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The Elf and the Warrior 1-14

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  • The Elf and the Warrior 1-14

    I wasn't going to write again, but after recent events I thought I would try to cheer Pol up with a new story.

    Hope no-one minds.

  • #2
    Re: The Elf and the Warrior

    “Have you found any survivors?” the captain asked the young lieutenant.

    “A few, but I doubt they will live for long,” the man replied flatly. His crisp clean blue uniform seemed at odds with the carnage they had found in the small village.

    Bodies still lay in the open. Many of them had some crude form of weapon they had used to defend themselves against ruthless attackers.

    One man still held a pitchfork in his cold dead hands: the blood covering it spoke of the fight he had shown before an arrow had pierced his throat.

    A woman had a kitchen knife in her hand: it had not helped stopped the arrow that was now embedded in her heart.

    Perhaps the most grizzly sight was that of a child, a girl, no older than ten summers on her knees her hands clasped in front of her as if begging for mercy. Her head lay close to the body – the blonde hair matted with blood, her sightless eyes stating out accusingly.

    The lieutenant had been violently sick at the sight of that, but somehow had managed not to stain the uniform he wore so proudly.

    “Who did this?” the caption growled.

    “Elves, sir,” the lieutenant replied.

    “Are you sure, Armol?”

    “Yes sir. Only elves use arrows like that – human archers, well we’re less accurate we use heavier bows, and another thing …”

    He hesitated.


    “We found a winglet sir. In one of the dead villagers hands. He must have got close enough to the elf to rip it from his head.”

    In his hands the lieutenant held a small white object shaped like a tiny wing – one end was covered in blood.

    “Very well,” the captain responded. “Split the men into patrol groups, close formation. We scour the area. The orders are simple – kill any elves we see: armed or not.”

    “That would not be wise,” a new voice interrupted.

    The captain turned to see a being in the form of a tiger standing on two legs and holding massive twin axes. He looked at the axes: their size was impressive enough – he doubted a normal human could lift one of them with both hands lat alone one each hand. Even more impressive was the luminescent blue glow that pulsated from each.

    A weir beast with mystically enhanced weapons. Such a creature could account for a whole platoon of his men like swatting a fly.

    “It’s good to see you again, Hunter,” he said flatly. “But I warn you not to stand in our way – vengeance is our right, and we will have it.”

    “Then listen to me,” the shape shifter replied.

    “Why what do you know of this – this slaughter,” the captain demanded, his anger tempered by a genuine respect for an old friend.

    “I know that I have followed the rebels who did this for many leagues. I know that I have brought a party of elves and humans to help.

    “I know that I and my party have killed ten times our number of the rebels who are massacring innocent humans.”

    He swung his axe to indicate the corpses and the ruined buildings surrounding them.

    “And I know,” here the Weir Beat’s voice softened. “That I have brought healers from the elven race to minister the wounded..”

    As if on cue a startlingly beautiful elf appeared at his side.

    She looked the captain in the face.

    “Three of those you gave up for dead now have life,” she informed him. “We have aided more, but the damage to many of these people is too great for us to help.”

    The captain nodded.

    Behind the elf a soldier face twisted in anger lunged with his pike with enough force to skewer her delicate body.

    The blow never landed.

    “Begone, soldier,” Hunter said firmly. The blade of the pike was gripped firmly in his paw.

    The soldier looked at him anger now replaced by fear: he released his grip on the pike, turned and fled.

    “I'll have him executed for that!” the captain thundered.

    “No, let him grieve,” the else responded. “Men do things in anger that they later regret. There is no need to add further to the blood that has been spilt here.”

    “Forgiving as always Exheal,” the Weir Beast stated.

    “This doesn't help,” the captain decided, speaking slowly. “I will submit a report to my lord. The Council must meet.”


    • #3
      Re: The Elf and the Warrior

      I'm glad you started again.
      I'm sure many people will be :D.

      Good luckw ith this, hope it's jsut as great as your last one.


      • #4
        Re: The Elf and the Warrior

        YaY -thats all imsaying as thats the onli word that i can say i#without goin to tears

        Pol x


        • #5
          Re: The Elf and the Warrior

          Originally posted by InfoLost
          I wasn't going to write again
          Whaaaaaat?! Why not? Your stories are brill. I'm sure your and Charlock's postings on the forum create more interest in the game and attract new players.

