flank of the chieftan's mount, tearing out a significant amount of muscle and organ, sending the horse sprawling and the orc flying through the air.
Ragnald turned around quickly, intent on finishing the fight if it wasn't already over, and was horrified to see the chief had not only landed on his feet but was in a full-blown sprint toward him.
He brought his sword up and deflected the first blow,
and the second,
but the third was more successful. He gasped as the huge tribal axe rent the armor at his flank and cut a section of flesh from his body.
It was at this moment that the orc lines had completely dissolved, they were in full retreat and they ran howling past the two dueling leaders. All the commotion shook the chieftan from his state of concentration and he looked away from Ragnald briefly, the prince was quick to capitalize on his enemy's distraction. He slashed at the chieftan's tendons in the heel, and with a snap the orc fell screaming to the ground. Not willing to underestimate him again, Ragnald unceremoniously plunged the blade into his chest. He gurgled, his eyes went wide with fury, and then he expired.
Ragnald sat back, still gasping for breath and found it harder and harder as the air became thicker with smoke. He struggled back to his feet and whistled for Braun; the horse found his way back to his master and he mounted up signalling to his runners to sound the retreat. To pursue the remnants of the tribe into land only they know would be disastrous, not to mention the growing forest fire.
They regrouped and retreated from the flames; finally Ragnald was able to take stock of their losses.
Well over half of his original force was dead. He cursed, though at the same time, was thankful even that many had gotten out or that they had even won at all.
"My lord...your orders?" One of his aides cautiously inquired, not wanting to further upset his liege.
Prince Ragnald sighed deeply, "We are hurt badly, but this is still a momentous victory. The majority of the orc warband is dead and their chieftan slain by my own hand, this is a loss from which they will never recover." He considered his options carefully, "Tell the men we make for Damocles. It's time to go home."
Monday, October 24, 2011
Wiki Cleaning
So I took a look around the Cybernetic Wiki and frowned at the amount of work it required especially since my most recent Sci-Fi Campaign had finished with a spectacular win for the party. Now a large chunk of the information about the setting is:
a) no longer relevant
b) woefully out-of-date
c) not there at all
So I've been working to get it more accurate to the current state of the setting; factions have disappeared, been absorbed, or have risen up.
I've added a Timeline that charts what happened in the years after the present day, expanded the articles on colonized planets, added newly completed colonies to the list, and now faction information is actually relevant to the setting's current date. Hopefully this will further help the immersion factor in the next game, as there will assuredly be a next game. There were plenty of plot threads that definitely weren't explored and I've gotten mostly positive feedback from the groups I've run it with.
a) no longer relevant
b) woefully out-of-date
c) not there at all
So I've been working to get it more accurate to the current state of the setting; factions have disappeared, been absorbed, or have risen up.
I've added a Timeline that charts what happened in the years after the present day, expanded the articles on colonized planets, added newly completed colonies to the list, and now faction information is actually relevant to the setting's current date. Hopefully this will further help the immersion factor in the next game, as there will assuredly be a next game. There were plenty of plot threads that definitely weren't explored and I've gotten mostly positive feedback from the groups I've run it with.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Transitions and Free Time.
I've recently moved to the mountains, I decided that my location should match my beard, but that's another story.
Now this means that I left my friends and, by extension, my gaming groups behind as I start a new life about 8 hours north of them.
My inability to game semi-frequently is the hardest thing to acclimate to in this transition, but what can you do? The opportunity here is in my newfound freedom; I spent a large portion of my time trying to balance planning new and exciting storylines and hanging out with my friends who didn't quite like the activity so much. I now have unlimited time to focus on smoothing out settings and getting story arcs planned out for when I make my summer visits.
If you're interested in keeping up with that just check the links on the right side of the page. They should be public to whoever wants them. If you want to use them for a game you're running or something, go for it!
I'll probably spend a considerable amount of time updating the wikis to the settings I have designed; hopefully completely carving out the worlds (I'm including regional folklore, national histories, and the rest of the continents). What I'll post here will mostly be bits of story, perhaps set before the current events of these settings, maybe in different areas altogether.
