Posted November 15, 2011
Bodies littered the battlefield. The stench of rotten flesh flowed upwards until it formed an almost palpable fog that choked what little life remained. The echo of clashing swords still rung out across the plains, but all was now still.
Exile Mystram heard the sounds of a fallen man gargling on his own blood in the distance. He pushed forward to identify the source of the noise, but he felt his legs collapse from under him. Every ounce of his spirit was surrendered to the conflict and every muscle he had writhed in pain.
From his knees, he surveyed the city of Northbrook. Before the battle, its beauty was a testament to the grandeur of the human mind. Now broken and dormant, it served as proof of the consequences of evil. In the eternal pitched battle between hope and despair, Exile and his companions had held despair to a draw.
Moments later, a thick, muscular arm stretched down in front of him. He grabbed the open hand and was lifted to his feet.
“Hello, Leh Dzebo. You’re alive,” Exile muttered, matter-of-factly.
“Well met, sir,” returned the man, covered in scars and sporting a patch over one eye.
“Looks as if we have survived.”
Exile paused on that word for a minute. "Survived," he thought, "survivors. Months ago we were enemies, then allies, now… now, I suppose… we are just survivors."
“Leh,” he began, “how did your friends fare? Where are they?”
“They made it through the conflict, though not quite in one piece. Aluinie set off into the woods due south to obtain some natural medicine.”
“Aluinie? I was impressed; she fought as best she could.”
“She fought better than she could,” Leh bristled with indignation.
“That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“Sense? Look around you, pal,” Leh returned, pointing and waving to the thousands of corpses that riddled the ground, “does any of this make sense?”
“Fair.”
“And what of your people, Exile? Where are they?”
“Come,” he said, “my strength returns. Let us survey the situation.”
A smattering of civilians and soldiers were pulled from the ruins of Northbrook, most had long since fled or fell in the siege.
“Despicable monsters,” remarked Leh Dzebo, “they’ve taken ‘em all.”
A figure crept out from under the shade of a Willow tree, holding a small blade with his teeth. He opened his mouth and let the dagger fall to the ground.
“Hey Exile, you sure led us effectively, bud. The way our commander disappeared in the middle of the fight? Abducted by a band of hooligans? That,” he sighed, “that… was brilliant. Shouldn’t someone have been watching his back?”
“Jack!” exclaimed Exile
“Yes, it is I, Jack, he whom doth provide such comic relief and brief moments of levity, among other things.”
“Incorrect usage of ‘whom’, Jack, and besides, who could have known that those bastards from Hammerhall would show up,” Leh returned.
“Alright,” said Exile, “a few of us should stay here for now and tend to the survivors. The rest should head out towards Hammerhall and figure out what happened to the commander.”
Exile Mystram heard the sounds of a fallen man gargling on his own blood in the distance. He pushed forward to identify the source of the noise, but he felt his legs collapse from under him. Every ounce of his spirit was surrendered to the conflict and every muscle he had writhed in pain.
From his knees, he surveyed the city of Northbrook. Before the battle, its beauty was a testament to the grandeur of the human mind. Now broken and dormant, it served as proof of the consequences of evil. In the eternal pitched battle between hope and despair, Exile and his companions had held despair to a draw.
Moments later, a thick, muscular arm stretched down in front of him. He grabbed the open hand and was lifted to his feet.
“Hello, Leh Dzebo. You’re alive,” Exile muttered, matter-of-factly.
“Well met, sir,” returned the man, covered in scars and sporting a patch over one eye.
“Looks as if we have survived.”
Exile paused on that word for a minute. "Survived," he thought, "survivors. Months ago we were enemies, then allies, now… now, I suppose… we are just survivors."
“Leh,” he began, “how did your friends fare? Where are they?”
“They made it through the conflict, though not quite in one piece. Aluinie set off into the woods due south to obtain some natural medicine.”
“Aluinie? I was impressed; she fought as best she could.”
“She fought better than she could,” Leh bristled with indignation.
“That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“Sense? Look around you, pal,” Leh returned, pointing and waving to the thousands of corpses that riddled the ground, “does any of this make sense?”
“Fair.”
“And what of your people, Exile? Where are they?”
“Come,” he said, “my strength returns. Let us survey the situation.”
A smattering of civilians and soldiers were pulled from the ruins of Northbrook, most had long since fled or fell in the siege.
“Despicable monsters,” remarked Leh Dzebo, “they’ve taken ‘em all.”
A figure crept out from under the shade of a Willow tree, holding a small blade with his teeth. He opened his mouth and let the dagger fall to the ground.
“Hey Exile, you sure led us effectively, bud. The way our commander disappeared in the middle of the fight? Abducted by a band of hooligans? That,” he sighed, “that… was brilliant. Shouldn’t someone have been watching his back?”
“Jack!” exclaimed Exile
“Yes, it is I, Jack, he whom doth provide such comic relief and brief moments of levity, among other things.”
“Incorrect usage of ‘whom’, Jack, and besides, who could have known that those bastards from Hammerhall would show up,” Leh returned.
“Alright,” said Exile, “a few of us should stay here for now and tend to the survivors. The rest should head out towards Hammerhall and figure out what happened to the commander.”
Post edited November 15, 2011 by stoicsentry
