[|] THE Story [|]

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[|] THE Story [|]

Post by SubSanity » Mon Aug 26, 2002 2:45 pm

Ric and I have decided to set out to write a mini-story of sorts. The Vault on the webpage will reflect updates when we find the time but we'll mainly post the continuations here.

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The story so far:

Chapter 1

Awakened by the same nightmare, he sits up on his bed perspiring. Beads of sweat on his forehead glisten in the sunlight that is streaming in from a bedside window. Reaching into his fawn skin trousers, he pulls out a dwarven pocket timepiece. Its tiny clogs and gears tick quietly as it displays 8th hour in the morning.

Putting his feet down on the creaking floorboards, the nightmare he has been having for the past half-year still haunts him. Ranglar, Ranglar... this dream troubles you so yet you know not its meaning. Ranglar brushes his hair behind his pointed ears and ties his wild mane into a neat ponytail with a short length of twine. He reaches out for the leather apron draped over the chair and gets ready for the day's work.

The sounds of clanging greet Ranglar like an old friend as he descends the staircase. The smell of newly wrought iron assails his nostrils and Ranglar inhales deeply, as if to welcome the sharp scent.

"Aye laddie, I heard ye a-tossin' an' turnin' in yer sleep again." A gruff voice rings out about the din.

"It can't be helped. I have no idea what this omen is to mean, or why I am the one who is receiving these visions."

"Dinnae let it get the better of ye lad." The speaker stands no taller than Ranglar's chest, yet there is an undeniable air of superiority about him. His once-glorious red hair has given in to the trials of time and streaks of grey merge intertwined in the crimson locks. Deeply furrowed eyebrows frame piercing green eyes, giving the old dwarf a terrifying visage. If only his mouth wasn't perpetually fixed in a grin. "Now cheer up! Iron will no' let a grouch be its master!"

Sitting down on a stool, Ranglar stares at a half-forged blade propped against the wall. Now to think of it, he started forging the blade for no apparent six months ago, which is also the same time when the nightmares haunted him. Could there be some –

"C’mon laddie, we don ‘ave the time to idle. We be needing to set up the stall in the market ‘fore the crowd comes.

"Yes, Gelir," the dwarf frowns as Ranglar addresses him by name. Shrugging it off, Gelir starts pushing a small cart out of the two-story workshop. Pieces of armor and weaponry clatter as the wooden wheels of the cart hit the uneven gravel path outside. Ranglar follows a short distance behind, his mind still occupied with his visions.
Last edited by SubSanity on Thu Sep 05, 2002 3:13 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Post by RicFaith » Mon Aug 26, 2002 4:10 pm

Even at such an early hour, the market at Cathani is bustling with life. Women jostle in the tightly packed streets lined with countless stalls of meats, vegetables and fruit. Children play and dance in between the angry adults, oblivious to the calls of their frustrated mothers. Screams of merchants hawking their wares add to the general cacophony of the bazaar.

Further down the road from the chaos, Ranglar and Gelir find a suitable spot to set up their table of wares. Ranglar arranges the armour pieces and absently begins to polish a shield.

"Yer gonna burn a hole in that shield if ye be keeping that up!"

Ranglar drops the shield guiltily and scrambles to retrieve it from the dusty ground. Gelir laughs heartily and smacks his understudy firmly, winding him and nearly causing him to drop the unlucky shield a second time. Ranglar quickly replaces the shield on the table, dusting the remainder of the dust off.

A tall figure approaches the table. Cloaked and hooded, Ranglar is unable to see the feature of the face beneath the shadowy hood. The man pauses in front of Ranglar as if staring at him, searching his face for something.

"Can I be of service to ye?" Gelir starts his sales pitch, perturbed by the customer's interest in his understudy. "This sword is made from the finest steel, forged by my own hand, and .... " He stops short, realising that neither of them were listening to him.

Ranglar is unmoving, unable to turn his head away from the hooded stranger. What manner of sorcery...?

Ranglar, Ranglar.... The time is soon, when you must rise to the occasion and answer the call of Destiny. Steel yourself... The words formed in Ranglar's head, emotion-filled words without a voice to carry them.

The stranger turns abruptly on his heel and walks off. "Wait!" Ranglar leaps over the stall and chases the retreating figure.