          Look, I've even changed guilds so I can get your autograph! (only joking)

          Grecia, the Celebrity Stalker :lol:


          • #6
            Re: The Elf and the Warrior

            Two insignificant figures wandering south along a smooth peacful road. Few creatures dared attack the human mage and the elven healer: the poser they possessed was far too great for the lowly monsters of this tranquil area.

            As they walked the two conversed earestly.

            “Er … could we take the eastern route on the way to the City of The Dragon,” the elf began, “I would like to give your home a miss on the way back.”

            The elf and the mage had visited Ethersword City to obtain a potion for the elfen healer, and, as a result, were headed for the Ancient City of the Dragon to get yet another potion from yet another elder.

            “Oh!. And what’s wrong with spending another night at my family home?” the mage bristled.

            “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your family hospitality,” the elf began carefully. “It’s just that I don’t enjoy being insulted, chained up, burnt alive and generally molested.”

            “No-one molested you!” the mage retorted angrily.

            “Uhm … your sister …” the elf began hesitantly.


            “Erm .. hum ... I oh ... Well anyway – I don’t really want to be burnt alive, it won’t be good for my health.”

            “Your health! You selfish little elf. It’s all about you isn’t it?”

            “Well… “

            “By sacrificing you my family were sending you to be with the god Pan Gu –“

            “Yes, at his feet ..”

            “ ... to be raised to the status of divinity – “

            “… not at his bosom …”

            “... an honour you really don’t deserve!”

            “… don’t want to be stuck at his feet …” the elf mumbled sulkily.

            “Anyway – I’ve had a letter from the family. We are welcome to stay with them again, despite you appalling behaviour –“

            “My behaviour?”

            “You didn’t die!”

            “Oh – I’m so sorry,” came the sarcastic response.

            “Good, I’ll let my parents know. And my sister says she can’t wait to see you again. She’s even prepared to let you share her room.”

            “Erk ..” the elf managed, and turned a strange colour.

            “I suppose not going back would spite her,” the mage pondered completely ignoring the elf’s distress. “It might be worth not going just for that.”

            “Yes,” the elf agreed, “Good thinking.”


            • #7
              Re: The Elf and the Warrior

              The chamber in which the delegates sat was, in deference their status, magnificent. The ceiling stretched far above them forming a dome with a map of the stars on a dark blue background. Few could see far enough to make out the detail so high was this work of art.

              The meeting hall itself was suitably vast, housing as it did a table which could, and had in years gone past, seat an army. Not round but a long rectangle. Opposing factions could se each other in the distance, with neutral delegates able to sit at each end ready to intervene – or be slaughtered if fighting broke out.

              Down one length of the table sat the delegates of man. Many in long flowing robes, but a suitable number wearing armour. All wore grim expressions on their faces.

              Opposite them the representatives of the elven races in their bright clothing, again they wore, in the main, flowing robes of pure silk with jewellery adorning their attire. Males and females in almost equal number they two had representatives of their fighting fold sat round the table.

              At each end ready to keep the two parties apart sat representatives of the weir folk. Many wearing the formal clothing befitting for such an occasion. Taking he appearance of tigers, bears and even wolves the male folk wore white or black suits to show their rank. A few of their women fold were present: human in appearance they were, if possible, more startlingly beautiful than even the elven womenfolk. Surprisingly all the men folk, even those of their own race, tried to keep as far from them as possible. No-one trusted a venomancer, and no-one ever accepted a drink from their hands, at least not twice.

              At he head of the table a WeirBeast with the appearance of a wolf rose to his feet and declared in a voice the carried to parts of the oval shaped chamber.

              “Men and elves, pray give attention to Lord Vandar Patriarch of the House of Vandar of the Race of Men.”

              A grim face man his features chiselled and scarred from decades of war rose to his feet. Although he wore white robes none could miss the bulk of armour beneath.

              “Men and Elves,” he boomed, the acoustics of the chamber enabling his words to carry to all at he table. “The situation is indeed grave.

              “The peace that has endured for thousands of years is threatened once more. We see a greater threat then the forces of Rancor, than the Wraith, indeed greater than almost anything the dark gods have spewed forth onto our perfect world.

