Snippet #1523657

The Howling Vale, Ashwood

With a tooth-shattering battlecry Sevren Bloodletter opened his latest foe from shoulder to hip. The dark elf flicked his sword to relieve it of his victim's blood and charged to meet the next cultist in the melee. Using his own augmented strength, Sevren gripped the opposing Child's head in his palm, twisting violently to slam their head into the bough of a gray oak. The resulting impact left most of the Child's face on the bark. Sevren grimaced at his gore-strewn hand and surveyed the battle. The Children of Fire were slowly losing ground to the elves and dark elves of the Ashwood. Their ferocity to keep their homeland and excellent skirmishing tactics were only a small part of the nearing victory, he knew. If the Howling Vale had not been enchanted long ago banish fire of any kind within it's bounds, this battle would have been decided long ago.

A thick canopy that prevented any flying hatchlings from joining the fray was a great boon as well. As if the dead gods conspired to drain every ounce of hope that his people had left, a ear-splitting cracking noise echoed from everywhere at once. Sevren spat out a curse and fell into a wide stance, whispering a word of power that caused the edge of his greatsword to bleed emerald acid. A dusky-skinned elf sidled up beside him with two throwing-axes drawn. He hair rattled as she moved, the smaller bones of numerous foes interwoven within the woman's braids. Sevren's scowl deepened and the horrible crashing grew louder. "Kocarah. We do not care how many lives you send in defense of this land, the elves of the Howling Vale will not join you. Your war is a fool's crusade."

Kocarah, elected leader of elven-kind grinned and raised her right-hand weapon to throw. "Odd, coming from a dark elf. Isn't your queen Diloxi?" she snickered as Sevren spat. Not every member of a race chose to follow their sovereign. "In any case, I choose to help you now." the Vale elves rallied around Sevren and Kocarah with their swords brandished and bows drawn. "If not for the Legion, then for my people."

Some moments ago the crashing sound ceased. The vale was deathly silent, the only sound coming from the moans of the dying cultists and the labored breathing of the fatigued defenders. Without warning, a half-dozen serpentine forms burst forth from the underbrush. The veridian-scaled creatures--forest wurms, as the elves called them--cleared the space between themselves and Sevren's people with terrifying speed. Kocarah loosed her first tomahawk and charged alongside her kin.

More than seven-hundred of the one-thousand elves present would die before reinforcements arrived.

---

Scalescrossing

Wrath rubbed his eyes and buried his face in his palms. He sat at the main office of the guard tower, his temporary residence, and had been looking over minor reports and dossiers since the incident last night. The young general removed his hands to reveal dark crescents under his eyes and tried not to yawn. He scanned the papers once more and ran through what he knew in his head. There had indeed been reports prior to the incident of Iriana leaving her tent for hours at a time during the wartime preparation with not one soldier able to account for her whereabouts. Except for a couple occassions when she had been spotted slipping into Sarish's tent.

Just to be thorough, Wrath also recounted Mikana's comings and goings. Unlike Iriana's surprisingly vague records, Mikana had spent the first few days of her joining inside the mess hall and her tent. Later days had been spent almost exclusively with Caine. It checked out, for the most part. It was still troubling how much information she could have gleaned from working with setting up the siege engines and helping gild the mounts. Iriana's dossier listed her as an ex-weapons specialist, having spent several years in an arcane academy and numerous other odd specialties. Essentially, the woman had at the very least a rudimentary grasp of every little thing she saw. It would have been no small matter for Iiriana to report the machinations of the Legion army in fair detail.

"Cap'n? You ok buddy?" Sid crept through the doorway and hugged Wrath's arm. The halfling looked concerned and could tell he had not gotten any sleep. Now wearing the pendant, Wrath felt a surge of violation for his personal space. He knew it was not his own feeling though and fought back the urge to berate Sid. He returned her hug and leaned back in his chair.

"I'm ok." it was hard to keep his eyes open, Wrath realized, but he steeled himself and sat up. "I just wouldn't have guessed it. Iriana was one of our best..."