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Post by SubSanity » Thu Aug 29, 2002 5:10 pm

Ranglar's feet land next to the stall in a dust of cloud. He sprints after the hooded stranger as fast as he could. If anyone knows what my visions mean, it would be that stranger... He urges his feet on, shoving his way through the crowd that has gathered at the market. The chase lasts not more than a 50 yards before a thunderous crash forces Ranglar to return his attention to the stall.

The armor cart is resting on its side, pieces of armor and weapons scattered around the dusty market square. Gelir is crouching next to the tipped stall, his face bearing a grimace. One of his sleeves is torn and stained by the bleeding wound beneath it. Thick fingers wrapped around the shaft of a rusty axe, Gelir fends off 3 advancing hoodlums. It seems that a crowd has already gathered around the commotion.

"So shortie, I guess you're not so tough after all, are you?" snickers one of the thugs. A leather headband holds back a mane of black, greasy hair as his hand juggles a tiny dagger.

Gelir grits his teeth and takes a swing at another advancing ruffian who simply dodges back in time. "Woah.. woah.. cool it, granpapa.." mocks the ruffian, his lack of a shirt revealing a well-toned and muscular body.

"Let's get him boys!" orders the last eye-patched hoodlum, his grin revealing a mouthful of bad teeth.

Turning back to where the hooded stranger ran off to, Ranglar hesitates but decides to return to aid Gelir. Racing back to the over-turned stall, Ranglar randomly picks up a sword from the ground. The trio has already surrounded the disarmed dwarf, hurling insults at helpless Gelir. Taking into the air, Ranglar arces the blade into a blur, cleanly removing Patch Eye's head from his neck. Arterial jets rain down the market square as Ranglar lands to face the remaining two thugs.

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Post by RicFaith » Mon Sep 02, 2002 8:01 am

They turn with a mixed look of surprise and shock, their minds numbly registering the fact that their leader's head was staring up at them from the dusty ground. Rage grips the bare-bodied hooligan as he charges toward Ranglar.

Ranglar slices downward, but the thug steps to the side before throwing a punch into Ranglar's face. Ranglar merely smiles, ducks, spins around low and drives the blade into the exposed belly of the surprised vagrant. As his screams fill the square, Ranglar kicks him aside and stares down the street.

The final survivor blinks wildly and finally drops his daggers and turns tail. But he doesn't get far. After barely taking four steps, he pauses in front of a stranger in a hooded cloak.

"Save me! Save me!" screams the broken man to the indifferent stranger.

Ranglar flies down the street at an amazing speed and cleaves his sword right through the hoodlum's midsection. Blood and guts spray the pavement once more. His breathing is ragged and his eyes are unfocused as Ranglar loosens his grip on the sword. The weapon clatters to the floor and Ranglar collapses beside it.

~ ~ ~

When he comes to, a crowd had gathered around him and the bodies of the three dead men. Gelir is beside him mumbling unintelligible words, all the while shaking him. The hazy world around him slowly returns to focus.

"Are ye alright? Ye had me shocked there for a minute! Where did you learn how ta' wield a sword like that?!"

Ranglar shakes his head. "I don't know. I just grabbed the sword and swung it."

"Well I've never seen anything like th' like o' that! Which sword is it? We could sell that for a high price!"

"It's...." Ranglar stops short as he stares at the blade. This is.... it can't be!

But it was. The weapon he held in his hand was the sword he had been forging, that he had left back at home. No doubt about it, the unfinished hilt, unpolished blade, it was his sword. But how did.... Too many unanswered questions filled his mind. And he knew who would have the answer.

Leaping to his feet, and immediately regretting as a wave of dizziness struck him, he fervently scanned the crowds for the stranger with the hooded cloak.

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Post by SubSanity » Fri Sep 06, 2002 4:53 am

The hooded stranger simply stands there this time, as if waiting for Ranglar. Approaching slowly, Ranglar expects the stranger to take off as before. The hooded figure stays and stands before Ranglar. Drapped in thick brown woolen robes, the figure is enshrouded in an aura of mystery.