              “We see an act of the greatest betrayal by elves!”

              A male elf rose to his feet, his had reaching for a sword, but he was waved down by another elven lord.

              “Not all elves are involved in this,” Lord Vandar continued with no hint of apology. “But unless we act now and act decisively we will be plunged into a long and bloody war from which no victors will emerge.

              “The time of men and elves will come to and end. Our children will die on the battlefields and our grandchildren left as helpless prey to the forces of chaos.”

              He paused as the delegates from both races digested his words.

              Some of the younger elves bristled with anger, not a few muttered about the insults to their honour, but before they stirred themselves to action the human Lord ended his speech with a simple request.

              “I would like to ask my old friend, and ally, Lord Athuin to say give us a few words of advice.”

              As he sat down a slim elf simply dressed in pale blue robes rose to his feet. The winglets on his head bore traces of grey – otherwise there was no sign of his great age. There was no hint of armour beneath his robe, but with elves that was no definite indicator.


              • #8
                Re: The Elf and the Warrior 1-3

                City of the Dragon. The largest settlement anywhere on the Perfect continent. Huge by anyone’s standards it has been said that over a million souls dwell within its hulking walls. A population more than trebled by the numbers of visitors: travelling merchants, soldiers, priests, ambassadors, adventurers, mercenaries and other sundry types come to gawk at the huge statues towering into the clouds; to shop at the many markets; to plead for help from the city officials or simply to look for work. Ancient by any standards the city had stood for thousands of years

                Even heroic adventurers need to look for work from time to time.

                Wandering through the throngs in the city: two females, both attractive one full bodied with red hair and pale skin – a human. Her companion, an elf, slight in build by comparison and clearly overwhelmed by their surroundings. They wandered through the crowds careful not to jostle too much, moving apparently aimlessly stopping to talk to merchants, guards, officials, and other visitors to the great city.

                The elf hated the place. She loved to fly, but here flying was, for her, an unpleasant exercise. There were too many high walls and tall statues – and distractions. More than once when she had risen to the air to look for their destination she had found herself looking at some sight on the ground only to fly into a wall or statue or some other obstacle that seemed to have been placed there deliberately to prevent her enjoying the freedom of flight.

                Her companion, on the other hand, was fascinated by the city. It teemed with life, most of it human, but elves and weir folk also thronged the place. Other esoteric races were also present and the range of colours, shapes and languages added to the eclectic mix of the City.

                “The Elder is in that direction,” the human, a mage, declared pointing at a large grey wall to the west of where they stood.

                “Oh,” the elf replied warily.

                “Can you just fly up and see if there’s a way through to the address we were given – you should be able to recognize the elder’s residence if you can see it.”

                The elf unfurled her long brown wings knocking several passing pedestrians over as she did so and rose into the air.

                Over the wall she could see nothing but a maze of streets thronged with people of all races. A few merchants had stalls out on the streets, and she supposed at least one of them could give further directions.

                With a delicate thump that shook the ground she landed back on terra firma, to see several people lying, still stunned, on the ground. The corpses of a number of small rabbits lay all round, some of the still smouldering from the mage’s attacks.

                “Bunnies?” she asked.

                “Some sort of infestation,” the mage responded absently, sending another fireball hurtling towards a small furry rodent.

                A child burst into tears as the family pet went up in flames.

                “It happens from time to time,” the mage continued, “The locals call it an event. They turn out to watch us slaughter the pests.”

                Two more rabbits and a dog went up in flames.

                Soon other adventurers gathered and began the task of reducing the increasing numbers of rabbits that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

                A crowd gathered to watch this rare opportunity to see those blessed by the gods use thei unnatural skills in the midst of a large city. Soon they were applauding, cheering and shouting encouragement.

                “Ooooh nice fireball – that’ll teach the bunnies …”

                “Good shot sir, got it in the throat …”

                “Er … I don’t think that was a rabbit ….”

                “Well killed that mage – five in one shot …”

                “Fido! Fido! Has anyone seen my dog? He was here a moment ago …”

                Eventually the killing of rabbits, stray dogs and the odd horse ceased as the infestation ran its course. The crown, though, were further entertained as a blademaster and a mage agreed to duel in front of the readily assembled audience. Both men were skilled in their areas and the crowd was treated to a long and entertaining match, before the blademaster conceded defeat.

