Post by mordenn on Sept 2, 2011 20:42:43 GMT -1
Mordenn darted through the woods as fast as his legs would carry him, stumbling over rocks and fallen trees. Behind him, fires raged through the once peaceful wood, spreading out in a circle that originated in the ruins of his village. The look on his teenage brother's face when he died was fresh in his eyes and he saw monsters lurking behind every tree, in every shadow. Try as he might, he could not run any faster from the nameless terror that pursued him; his legs felt like they were fighting through thick mud and his axe weighed heavily in his hands. Suddenly he reached a dead end, his progress halted by a cliff of black rock. Spinning round, he tried to double back but found the wall of fire had caught up with him, blocking his path. Stumbling back, his axe fell from his hands as a huge, mottled claw emerged from the fire, hurtling towards him, digging into his shoulder and-
Jerking upright, his hand wrapped around the throat of his assailant, his free hand groping int he dirt for his axe hilt. Only then did he see the look of fear in the young man's eyes. Slowly, he loosened his grip on the unfortunate man's neck while tightening it on his weapon. Lowering his gaze, he grunted apologetically. "You should know better than to shake a man from his sleep. The enemies of the mind can be more formidable than those of reality."
The young man, barely an adult, pulled away before giving a nervous salute. "My apologies sir but we're ready to move off." Mordenn nodded in response and rose to his feet, pushing his axe into the strap that held it to his back and surveying the camp. Around him, 7 members of Dragos Midnight hurried to gather their few belongings and make ready for the road. All were mortal, save for an ascended member of a race he did not recognise and all but he were initiates of the order. He was there to supervise their first mission which would grant them the full title of Inquisitor, the mission being to hint down and dispose of a weak sorcerer who was known to be in the area. They still had ground to cover before reaching the site the sorcerer was believed to be hiding, so after watching the pale sun begin it's ascent, he called his charges together and began the march onward.
By the time the sun was about to sink below the horizon once more, the group had set up camp for the night once more. A small fire blazed in the centre, and 5 of the initiates where huddled around it, exchanging stories. The other two, the ascended one and another were standing watch at the top of two jagged spurs of rock that loomed over either side of the clearing. Mordenn sat a little ways away from the others, his back against a large boulder and his axe upon his lap, listening to the others talk. He noticed the man who had woken him that morning, Gerran his name was, glancing at him every so often as though expecting him to do something.
Their conversation turned to stories they had heard of other Inquisitors.
"I heard of one see, angel bloke who marched into this cave full of daemons right? came out half an hour later, sword stained with blood carrying the severed head of some monster!"
"That's nothing. I heard there was some High Inquisitor who fought in the Baelze Wars thousands of years ago." The clearing went silent at the mention of that name. "He upped and left one day! And no one seemed to even care. Then stories start coming in of a pirate matching his description. The guy went AWOL and now he's terrorising half the universe!" The man grinned to himself, clearly delighted by his own knowledge.
Then another man yelled "How about you, gramps? Got any war stories for us?" Mordenn gave a low grunt, all but ignoring them as the initiates began to beg him for tales of how he got his scars. After a few minutes the man snorted and said "Pah. Old fleabag probably hasn't done anything good. Why else would they send him on a routine job like this." Mordenn did not react, but to his surprise Gerran did. "Leave him be! He's here for good reason! You know Dragos only takes the best." This of course resulted in a tirade of mockings and insults towards the young man, but looking over Mordenn made eye contact with him. In his eyes he saw a quiet respect.
Not sure what to make of it, he rose and made his way through the camp. He planned to check on the two watchmen through their communicators before taking up a position at the edge of the camp. "Demonaxe to Sorren and Bren. Report." A few seconds past with no answer so he repeated the statement, continuing to the edge of the camp so that he could see them from their posts.
No reply.
Standing away from the camp he peered up at the rocks where the others should have stood. Nothing.
Before he could go up and see for himself, a dark shape darted past the corner of his eye and he instinctively lashed out with the haft of his axe. His instincts were all that saved him. A high pitched whine and a snarl came from his side and as he spun round, he saw the angry jaws of a daemon hound. Not again...
Swinging his axe with the skill of a master, he managed to decapitate the beast before it could recover. Roaring at the top of his voice and into the communicator on his wrist he cried "Ambush! To arms!"
As he did, several more beasts lunged at him and he avoided them only by sheer luck. Swinging his blade in a flurry of blows, he fought of the monsters while edging back towards the centre of the camp.
The initiates never stood a chance. Distracted and cut off from help, two already lay dead. One was already int he claws of another hound and already as good as lost, while the one remaining was doing his best to hold back a hooded figure whom Mordenn presumed to be their intended target. Clearly the sorcerer had not been as weak as his superiors had thought. "Bastards, the lot of them..." he muttered under his breath before wading into battle once more, the blood of the daemons already coating his blade and staining the tabard he wore. Slashing with the frenzy of a berserker, he managed to kill the remainder of the demons, just in time to see the sorcerer blast his victim away with a burst of magic. Mordenn used the distraction to his advantage, striking the man in the side with the force of a hammerblow then cleaving his skull as he lay in the dirt.