"So, Mort'iis has found you, Dekamonde or are you now known as Ranglar?" the hooded figure speaks in a low, detached voice, examining the half-forged blade that seems to have appeared in his hands.

Ranglar is rooted to the ground, confused as he starts to recall the visions in his nightmares. "The threads of prophecies has started weaving, Ranglar. Soon it'd become clear... Soon... The Sun will not rise that Day, Blood falls down as crimson rain. Havok, chaos, suffering and pain, the Age of Darkness here to stay." the figure lets out a low snicker as he turns to leave.

"Wait!" Ranglar reaches out his hands to grab the figure. Ranglar is left with a pile of smoking robes in his arms as the figure seems to have vapourized, Mort'iss hits the ground with a dull clang.

"Eh, laddie!" Gelir calls from the stall, "We're packing now. A broken stall is bad for business ye know?" Ranglar drops the smoking robes as he stares at his blade. He calls it Mort'iis... Ranglar hesistates before picking up Mort'iis and returning to help Gelir clean up the mess.

~ ~ ~

Ranglar sits silently at the oak table, drinking his hare stew. He has not told Gelir about the conversation he had with the stranger and has no intension of doing so. Gelir takes little notice of the silent boy. "Do you remember when I found ye, laddie? Ye were crying in the fields, abandonned and alone, ye see? I was thinking, O, how loud this lil' lad be cryin! He'll grow up to be a strong laddie! And then I took ye ho-" Ranglar lets out a low groan as Gelir begins to reminisce.

Ranglar gets up from the dining table. "I'm going down to the workshop, Gelir. Enjoy your dinner"

Sitting on a short stool, Ranglar stares at Mort'iis propped against the wall, illuminated by the shifting fire light from the forge. He never noticed the purple pummel stone. How curious.. could the stranger have.. Just then pain sears through Ranglar's head and those visions of nightmare floods his mind.

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Post by RicFaith » Fri Sep 06, 2002 6:45 am

~ ~ ~

The sky is purple, ominous and foreboding. Lightning threatens to split the sky as if to punctuate the gloomy atmosphere with the crashing and rolling thunder. A lone figure stands atop a crest, his jet black plate gleaming in the lightning. His gaze was directed down into the plains below, intent on watching the events unfold.

Two armies have assembled, their boundaries well defined and both sides boiling over with battle frenzy. Trumpets sound and the lines break and surge forward to meet each other like an onrushing tide. Time seems to slow to a crawl until the two forces finally collide head-on.

The figure smiles, and reaches for the sword by his side.

He flies down the slope at an amazing speed, as if boosted by an invisible force. His sword seems to sing as he raises it to strike. As the first man is felled, the song turns into a chorus.

Inhuman strength surges through the body of the man, and he cleaves through the bodies of the warriors like they were paper. With no regard to either side, he slices through the battle field, taking down all who stand in his path, a grin permanently plastered on his face.

Such power! The swordsman cuts another hapless warrior down, and basks in the blood spraying in the air. The air reeks of the unmistakable stench of blood. Another one falls prey to the merciless blade. More blood.

The field is empty, and the carrions have arrived to feast. The lone swordsman stands alone in the middle of the blood-soaked field. He leans on his sword for support. Ranglar walks up to him, and the swordsman freezes.

"You are here." He straightens himself up and launches himself at Ranglar with no hesitation.

Almost instinctively, Ranglar draws his sword (where did the sword come from?) and their blades clash. Lightning flashes and the swordsman's face is lit for a brief second and Ranglar's eyes widen. It was like staring into a mirror, yet the eyes were that of an animal, a savage, a beast of the wilds.

The swordsman grins viciously and slams Ranglar to the ground. Ranglar is unable to move, his mind still frozen by the image of those piercing eyes that are staring into his soul.

"It is over."

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Post by SubSanity » Sat Sep 07, 2002 5:50 pm

Laughing like a madman, the swordsman raises his sword above his head, the purple stone at the end of its hilt seeming to pulsate with power. Ranglar backs up against a pile of corpses, shadowed by the big frame of this man. There seems to be nowhere to run.

"Now you die!"

Just as the sword comes down, a hissing breaks the air as an arrow lodges itself deep into the exposed shoulders of the swordsman. A roar of pain erupts as he turns and find an archer readying his next arrow. Bleeding profusely from a open wound on his stomach, the archer fumbles with the arrow. With quivering arms, he draws back the bowstring with whatever strength he has left.