Sid nodded and pulled Wrath out of his seat to lead him toward the door. Wrath followed, stepping out into the much-too-bright sunlight. The sky was spotty with a few clouds that held light showers, but the weather looked to be clearing up. Wrath inhaled deeply. "Come on captain Grimsmirk. Inform the troops we move in three days. The Black Guard, however, will be moving out tonight. There are reports of an enemy army moving to intercept the Legion forces moving in from the north and I want to soften them up a bit."

Sid smirked and bounded off to fill in the other captains and the Black Guard members. The darkguard golems stared down noiselessly from the battlements, ordered to scan the town for any signs of unrest. Gurgen and Turha having managed to get off the floor once Lily abandoned them sat in the shade under an awning atop the wall, neither deigning to speak lest their heads split apart with their hangover. Turha was writing down a poem about the autumn forests and Gurgen was sketching a very lifelike portrait. Both for a certain elven lass.

Thanaros was sparring with a pair of nightmarians, a heavily armored beetle named Charis and Hellione the moth. He was unaware that both were commanders, but their near-flawless technique attested towards that fact. He only just barely kept up with the nightmarian's radically differing fighting styles, and that was only with the greatest levels of power he could summon through psionics and sheer physical power. Thanaros worked in a blur to parry the moth woman's conjured weapons and boosted his speed to narrowly avoid being flattened by Charis's giant flail.

The harpy and lamian commanders Horus and Wrynne took stock of the spoils of war as they moved through the city's storerooms. They passed Pel in the streets, who was dressed in a fine violet dress, walked along with a small group of admirers who asked for her company non-stop. The halfling sighed, looking much the part of a very young noble, and daydreamed about the one particular deep human that would tickle her fancy. And maybe keep her company when they were done with that.

---

Castle of Nihalistrix the Black, Dungeon

"Hm." Ja'ksis thumbed through the newest plate of instruments brought to him by the servants as he waited for the healing magicks to patch up Mercy. With a snap that sounded of knives rubbing together, the torture-master picked up an odd-looking strip of steel with several thousand miniscule hooks attached to one side. "Well, lady Yan'vega, we will now be entering our fourth day of this little dance. Won't you just tell me what I wish to know? It would make this much less painful..." the mantis glanced at his new tool and added, "Well, after this."

When Ja'ksis was about to apply the device to the side of Mercy's face he sighed with annoyance. His cleaning solution was almost all blood now. The nightmarian turned and called back to the doorway for more water and paused. The wooden door was open. The Children were gone. He scowled and turned back to the prisoner. "Can you believe that? They went to the Great One's Mass again! Can't they simply skip it once or twice for the sake of all?" he of course refered to the sermons that the Black Dragon held every other day. The first day this happnened Ja'ksis delighted in the hope that lit up in Mercy's eyes when she saw the portal wide open and the guards gone. She had hoped there was some sort of rescue party. Just thinking about it made the mantis laugh.

It was the last sound Ja'ksis ever uttered. He stared at Mercy with saucer-sized eyes as his already cooling body slid off of the end of a scimitar. As the body finally hit the ground, a green-cloaked elf smirked up at Mercy, his crimson eyes alight with mischief. He nodded back to the shadows at the door. "We found her boss."

"About damn time." a lamia with blood-red, close-cropped hair and a regal bearing about him slithered into the dungeon room followed by a female lamia and a halfling whose leather armor was covered in pockets and wands. The dark-skinned elf produced a thieve's tool and deftly picked the many locks restraining Mercy, the halfling quashing those locks more arcane in nature. Once the nightmarian was released, the lamian male--obviously the leader--moved forward and threw down a heavy pair of weapons, a shirt to cover he naughtier bits and three honest-to-dead-gods healing potions. "That shit was heavy as hell...made stealth a fuckin' chore, i'll have ya know. But! I did use 'em a bit. I think i'll have a set of my own commissioned. What were they called...?"

The female lamia unslung a greatbow and knocked a serrated arrow native to the lamia homeland. "Meteor somethings. Glorified flails, if you ask me."

The halfling glared out from under his hood and muttered: "Nobody asked you."

Before the lamia could smash her tiny comrade with her tail however, the elf gave her a peck on the cheek and she seemed to melt somewhat. "But your opinion is always appreciated luv."

"Alright bitches, Mercy." Helm, the male lamia, unslung his warhammer and tested it's weight in both hands. He adjusted his armor and gestured for the others to ready themselves. "It's time to make our grand exit."