                “Well that was fun,” Whizess conceded to her elven companion.

                “Yes, but I think you killed more than …”

                “Excuse me. Have any of you seen a small dog?” a young woman asked the pair.

                “Small brown mongrel with a black patch over one eye?” asked the mage.

                “Yes, that’s him, that’s Fido.”

                “Sorry, haven’t seen him,” came the unconvincing reply from the mage as the elf looked at a pile of dog shaped ashes not too far away.

                “Got to go now,” the elf pronounced quickly, “or we’ll be late.”

                With that the two continued their journey, until a troop of City Guards blocked their path.

                “Whizess the Mage, InfoLost the Healer,” the captain of the guards declared. It was not a question.

                “No,” responded the mage instinctively.

                “You are to come with us,” the captain responded. A faint green aura surrounded her: she and her troop were protected against the powers of magic by strong wards.

                Heads bowed the two adventurers found themselves surrounded by the guards and were marched off to a new destination.


                • #9
                  Re: The Elf and the Warrior 1-3

                  Lord Athuin addressed the members of the assembly before him. Elves and men looked at him carefully as if studying his every movement for a clue not given in his words.

                  “My Lords, and Ladies, we acknowledge the threat before us. What we do not know is the scale of it.”

                  He looked at the faces at the table, all earnest, many trying to hide the anger eating away at their hearts.

                  “We in the elven world know who is behind these attacks, and we believe we know why he is attacking the humans.”

                  He paused.

                  “When the last great war between men and elves ended many of the great families signed Covenants to seal the peace, but our allies the weir folk told us this would not be enough. On their advice we set up the Guild House system, where men elves and weir folk could join together and hold loyalty to a guild cutting across the barriers of race.

                  “These guilds spy on each, compete in event and oft tide war amongst themselves. These actions have not disturbed the overall peace, but have proved a means for warriors to exhibit their skills to fight, to know victory. And all the time our peace has been preserved.

                  By attacking humans the elven rebel leader hopes to persuade elves to leave the guild and flock to his banner.

                  If he succeeds – if the guild system fails, we will again see elves and men at war, and the peace we have worked for these thousands of years will be lost.”

                  “But who leads the rebellion?” a human lord demanded. His long red hair almost matching his ruddy complexion as he thumped the table with a powerful fist.

                  “We believe it is Lord Kalin.”

                  An elf lord laughed out loud.

                  “Kalin – he’s a joke! He always rants on about liberating elves from the human yoke, and breaking chains and ties that bind. Frankly he’s nothing but a frustrated little nonentity. And when did he become a lord.”

                  Other elves nodded in agreement.

                  Lord Athuin answered him. “His father died recently, and Kalin’s older brother succeeded to the title. He was murdered two days later. We believe Kalin, murdered him, and worse still sold his very soul to the dark gods.

                  “We have been unable to find him and there are rumours that along with his new title he has a new appearance. Survivors talk of an elf with coal black skin and fire coming from his eyes.”

                  There was silence for a few moments as the assembly digested this.

                  “So what are we to do?” another elf asked.

                  “I propose to send spies to infiltrate the new movement that Kalin has set up.”

                  At that moment the huge doors to the assembly chamber opened, and a troop of the City Guard entered.


                  • #10
                    Re: The Elf and the Warrior 1-5

                    The creature sniffed the night air. A range of scents assailed it's nostrils. After sitting for a few moments it heaved its bulk forward. There were plant smells animal smells and man smells. It hungered for the meat of the animals but its masters demanded it feast on the flesh of man – or elf.

                    It opened its enormous jaws and grunted. Similar green skinned bulky monstrosities emerged from the cave behind it and lumbered froward. Like their leader they possessed jaws large and powerful enough to crush the skulls of oxen with no effort. Today their prey was not to be those those hapless beasts of burden, but something far more tempting.

                    Amazingly silently for such large creatures they padded down the slop away from their cave and headed towards the tempting scents.

                    * * * * * * * *

                    Unaware of the threat approaching them men and women of the trade caravan rested. Wagons had been drawn into a large circle, within which tents had been erected. Guard with bows, pikes and swords posted at various points of the perimeter.