"We will fight you til... the end, Dekamonde... for as.. long as we live.. the Enclave will see that you.. do not succeed.." with that he releases the bowstring and collapses with a sickening thud.

The flying arrow hits Dekamonde right between the eyes, sending the swordsman to fall to his knees. With both arms risen, he lets out a thunderous scream, scaring all the vultures that immediate took flight. The scream goes as the pummel stone of his sword shatter and a large crack develops in the mid-section of the blade. The scream continues to echo in Ranglar's head and rattle his brain as Dekamonde finally drops the broken sword and collapses on the ground.

"Hey laddie! Laddie, are ye a'right?" Ranglar notices the big, callused hands of Gelir on his shoulders, shaking him gently. "I could hear ye screaming from upstairs. Are ye fine? Ye don't want Ol' Madame Skeinar to come knocking on our door 'gain, do ye? Remember last week, when ye wer-"

"I'm fine Gelir. Now leave, I need to work on my sword," Ranglar finds himself saying. Gelir walks across the workshop to the stairs,takes one last look back at Ranglar and lets out a low sigh before heading back to his bed.

Chapter 2

For the next few months, Ranglar works on the blade with demonic fervor. He seems like a possessed man as he repeatedly heats the blade and hammers it, oblivious to the blisters developing on his hands due to the intense heat. Rhythmic hammering can be heard from the forge all through the nights. Unknown to himself, Ranglar is driven by an unknown force to forge his blade to the likeness of the swordman's in his visions.

One night, Ranglar continues to work on his sword, nearly its completion. Ranglar sizzles the blade in water from the bucket next to him before bringing up to study the sword. A purple pummel stone sits on the tail of a terrible serpent, coiled around the grip of the sword, that ends with a gaping maw at the crossguard with emerald eyes at either side. A steel blade extends from the jaws of the snake, which tapers to a fine point. Strange runes are engraved into the sides of the blade, they appear to absorb the light from the forge's fire. Finally satisfied with his work, Ranglar shealths the sword, the blade seems to sing a funeral anthem as it slides into its scabbard of cured deer hide.

The hooded stranger peeks into the workshop from a frosted window. "Mort'iis is re-forged, soon Dekamonde will be reborn."

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Post by RicFaith » Tue Sep 10, 2002 11:14 pm

~ ~ ~

'Twas nice of Gelir to give me the day off on a lovely Friday as this! Ranglar whistles to himself. In actuality, Ranglar had simply decided that he wanted a break from manning the stall at the market and had nonchalantly told Gelir that he was going for a stroll. Gelir had obviously been displeased but Ranglar wasn't about to let a crabby old dwarf stand in his way.

His hand idly strokes the pummel stone of his sword, which he kept by his side at all times. The blade seemed to give him comfort and a queer sense of fulfillment. Even though it had been only two days since he had completed the sword, it felt like it had always belonged there.

Distracted by his own musings, he fails to notice a dark-skinned man standing in his way.

"I'm sorry!" Ranglar apologises reflexively.

"You ought to watch where you're going... Dekamonde!" The stranger sneers the last word out.

Ranglar double-takes and eyes the stranger suspiciously. As tall as Ranglar, his muscular frame is barely hidden by his tunic. Ranglar spots the hilt of a scimitar peeking out from its sheath at his back. His emerald eyes captivated his attention, as they seemed to peer into his mind and gnaw away at the recesses of his soul. I feel tired... I should just lie down now...

Shaking his head, Ranglar frowns. What was that? It is still early in day, yet my mind seemed to think it was fatigued...

"Commendable. Only the greatest warriors can break my spell. Yet you shall still die, Dekamonde!" He grips his scimitar and charges, leaving Ranglar barely enough time to draw his sword to parry.

Dropping to one knee, Ranglar is having trouble keeping up with the frenetic pace that the dark stranger was setting. Each hit seemed to get stronger, as if he was leeching Ranglar's strength with each consecutive attack. I mustn't look at his eyes...!

Ranglar forces his opponent aside and gets to his feet. They watch each other warily and wait for the other to make their move.