Breathing deeply, the old wolven trembled as the adrenaline of battle began to ebb away with the realisation that he was done. Shouldering his weapon, the stone blade still dripping with blood, he checked the others for survivors, though he did not expect to find any. When he came upon the man who had held off the sorceror, he was surprised to recognise Gerran still drawing breath. At the sight of him, the badly wounded man gave a small smile, whispering "I knew it. I knew the stories of you were true." Though Mordenn knew he was unlikely to survive, the older man picked him up and carried him away from the sight of bloodshed, calling for a rescue shuttle to be sent.
Thinking of the good young men and women that had died that night he thought to himself, such is the price of war.
Jerking upright, his hand wrapped around the throat of his assailant, his free hand groping int he dirt for his axe hilt. Only then did he see the look of fear in the young man's eyes. Slowly, he loosened his grip on the unfortunate man's neck while tightening it on his weapon. Lowering his gaze, he grunted apologetically. "You should know better than to shake a man from his sleep. The enemies of the mind can be more formidable than those of reality."
The young man, barely an adult, pulled away before giving a nervous salute. "My apologies sir but we're ready to move off." Mordenn nodded in response and rose to his feet, pushing his axe into the strap that held it to his back and surveying the camp. Around him, 7 members of Dragos Midnight hurried to gather their few belongings and make ready for the road. All were mortal, save for an ascended member of a race he did not recognise and all but he were initiates of the order. He was there to supervise their first mission which would grant them the full title of Inquisitor, the mission being to hint down and dispose of a weak sorcerer who was known to be in the area. They still had ground to cover before reaching the site the sorcerer was believed to be hiding, so after watching the pale sun begin it's ascent, he called his charges together and began the march onward.
By the time the sun was about to sink below the horizon once more, the group had set up camp for the night once more. A small fire blazed in the centre, and 5 of the initiates where huddled around it, exchanging stories. The other two, the ascended one and another were standing watch at the top of two jagged spurs of rock that loomed over either side of the clearing. Mordenn sat a little ways away from the others, his back against a large boulder and his axe upon his lap, listening to the others talk. He noticed the man who had woken him that morning, Gerran his name was, glancing at him every so often as though expecting him to do something.
Their conversation turned to stories they had heard of other Inquisitors.
"I heard of one see, angel bloke who marched into this cave full of daemons right? came out half an hour later, sword stained with blood carrying the severed head of some monster!"
"That's nothing. I heard there was some High Inquisitor who fought in the Baelze Wars thousands of years ago." The clearing went silent at the mention of that name. "He upped and left one day! And no one seemed to even care. Then stories start coming in of a pirate matching his description. The guy went AWOL and now he's terrorising half the universe!" The man grinned to himself, clearly delighted by his own knowledge.
Then another man yelled "How about you, gramps? Got any war stories for us?" Mordenn gave a low grunt, all but ignoring them as the initiates began to beg him for tales of how he got his scars. After a few minutes the man snorted and said "Pah. Old fleabag probably hasn't done anything good. Why else would they send him on a routine job like this." Mordenn did not react, but to his surprise Gerran did. "Leave him be! He's here for good reason! You know Dragos only takes the best." This of course resulted in a tirade of mockings and insults towards the young man, but looking over Mordenn made eye contact with him. In his eyes he saw a quiet respect.
Not sure what to make of it, he rose and made his way through the camp. He planned to check on the two watchmen through their communicators before taking up a position at the edge of the camp. "Demonaxe to Sorren and Bren. Report." A few seconds past with no answer so he repeated the statement, continuing to the edge of the camp so that he could see them from their posts.
No reply.
Standing away from the camp he peered up at the rocks where the others should have stood. Nothing.
Before he could go up and see for himself, a dark shape darted past the corner of his eye and he instinctively lashed out with the haft of his axe. His instincts were all that saved him. A high pitched whine and a snarl came from his side and as he spun round, he saw the angry jaws of a daemon hound. Not again...
Swinging his axe with the skill of a master, he managed to decapitate the beast before it could recover. Roaring at the top of his voice and into the communicator on his wrist he cried "Ambush! To arms!"
As he did, several more beasts lunged at him and he avoided them only by sheer luck. Swinging his blade in a flurry of blows, he fought of the monsters while edging back towards the centre of the camp.
The initiates never stood a chance. Distracted and cut off from help, two already lay dead. One was already int he claws of another hound and already as good as lost, while the one remaining was doing his best to hold back a hooded figure whom Mordenn presumed to be their intended target. Clearly the sorcerer had not been as weak as his superiors had thought. "Bastards, the lot of them..." he muttered under his breath before wading into battle once more, the blood of the daemons already coating his blade and staining the tabard he wore. Slashing with the frenzy of a berserker, he managed to kill the remainder of the demons, just in time to see the sorcerer blast his victim away with a burst of magic. Mordenn used the distraction to his advantage, striking the man in the side with the force of a hammerblow then cleaving his skull as he lay in the dirt.
Breathing deeply, the old wolven trembled as the adrenaline of battle began to ebb away with the realisation that he was done. Shouldering his weapon, the stone blade still dripping with blood, he checked the others for survivors, though he did not expect to find any. When he came upon the man who had held off the sorceror, he was surprised to recognise Gerran still drawing breath. At the sight of him, the badly wounded man gave a small smile, whispering "I knew it. I knew the stories of you were true." Though Mordenn knew he was unlikely to survive, the older man picked him up and carried him away from the sight of bloodshed, calling for a rescue shuttle to be sent.
Thinking of the good young men and women that had died that night he thought to himself, such is the price of war.