                    Some of the tents were clearly to large to be considered sleeping quarters an impression reinforced by their only gaudy colours of reds purples and yellow. These were the source of noises that rang through the night; laughter and music suggested that the occupants had not a care in the world.

                    Two of the guards attired in leather jerkins and tough cotton breeches muttered angrily at the noise coming from the tents.

                    “Old Verace may be an astute merchant, but he’s a fool,” the older one muttered, his grizzly skin a reflection of his long experience both in travelling and fighting.

                    “Too true, that noise will attract bandits and worse – it can be heard for leagues around,” the younger one agreed.

                    “Listen Jerrins, if there’s any sign of trouble get yourself to safety. The nearest settlement is that way,” the older man gestured with his sword. “No point us all getting killed.”

                    “You really think we will be attacked?”

                    “Ayr, I can smell something on the wind. Bandits would be better than what’s headed our way. Verace should have hired special mercenaries for this part of the trip. Only them cursed with the magic of the gods can help us if I’m right. The fat old merchant should have hired some of them to help us. He spat on the ground. Clerics, Mages, Warriors, whatever they are, they might be favourites of the gods but they’ll do anything for a piece of gold.”

                    The younger man shivered. He respected Bardin’s nose for trouble: many a time on the trip the man had anticipated bandit attacks and guided them away from the areas where vile creatures with supernatural abilities lurked. If he thought they were doomed there probably was no hope for any of them. He hefted his pike to his hip and rested the end against a wagon wheel.

                    This, he thought, was going to be a long night.

                    He was wrong.

                    The first to die were three guards who did not share Bardin’s pessimism and allowed themselves to doze off. Mercifully they were dead before they woke their skulls crushed be the powerful jaws of the creatures which swarmed over the wagons.

                    Within moments the screams of the dying filled the night air. Bardin did not die quickly his sword slashed into the thick hide of the first creature piercing its heart as the man put all his strength into the blow.

                    “Run!” he bellowed to the terrified Jerrins. “Get help if you can – you’re no use dead.”


                    • #11
                      Re: The Elf and the Warrior 1-6

                      “Over here, Po’ Larise I think there are tracks,” the weir beast called.

                      Soon he was joined by a venomancer, a delicate looking female of incredible beauty.

                      Although the two shared the same bloodline of species there was little to suggest that in their appearance: the weir beast took the form of a tiger standing on hind legs and carrying two huge glowing axes, while the veno could easily have been mistaken for a human or elf. She stood relaxed, arrogant even, with a sword held lazily over her shoulder, its eerie red glow denoting the mystical forces waiting to be unleashed, a fox like tail swishing from under her short green dress.

                      “These are not elf tracks,” she remarked.

                      “No, but elves have been here,” the tiger replied, “and I’ll speculate that they had dealings with these creatures. I doubt they are far away, looking at the age of the tracks.”

                      “Then let’s tackle the monsters, whatever they are Hunter, I’m getting bored chasing shadows. I want to kill something!” a third voice chimed in.

                      “Easy, Celeste,” the weir beast replied, “we’re not going to fight anything without a strategy. And that’s assuming we can find anything to fight.”

                      “Huh,” Celeste replied. Although an elf herself the archer, clad in blue robes, had no compunction about hunting down and killing those elves who had betrayed their beliefs. The fact that there was a bounty on the heads of the traitors was, for her, an added bonus.


                      • #12
                        Re: The Elf and the Warrior 1-6

                        The troop of guard marched into the Assembly Room Pikes, swords and crossbows all pointed squarely at the two females they accompanied.

                        The first human a mage looked in awe at the assembly before them.

                        Lords, Ladies and Generals from the worlds of elves and men sat opposite each other down the sides of the table before them. At each end representatives of the weir folk sat apparently keeping the other two sides apart.

                        The mage realised that she and her elven companion were standing on a raised platform opposite the centre of the table in full view of the illustrious gathering.

                        Self consciously she tugged her skirt down a little as if expecting that make her appearance more modest.

                        “Don’t worry,” a voice whispered in her ear. “They are not offended by the sight of a trollop.”