"Dekamonde..." the stranger taunts. "What happened to the powerful Dekamonde? This is hardly a fraction of your strength! Or do you underestimate me such?"

"I am... not Dekamonde!" Ranglar growls. "I am..."

"You're not fooling me. Only Dekamonde would wield Mort'iis." His gestures to the blade in Ranglar's grip. "And you still have that scent of blood around you. Unmistakably you."

"I am NOT...!" Ranglar flies into a rage.

A great surge of energy is unleashed from Ranglar and the stranger grits his teeth as he is pushed back a few steps. In the center of the blast, the enraged Ranglar stands firm, with eyes closed, gripping his sword in his right hand and touching the blade with the left. The purple pommel stone glows with an eerie inner fire, and under his left palm, the runes glow in the same light. Ranglar opens his eyes.

"Ah Fedor, you are still alive." It was a statement.

"How nice of you to remember my name, Dekamonde. I was wondering when you were going to show up." Fedor readies his scimitar.

Dekamonde's eyes blaze with the violet flames mirrored in the pommel stone and the runes along Mort'iis. He whips the sword around to point the tip towards Fedor. "Last chance to leave."

"You know I won't run."

"I wouldn't have let you." Dekamonde screams as his blade screams a battle song.

This time, Fedor found himself on the defensive as Dekamonde gave little opening for any retaliation. Dekamonde's offensive strikes bordered on the inhuman, his strength ungodly, and Fedor knew that he stood little chance.

Finally, Fedor's strength gives in and Mort'iis cleaves through his scimitar and his chest in one swoop. Fedor falls to the ground as Dekamonde spins around flinging the fresh blood dripping from Mort'iis. He leans back against a tree and closes his eyes. The purple fires subside and disappear.

Ranglar opens his eyes. Did I succumb to that guy's magic? Then he sights Fedor's severed torso and shattered scimitar. What happened here?

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Post by SubSanity » Fri Sep 13, 2002 6:03 pm

A single hooded lantern flickers, sending shadows and light dancing on the walls of the stone chamber. Sitted in the darkness is the hooded stranger, the hood casts a dark shadow on the face. Two elven silhouettes knee before his cold throne of stone.

"Give me an update on the Incarnate's status."

"Lord Azu'ril sent Fedor after the Incarnate. There was a brutal fight and Fedor is said to be cleaved into half."

"Looks like the fun has already started. Azu'ril will surely send more men. Stop Azu'ril's lackeys at all costs. We will rendezvous at the Incarnate's workshop at sundown."

"But, Lord Azu'ril said-"

"Do you serve me or Azu'ril?"

"Yes, master.."

As the two elves leave , their master was left to sit alone in the silent chamber seemingly deep in thought.

~ ~ ~

Dripping wet from head to toe, Ranglar walks past the market on his way back to the workshop, the greatsword Mort'iis strapped onto his back. The sun is setting in the evening sky over the small town of Cathani. It's so hard to get the blood stains off.. *sigh* When I get back, I'll just tell Gelir that I fell into the river or something..

Standing outside the workshop, Ranglar gives himself a last shake and and ties his hair back into a neat ponytail. Just as he reaches out to open the door, a snapping of a twig brings his turning his head around. 4 hooded figures surrounds him, blending perfectly well into the dark, their blue trimmed cloak invisible to Ranglar's sight. Just how many of these guys are there..

A loud crash in the workshop distracts Ranglar from one of the figures that is charging towards him. Ranglar feels the full effect of that shoulder charge on his mid-section before crashing through the wooden door. Inside the workshop is another group of hooded figures. Gelir is lying next to a table that has been crashed to smithereens, he seems to have his wind knocked out of him. His body aches all over as Ranglar picks himself up from the wrecked wooden door. More of them? What do they want with me?

The two groups of intruders glances at each other, as if surprised by each other's presence. After exchanges of nods and whisperings, they turn to surround Ranglar. Ranglar reaches for Mort'iis but he hesitates, knowing the transformation and the animal rage he will undergo once he wields the cursed sword.

"Dekamonde, Lord Azu'ril has ordered your death. You will die under the might of the Enclave, just like your previous incarnations." Ranglar is taken aback, suddenly reminded of his visions. The Enclave...