I've been telling myself that this little hiatus is just what the doctor ordered, let's hope I'm right.
Now this means that I left my friends and, by extension, my gaming groups behind as I start a new life about 8 hours north of them.
My inability to game semi-frequently is the hardest thing to acclimate to in this transition, but what can you do? The opportunity here is in my newfound freedom; I spent a large portion of my time trying to balance planning new and exciting storylines and hanging out with my friends who didn't quite like the activity so much. I now have unlimited time to focus on smoothing out settings and getting story arcs planned out for when I make my summer visits.
If you're interested in keeping up with that just check the links on the right side of the page. They should be public to whoever wants them. If you want to use them for a game you're running or something, go for it!
I'll probably spend a considerable amount of time updating the wikis to the settings I have designed; hopefully completely carving out the worlds (I'm including regional folklore, national histories, and the rest of the continents). What I'll post here will mostly be bits of story, perhaps set before the current events of these settings, maybe in different areas altogether.
I've been telling myself that this little hiatus is just what the doctor ordered, let's hope I'm right.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
The Dual Throne: Season Finale
Vale Sadar had survived more conflict, pain, and loss than most who had lived. That's what he has always been best at, surviving when others don't. Through tribal conflict, hostile men of the crown, and even nature itself; it seemed like the gods were ranged against Vale. He looked around and wondered if this might be his final fight.
Terrian had brought them to this place, a graveyard and shrine to Beryllus's faithful; it had long since been reclaimed by the wild forests of Damocles. Though its glory had been diminished somewhat by time, it was not abandoned; a company of devils had claimed it in the name of their cursed patrons.
They had come here for Decius Maximillian, ambassador of the Emperor Otto von Faulken and lapdog of Count Pieter von Berchtold. His location had finally been discerned by the Kingdom and now His Majesty's Inquisition had tasked them with ending this treachery. At least, they would attempt to end this treachery or die alone and forgotten, either looked fairly likely right about now.
Vale sucked in air through gritted teeth. The devil's glaive had taken a large chunk of flesh from his side; he was almost certain that the blow had cracked a rib and he winced with each step. His blood flowed and he was horrified to note that it wouldn't stop bleeding and had taken on the appearance of black tar.
He put the pain far from his mind. He was determined. The distance between him and the Erinyes rapidly closed.
When he reached the first he felt a small tinge of regret as the force of his punch dislocated the jaw of what seemed to be a beautiful, raven haired woman; she would have been exquisite if her features weren't deliberately marred with ritual scarring. The blow took her off of her feet; Vale maintained his momentum, stomping on her throat hard and, with a quick twist of his foot, snapped her neck with a loud crack.
He frowned as her tongue lolled out of her mouth and her eyes became distant, ashen wings twitching slightly. He almost didn't see the blade coming as another capitalized on his moment of hesitation. He barely deflected the sword off his heavy gauntlets and he cursed at himself for his stupidity.
One down, three to go
-----------------------------------
Harold Vyxr hated it here. Until recently, he had never had to deal with the creatures that had polluted his bloodline. As a tiefling, he had dealt with adversity his entire life and struggled against his darker nature. The only friends he had ever known had been his instructors at the Institute, as they truly appreciated his talent despite his devil-blood; his peers, however, ostracized him and spoke of him as if he was the same as the creatures he is descended from.
Until recently, he thought of them as bigots; that they were jealous of his talent and his rapidly growing power. He understood their hate now, he understood why they avoided him.
Most terrifying of all though, was Decius Maximillian. Decius was barely recognizable, he stood in front of the desecrated shrine to Beryllus. His skin looked like it belonged to one of the Bearded Devils that they had been fighting, it sat strangely on his body, as if it was slightly loose. Vyxr locked eyes with the foul sorcerer and shivered at the stark raving madness he saw there; this thing was an abomination and needed to die, there was no doubt about it.
He scanned the frenetic melee that raged around him and saw Terrian battling six cultists on his own, the fire burned in his eyes as he shrugged off blow after blow, never taking his attention fully away from Maximillian lest he disappear once again.