                        The mage glared at the Captain of the Guard who smiled arrogantly back.

                        She opened her mouth to tell the captain what she though of her, but was waved into silence as an elven lord rose to his feet. Dressed in simple grey robes the elf lord addressed the human end elf, ignoring the troop of guards surrounding them.

                        “Welcome,” he began. “I am Lord Althuin. I gather you are Whizess and InfoLost.”

                        The two mumbled confirmation the mage wondering if she should courtesy, but decided against it after shooting a glance at the mocking face of the Captain of the Guard.

                        “We find ourselves faced with a difficult problem: one which threatens the peace between our races. Before we can act we need information.

                        “There is a rebel group led by a dark elven lord who is warring against everything we hold dear. To find out what he plans to do and how deep his support runs we need to infiltrate his movement. We need someone cunning, intelligent, astute wise beyond their years, brave …”

                        InfoLost preened herself as all eyes in the room focussed on her. She even blushed slightly.

                        “Well … “ she began.

                        “Alas we only have you available at the moment,” the Lord continued.

                        “She’ll do it,” Whizess interjected, indifferent to her companion’s crestfallen expression.

                        “Good. I should point out that Kalim is a cruel and heartless elf. If you are caught you can expect to be tortured mercilessly …”

                        “Torured ..”

                        “She doesn’t mind..”

                        “… every bone in your body smashed to thousands of pieces …”

                        “ … oh ..”

                        “Pah! So what!”

                        “ … teeth pulled from your mouth one by one …”

                        “ …oooh that’s …”

                        “Is that the best they can do?”

                        “… skin flayed from your still living body ..”

                        The elf started to hyperventilate in panic her chest heaving up and down rapidly as she tried to gulp in lungfuls of air.

                        “I say she looks quite excited,” whispered one elven lord to the elf sat next to him.

                        “Actually I’m getting quite excited myself,” came the reply as the elf stared at the hapless heaving chest of the healer.

                        “ … and staked out to die with the ant and maggots eating …”

                        “Huh, she can take it!” Whizess declared with finality. “Just tell her what to do and where to go.”

                        Her companion was too busy trying to breathe to express disagreement.

                        As the doors to the chamber opened quietly the human patriarch, Lord Vandar, rose to his feet.

                        An innocuous looking man handed a written message to the Captain of the Guard.

                        “I am pleased that you and your companion have agreed to this dangerous mission,” he began.

                        “By the gods, someone killed Fido,” the Captain breathed, glaring hard at the mage.

                        “There is one thing I need to add,” Lord Vandar continued.

                        He added it.

                        “Someone will pay for this,” the Captain murmured.


                        • #13
                          Re: The Elf and the Warrior 1-8

                          Whizess awoke to find herself lying on the top of a strange table. Its pale green surface was cold and smooth, almost as if it was made of metal. There were no sheets covering her and she felt vulnerable still dressed in her short skirt and halter top. She tried to sit up but found herself strapped down and unable to move, which given how narrow the table was might have been a wise precaution.

                          Annoyingly someone was dabbing her head with a wet sponge. She wondered if this was some new form of torture that had been devised for her benefit.

                          She craned her neck to look around. The room was small and sparsely furnished. A strange trolley stood just out of reach its surface covered with a range of instruments. At the foot of the bed on which she rested stood a short figure with winglets on its head. She bared her teeth at him. He did not respond.

                          Mopping her head was her elven companion, the healer.

                          “Stop that!” she demanded, “it’s really irritating.”

                          “I’m sorry, but it’s necessary,” came the reply. “Until the transplant has take fully that is.”

                          “What happened to me the mage demanded,” finally managing to wiggle her arms free of the straps.

                          “You fainted, after that human Lord told you that you were going to be disguised as an elf and infiltrate the rebel movement,” her companion replied. “I guess the excitement was too much for you.”

                          The mage reached up to stop the irritating mopping of her head and felt something unusual.

                          “What!,” she demanded. “You! She turned her ire on the elf at the foot of the bed. Did you do this – you butcher? And stop looking there!”

                          He dragged his gaze to her face, and slightly above.