"You may have slain Fedor but our numbers are many.. you will eventually be overwhelmed!" With that the intruders yell an elven warcry and charge towards Ranglar.

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Post by RicFaith » Mon Sep 16, 2002 8:09 pm

One, two, three... SIX!! The odds are impossible! Ranglar's mind whirls as the hooded figures close in on him. Two of them draw intricate daggers and three raise their fists. They mean business! The final stranger seems content to watch as the other five encircle Ranglar. Must be their leader...

The nearest assailant makes his move, bending low and charging shoulder first, catching Ranglar off-guard. With a gasp of surprise, Ranglar is slammed into the wall behind him. Without letting up, the three martial artists continued to rain blows to Ranglar's face, upper body and mid-section.

"Hah! Looks like you chose a weak one this time Dekamonde!" One of the martial artists jeers.

Ranglar crumples to the ground, blood welling in his mouth. He tries to spit, but his lips refuse to obey and the blood dribbles down his chin. One of the daggers is raised above his heart but Ranglar didn't have the energy to even move, let alone dodge a dagger at such close range.

"Arrghhh!" The hooded figure is flung off Ranglar and crashes in a bloody heap a distance away. Gelir winks at Ranglar and smirks, hefting his now-bloody axe. "Aye, and there's more where that came from!"

Their leader seems bemused and gestures lazily at Gelir. The other four figures immediately converge on the dwarf. Gelir merely laughs and waves them forward, swinging his axe overhead. It connects with one of the bare-fisted assailants and smites him down. The axe is deflected out of its deadly path and the other three seize the opportunity. Gelir is slammed to the group and the axe is wrenched from his grasp. The hooded men pummel Gelir and the ornate dagger is plunged into his chest a few times. "That's for our Brethren. Allies of the Incarnate must die."

Ranglar watches with wide eyes. Yet he is gripped with a mix of fear and anguish. I need to be strong, stronger... If only I were stronger...! His brows furrowed and he reaches for Mort'iis.

The warriors from the Enclave cease their onslaught on the bloody and broken Gelir as they are mesmerised by the violet flames that seem to devour Ranglar. The raging blaze was terrifying and yet beautiful. As quickly as the fires started, they were drawn back into the curious pommel stone. Dekamonde opens his eyes.

"It's my turn." Mort'iis is a blur as he cuts the nearest martial artist in two. Before his comrade hits the floor, the remaining one leaps into the air, fists outstretched before him. Dekamonde easily sidesteps to avoid the clumsy attack before bringing the fearful blade upward in a blinding arc.

Blood and guts splatter the already ruined workshop as the body falls, now lifeless. The leader and the dagger-wielder turn tail and flee out the door. "Where can you run from me?!" Dekamonde growls as he heads for the door.

Dekamonde spots the two figures heading in the direction of the river. They disappear from his sight as they round a corner, and Dekamonde quickens his pace, grimacing as he begins to feel the outcome of his earlier bashing. Then he hears a female shriek followed soon after by a man's dying scream.

The dagger-wielder is lying on the ground, blood oozing from a fatal gash to the midsection. Standing above him and looking in the distance was an elven woman, clothed in a blue armor.

"Damn he's gone already." The elf bends down and cleans the blood off her longsword with the fallen warrior's cloak. Sensing Dekamonde, she spins around and levels the longsword at him. "I can take you down like your pal here if you like!"

Dekamonde snarls and takes a step forward, but falters. Mort'iis and master collapse noisily on the grassy bank of the river.

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Post by RicFaith » Fri Oct 04, 2002 6:27 pm

~ ~ ~

Everything is hazy. A dull throbbing in his head slowly revives Ranglar. The lights keep swirling until they focus at a point. Argh it's bright... Ranglar squints, thoroughly irritated with the source of light. He raises a weary arm to shield his eyes. A voice..? Ranglar turns his head slightly towards the sound of the voice.

"Can... hear... you okay? ... awake?"

Ranglar growls, his head still threatening to split. Grimacing, he forces himself to open his eyes just a crack, expecting to see Gelir with his axe embedded in his skull. Instead, an unfamiliar faces looms over his. His reflexes take over and his previous lethargy is forgotten as he thrusts both arms forward flinging the stranger a few good feet away as he scrambles to his feet, his hand moving immediately to his sword sheath.