Harold Vyxr spoke a few words of power and a swath of cultists burst into flames, screaming in agony as they died. A path from Terrian to Decius was now clear, Harold began analyzing the battlefield once more, though failing to see one of the Erinyes loosing an arrow at him. The impact nearly took him off his feet, he looked down at his chest and was horrified to see blood oozing around a thick shaft buried deep in his torso. Two more arrows sent him sprawling onto the stone floor. Blood hemorrhaged out of his body and suddenly the room was difficult to focus on. He fought the urge to sleep, but it was a losing battle. His eyes closed.
This is it.
---------------------------------------
Kywin Vast was invisible, well at least to everyone but those bitches with the black wings and Decius. He was in the thick of things, sending a shuriken into the jugular of a cultist here, embedding one in the heart of a Bearded Devil there. It would have been easy if that bastard Decius wasn't zeroing in on him and hurling fireballs and bolts of lightning his way. Kywin cursed endlessly under his breath as the pain of multiple burns took its toll. If only the priest hadn't been killed he would be enjoying a bit of healing magic right now. Yet another reason to hate Decius Maximillian.
Dark devour his soul.
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Inquisitor Terrian Vahe burned with zeal. He smiled wide as the path to Decius became clear, the smell of the charred flesh of cultists and devils bringing his soul a small amount of comfort.
"Decius Maximillian!" He bellowed, "For crimes against the Kingdom of Damocles and His Majesty King Charles Hadrien, I pronounce you dead already! May the gods have mercy on you for your perversion!"
Decius sneered at the boast, "Filth." he stated simply.
Vahe rushed madly at the demon-sorcerer with his sword held high, stopping for nothing. He swung with all his might, only to barely miss. Decius was prepared for him, his hands crackled with arcane lightning and he gripped Vahe tightly, sending lethal amounts of electricity coursing through the Inquisitor. His mouth cracked into a terrifying grin as he whispered a few powerful words and an explosion ballooned out from behind Vahe; the flames washed over him and the force of the blast, combined with electricity that wracked his body with pain, brought him to his knees. Decius began laughing, a cackle tinged with mania.
Terrian's vision started to darken and blur, then he heard the laughter through the haze of pain. Fury welled up in his chest and a measure of clarity returned. He gripped the Crown Blade tighter and, though his clothes still burned and arcs of electricity made his muscles spasm, he stood up; with a mighty roar he plunged the ancient sword into the heart of his torturer. The pain and laughter ceased.
Decius stood there looking at the sword in his chest incredulously, he tried to speak but words didn't come. Terrian pulled the blade from his opponent's torso and grasped his throat with his free hand, lifting him effortlessly off of the ground and hurling his broken form a full fifteen feet into the one of the many statues of the saints.
Black blood pooled around his body and Decius Maximillian stirred no more.
Justice.
Terrian had brought them to this place, a graveyard and shrine to Beryllus's faithful; it had long since been reclaimed by the wild forests of Damocles. Though its glory had been diminished somewhat by time, it was not abandoned; a company of devils had claimed it in the name of their cursed patrons.
They had come here for Decius Maximillian, ambassador of the Emperor Otto von Faulken and lapdog of Count Pieter von Berchtold. His location had finally been discerned by the Kingdom and now His Majesty's Inquisition had tasked them with ending this treachery. At least, they would attempt to end this treachery or die alone and forgotten, either looked fairly likely right about now.
Vale sucked in air through gritted teeth. The devil's glaive had taken a large chunk of flesh from his side; he was almost certain that the blow had cracked a rib and he winced with each step. His blood flowed and he was horrified to note that it wouldn't stop bleeding and had taken on the appearance of black tar.
He put the pain far from his mind. He was determined. The distance between him and the Erinyes rapidly closed.
When he reached the first he felt a small tinge of regret as the force of his punch dislocated the jaw of what seemed to be a beautiful, raven haired woman; she would have been exquisite if her features weren't deliberately marred with ritual scarring. The blow took her off of her feet; Vale maintained his momentum, stomping on her throat hard and, with a quick twist of his foot, snapped her neck with a loud crack.