                          “Yes, and I am no butcher. I am a Master of Transfiguration, but I have to admit this is my best work to date. Usually I just alter people’s appearances, you know, different hair style, skin tone bigger breasts, stronger looking muscles, but this is the first time I’ve altered someone to look a different race …”


                          “… and had them survive.” he finished happily.

                          The last bit was no comfort the mage.

                          “So now I look like an elf,” she managed bitterly.

                          “Indeed, you’ve even lost a little weight,” the elf informed her. “You have a much nicer figure now, far more attractive, why even I am tempted to:-“

                          “Watch it!” the mage responded. “Touch me and I’ll torch you!”

                          The elf moved back from the bed, and shaking his head left the room.

                          “Well this is nice,” chirped the mage’s companion. “You’ll be able to join me.”

                          “And die with you,” replied the mage bitterly.

                          “Die. But you seemed so positive about spying on the rebel movement.”

                          “That’s when I wasn’t going to get involved, we’re both going to be killed. I know how these things work.,” she continued angrily. “They’ll send in a real spy who knows what he’s doing. To show them that he’s loyal he’ll denounce us as spies and with a bit of torture we’ll confess. After we’re dead he’ll get on with his work and let the council know what the rebels are doing.”

                          “Oh, oh dear. It looks like we’ve no choice either. The human lord told me there is now a bounty on our heads, anyone who sees us can kill us and collect a reward. We have to join the rebels in order to have any chance of surviving. It’s supposed to help our cover,” she finished lamely.


                          • #14
                            Re: The Elf and the Warrior 1-9

                            Bardin lay on the ground pinned down by one of the creature’s paws resting on his chest. He had no idea what it was – something like a giant lynx. For some reason it was important to him to know what was killing him, but he realised that he was not going to find out.

                            It leered at him with flashing green eyes, a murderous force emanating from them. He snarled his lip in contempt, ignoring the pain from his broken right arm. If he was going to die he would do so as a man with what dignity as he could not screaming, or begging for mercy like so many of the others.

                            The creature seemed in no hurry to kill him, almost as if it were waiting for him to plead for his life. If brought its head close to his face so that he could clearly see into the cruel eyes that mocked him.

                            His left hand reached for the dagger he kept in his boot. The creature ran its tongue over its lips dripping saliva onto the hapless human.

                            When the knife plunged into its paw it screamed a bellow of pure rage and snapped the human’s dead off.

                            Or would have done if he had lain still. The man had rolled over as soon as the paw was lifted, and reached for his fallen sword which he now held left handed.

                            The animal batted it away effortlessly and opened its jaws for the killing strike.

                            Bardin watched as the creatures neck moved back and waited for a tell tale sign that it was about to strike. It stared insolently at him, then suddenly snarled in anger.

                            Then in agony.

                            Bardin looked through a haze of pain to see a human at the side of the creature slashing at it with twin swords. The monster howled and swung at him in vain.

                            A few seconds later it lay dead, black liquid oozing from a dozen wounds. The newcomer bent over and pulled a few pieces of gold from the creature’s stomach.

                            A blademaster! A warrior blessed by the gods with extraordinary ability and wielding twin swords with mystical powers that ordinary men cold only dream about. Willing, thought Bardin, to sell his own soul if the price was right.

                            The soldier nodded at the blademaster.

                            “I am in your debt,” he began, “but I must tell you I can give no reward, no gold, no prizes. You have spared my life for nothing.”

                            “Very well,” the warrior replied. “but there is one thing I would ask of you.”

                            He stroked his short well groomed brown beard as he spoke.

                            “Tell no-one of this,” he finished.


                            “Bad for my reputation, you see. I make a point of rescuing maidens from danger. Attractive young, healthy maidens. Women who like to show their gratitude for the efforts of a charming gallant warrior such as myself.”

                            He looked at the grizzled soldier.

                            “It won’t do my image any good if people learn I have saved a man. There will be talk, you know. Others may get the wrong impression.”

                            Despite his pain and the still present threat surrounding them, Bardin laughed out loud.

                            “What are you worried about blademaster? Look around you, there are a score or more of those things attacking my caravan. I must protect my people. Don’t worry about your good name – I’ll be dead before the night is over.”

                            “With that he set off toward the nearest tent, where the occupants were still putting up something of a fight.”

                            He found the armoured warrior at his side.