Where is Mort'iis! Scrabbling at his empty sheath, Ranglar notices the stranger for the first time.

Most definitely female, her figure unhidden by the blue plate mail. Most decidedly elven, the upturned pointed ears and striking features easily giving her race away. Her past-shoulder length midnight locks are tucked behind those prolific ears but otherwise free of the clips and contraptions that seemed to be the rage that season. Her eyes were the same shade of blue as her armor and they were fiercely fixed on him. Her right hand hovers over the hilt of her sword as she eyes him carefully, seemingly deciding whether he would do anything foolish.

Ranglar raises his hands slowly, to assure the girl he means no malice. "I am Ranglar, blacksmith by trade."

The elf ignores his introduction, pauses a while before asking, "Don't you recall what happened?"

"No..." Ranglar shakes his head.

"Not at all? I found you face in the dirt next to this hooded man. Are you sure you remember nothing?"

"I was attacked by hooded men... the... Enclave? And I was losing until... Gelir!"

Gripped by a sudden sense of apprehension, Ranglar whirls around and starts running back towards the house.

"I believe this belongs to you!" The voice of the elf calls out behind him.

Ranglar stops in his tracks and turns around in time to catch Mort'iis as it is tossed to him. Her expression is unreadable, but Ranglar manages to catch a fleeting smile as it flashes and quietly disappears again. He continues running back in the direction of the workshop, briefly aware that the elf was a few paces behind.

"What happened here?" Ranglar murmurs as he crosses the blood-splattered threshold into the wrecked workshop. Sighting Gelir, he dashes to his side, grasping a limp hand.

"Gelir. Are you okay?! Gelir! Gelir!" His hand quivers as he reaches for the dwarf's neck. Ranglar cringes and his composure crumbles. "Gelir! GELIR!!!"

Standing in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the light from the setting sun, the elf watches the distraught Ranglar, unable to speak a word of comfort. Finally she looks away from the scene and looks around outside the workshop.

"The Enclave..." Ranglar emits a low growl. "The Enclave will pay. I swear I will not rest until you are avenged. Gelir."

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Post by SubSanity » Sun Oct 06, 2002 3:20 pm

~ ~ ~

He lowers an empty mug on the wooden bar top. Foam slides off the cool side of the glass onto the wooden surface. Tossing a couple of copper coins next to the mug, he pulls his hood over his head, hiding his appearance save for a few locks of silvery fringe. After having a quick glance around the tavern to make sure no one notices him, he pushes back his stool and makes his way to the exit. Beyond the tavern's threshold, he is immediately greeted by the chill air outside as the sun sets over a distant ridge. "Mmmm.. this feels like my lucky night" he takes a quick sniff at the air before walking into the darkness that he melds so well into.

It isn't before long that the hooded stranger stops. Twitching a pair of pointed ears, he catches the distinct sound of metal meeting metal. A fight? Well, well, the night is young and my luck has already begun. Moving as fast as he can without attracting the attention of passers-by, he swiftly makes his way towards the workshop, a barbed tail waving and swaying beneath the cloak with excitment.

He reaches the workshop just in time to see Ranglar collapse on the bank of the river. Ouch.. An elven female stands above Ranglar, a blade strapped to her back, her blue armor glinting with light from the setting sun. As she peers around herself intently, the hooded stranger deftly dodges into the bushes and climbs silently up the nearest tree. Hmm, that chick looks pretty hot in that suit of blue dragon scales. I'm sure she'll look better in my arms. Better than with that el-.. hmm.. half-elven boy.. . Upon reaching the highest stable branch, he wraps his tail around the branch and stabs through the bark with its barb. Satisfied that the grip is firm, he quietly lowers himself and continues to observe the two, while hanging upside-down from his tail, from the concealment of the tree's branches and leaves.