He frowned as her tongue lolled out of her mouth and her eyes became distant, ashen wings twitching slightly. He almost didn't see the blade coming as another capitalized on his moment of hesitation. He barely deflected the sword off his heavy gauntlets and he cursed at himself for his stupidity.
One down, three to go
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Harold Vyxr hated it here. Until recently, he had never had to deal with the creatures that had polluted his bloodline. As a tiefling, he had dealt with adversity his entire life and struggled against his darker nature. The only friends he had ever known had been his instructors at the Institute, as they truly appreciated his talent despite his devil-blood; his peers, however, ostracized him and spoke of him as if he was the same as the creatures he is descended from.
Until recently, he thought of them as bigots; that they were jealous of his talent and his rapidly growing power. He understood their hate now, he understood why they avoided him.
Most terrifying of all though, was Decius Maximillian. Decius was barely recognizable, he stood in front of the desecrated shrine to Beryllus. His skin looked like it belonged to one of the Bearded Devils that they had been fighting, it sat strangely on his body, as if it was slightly loose. Vyxr locked eyes with the foul sorcerer and shivered at the stark raving madness he saw there; this thing was an abomination and needed to die, there was no doubt about it.
He scanned the frenetic melee that raged around him and saw Terrian battling six cultists on his own, the fire burned in his eyes as he shrugged off blow after blow, never taking his attention fully away from Maximillian lest he disappear once again.
Harold Vyxr spoke a few words of power and a swath of cultists burst into flames, screaming in agony as they died. A path from Terrian to Decius was now clear, Harold began analyzing the battlefield once more, though failing to see one of the Erinyes loosing an arrow at him. The impact nearly took him off his feet, he looked down at his chest and was horrified to see blood oozing around a thick shaft buried deep in his torso. Two more arrows sent him sprawling onto the stone floor. Blood hemorrhaged out of his body and suddenly the room was difficult to focus on. He fought the urge to sleep, but it was a losing battle. His eyes closed.
This is it.
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Kywin Vast was invisible, well at least to everyone but those bitches with the black wings and Decius. He was in the thick of things, sending a shuriken into the jugular of a cultist here, embedding one in the heart of a Bearded Devil there. It would have been easy if that bastard Decius wasn't zeroing in on him and hurling fireballs and bolts of lightning his way. Kywin cursed endlessly under his breath as the pain of multiple burns took its toll. If only the priest hadn't been killed he would be enjoying a bit of healing magic right now. Yet another reason to hate Decius Maximillian.
Dark devour his soul.
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Inquisitor Terrian Vahe burned with zeal. He smiled wide as the path to Decius became clear, the smell of the charred flesh of cultists and devils bringing his soul a small amount of comfort.
"Decius Maximillian!" He bellowed, "For crimes against the Kingdom of Damocles and His Majesty King Charles Hadrien, I pronounce you dead already! May the gods have mercy on you for your perversion!"
Decius sneered at the boast, "Filth." he stated simply.
Vahe rushed madly at the demon-sorcerer with his sword held high, stopping for nothing. He swung with all his might, only to barely miss. Decius was prepared for him, his hands crackled with arcane lightning and he gripped Vahe tightly, sending lethal amounts of electricity coursing through the Inquisitor. His mouth cracked into a terrifying grin as he whispered a few powerful words and an explosion ballooned out from behind Vahe; the flames washed over him and the force of the blast, combined with electricity that wracked his body with pain, brought him to his knees. Decius began laughing, a cackle tinged with mania.
Terrian's vision started to darken and blur, then he heard the laughter through the haze of pain. Fury welled up in his chest and a measure of clarity returned. He gripped the Crown Blade tighter and, though his clothes still burned and arcs of electricity made his muscles spasm, he stood up; with a mighty roar he plunged the ancient sword into the heart of his torturer. The pain and laughter ceased.
Decius stood there looking at the sword in his chest incredulously, he tried to speak but words didn't come. Terrian pulled the blade from his opponent's torso and grasped his throat with his free hand, lifting him effortlessly off of the ground and hurling his broken form a full fifteen feet into the one of the many statues of the saints.
Black blood pooled around his body and Decius Maximillian stirred no more.
Justice.
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