                            “Here drink this,” he offered Bardin a small phial of red liquid. “Take only a very small sip.”

                            The soldier did so dropping his sword so he could hold the phial left handed.

                            As soon as the first drop hit his tongue he felt it burning against his mouth. It burned its way down his gullet and into his stomach.

                            “You’ve poisoned me,” he tried to say, but no words came out.

                            Even as he reached down for his sword determined to die fighting he felt the bones in his right arm move, painfully the broken pieces moved together, ligaments stretched, muscles tore and mended. Within a few more heartbeats his broken arm was mended and as strong as it had ever been. Ribs, which he knew had broken were mended. He was as fit and strong as ever he had been.

                            “Let’s kill those things!” he snarled, the sword now in his right arm.

                            “Yes, might as well die gloriously,” the warrior replied his blue armour glowing against the darkness of the night.

                            Within seconds the two were at the tent. A roar from the blademaster seemed to terrify the green skinned animals which froze at the noise. Within seconds two of them lay dead.

                            The soldiers still alive in the tent managed to join on the fight, and for a while the situation seemed promising for the humans.

                            The appearance of more of the creatures crushed the budding hope.

                            “Right,” said the blademaster nonchalantly “You see those twenty beasts over there?” He indicated a group away to the left of the orange coloured tent the two men stood outside.


                            “And those ten over there?”


                            “I want you to grab the attention of the group of ten, throw stones at them or something. Try to lure them toward me – I’ll be tackling the big group.”

                            The plan worked all too well, soon the two men, blademaster and soldier quickly found themselves surrounded by some thirty of the creatures. They were sufficiently far away from the tents to allow the survivors a chance to escape the scene of carnage.

                            “Well, soldier take comfort that you will die in good company,” the blademaster shouted above the dim of the creatures’ roars of triumph.

                            Bardin smiled grimly. The arrogance of the warrior would have been amusing, if he weren’t facing death. The next comment from the man stunned him.

                            “As will I,” the blademaster announced with what sounded like genuine pride.

                            In a moment the creatures were upon them. The baldemaster felled the first two with surprising ease, then he bellowed out his roar which seemed to stun the fell beasts.

                            Bardin took that opportunity to attack one creature thrusting his blade into its eye. It fell to the ground and he swung at a second foe. This time his blade broke leaving half in the animals thick hide.

                            It turned a leery gaze of triumph on the human.

                            The soldier looked death in the face, and spat in its eye. The green skinned atrocity bellowed in triumph. Its snout turned up to the stars.

                            A small crossbow bolt pierced its flank. No ordinary bolt: this one burned as it tore through flesh. Now the creature bellowed in pain and fear. Turning from the human it looked at its new assailant.

                            An elf borne aloft on pure wings of white hovered out of the creature’s reach and loosed another bolt from her oversized weapon. Without even checking the damage she done to the creature she furled her wings in and landed on the ground with a graceful, if loud thud.

                            Another creature raced toward her and fell but found its path blocked by a strange orange skinned creature – an ogre. For a moment Bardin assumed the fell creatures had summoned allies of the dark gods, but the ogre slammed powerful blows onto the head of the creature forcing it down to its knees as the elf shot it with two more mystical bolts.

                            Now the area was alive with the screams of anger and rage from the creatures and shout of triumph from the newcomers.

                            The elf and the ogre had been joined by a venomancer which quite clearly was controlling the ogre. A weir best warrior in the form of a tiger and an elf, still airborne were clearly visible. A second venomancer appeared behind a huge stone like creature which simply ploughed into the confused Lynx like animals.

                            With surprise on their site the newcomers quickly whittled the enemy numbers down. The blademaster casually threw Bardin a sword and the soldier was able to rejoin the fight. A younger soldier soon appeared at his side wielding a pike with more courage than efficiency.

                            “Welcome, back Jerrins,” the soldier greeted him.

                            On more than one occasion the Ogre ambled up to them and smashed a beast into a comatose state before wandering off to pummel some other unfortunate enemy. Bardin found himself wondering at he almost childlike attitude of the ogre, which seemed to go by the name Herc.


                            • #15
                              Re: The Elf and the Warrior 1-9

                              woooooh go info

                              ogre are like onions lmao
                              shrek is a herc lol