Ranglar regains consciousness shortly after. After a short introduction, he runs into the workshop, the elf calmly follows after him after taking another quick glance around herself. Good, they haven't noticed me. The hooded stranger loosens his tail around the branch, does a backward flip and lands softly on the grass with the agility of a cat. He peeks into the workshop just in time to see Ranglar stand over a bloodied Gelir as he yells a vow of vengeance. Double ouch... The elf returns to take one last check on the surroundings, the hooded stranger vanishes before he's spotted. He materialised on the roof as the elf shuts the doors to the workshop. Phew, that elf chick almost got me but I still like her all the same. Guess, they'll be staying in tonight. He stiffles a yawn. I better get some sleep myself, more work await me tomorrow.

~ ~ ~

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lord Azu'ril of the Enclave,

The dwarven ally of the Incarnate has been dispatched and he shall no longer be any more trouble. Stricken by the lost of a great ally, the Incarnate will definitely been emotionally unstable. I suggest to cease the deployment of more men so that I can follow the Incarnate with more discreet. I will keep a close watch on the Incarnate and ensure that he be brought to us. Any further confrontations may rouse his suspicion and jeopardise the plan.

Long live the Enclave,
Ravenblade

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"Damn that Ravenblade!" After reading the message aloud, Azu'ril slams a gauntleted hand on the table, shaking the scrolls and tomes on it.

"Send more men after the Incarnate, I want him dead."

"But.. but.. Lord Azu'ril.. "

"JUST DO IT! And don't fail me again... His face distorts into a sneers as Azu'ril crushes the messanger raven in his hand. The bird's futile struggle grows less vigorous as its blood trickle down the spiked gauntlet.

Dropping the stiff bird on the ground, Azu'ril spins around sharply, his cloak cracking like a whip. He storms out of the room, laughing like a maniac.

~ ~ ~

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Post by RicFaith » Sun Oct 06, 2002 5:17 pm

~ ~ ~
Morning rays streaming through the doorway play upon Ranglar's face and he stretches, yawning widely. He begins to smile as is his usual disposition but as the memories of the previous evening's come back with a vengeance the smile quickly dissipates into one of rancor. The Enclave! I will wreak justice!

He leaps to his feet and latches Mort'iis by his side. The sword had already been a part of his daily life, but now their individual destinies seemed to be even more inseparably entwined. I must find someone who knows about Dekamonde and Mort'iis, and most of all, to tell me about the Enclave.

A rustling outside the door catches his attention and Ranglar disappears into the shadows of the wrecked workshop. More Enclave? Come back for seconds? They would not find Ranglar an easy man to defeat! Drawing Mort'iis from his sheath and holding it so that it wouldn't reflect any light to inadvertantly give away his concealed position, Ranglar crouches in preparation to pounce.

A furtive shadow appears and the stranger is definitely headed for the workshop. Biding his time, Ranglar waits for the exact moment to strike without his opponent ever knowing what struck. Then he sprung into action, his blade flying unerringly towards the exposed neck of the intruder.

The stranger gasps and in an impossibly quick reflex, draws forth a longsword and deflects Mort'iis' fatal path. Ranglar recovers quickly and drives the greatsword in a fearsome downward arc. His opponent quickly parries high and their swords resound mightly as they met in bladelock. Only then did Ranglar take a good look at his assailant.

Blue armor, blue eyes, elven ears... Ah the warrior from the day before. The elf too seems to recognise him and relaxes visibly. "I'm sorry," she begins. "I mistook you for another Enclave dog!"

"The Enclave..! How do you know of them?" Ranglar's eyes widen as his ears pricked up.

"Every elf is aware of the Enclave, but not all of us like it. They strive to be live out their elite status and go about reminding everyone about their misguided beliefs."

"I still do not know your name, I'm..." Ranglar begins.

"Ranglar. Yes you mentioned it yesterday at the riverbank. I am known as Sai'lyn."

"Sai'lyn... that's a nice name."

"Don't go getting any ideas into that thick skull of yours! I'll have you know I know how to hold my sword and am hardly shy to use it!"

"I have no such intention. Tell me all you know of the Enclave! I have a score to settle with them" Ranglar pleads, sheathing Mort'iis back into its deerhide scabbard.

As Ranglar and Sai'lyn move out of the workshop to sit down on the grassy knoll, a pair of eyes peeking out of a hood followed their movements. His vantage point was well chosen - shady and inconspicuous. His barbed tail flicks about as he strains to hear their conversation.

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