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Thread: [M/IC] The Song of Excalibur

  1. #21
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    As Calliope finished her speech, her eyes immediately focused on the new officer who had taken command. If her hearing served her right, the man was Lucius' own nephew. The gunbearer scoffed and tilted her head towards her companions, but kept her gaze firmly locked on the rebels' new leader. "Another one, hm? How quick. I suppose this rebel legion does indeed live up to its name. Cut off one head, more take its place. I do, however, suspect that there aren't many heads left in this gods-forsaken town."

    At that moment, the young commander, furious at Calliope's attempt to usurp control, snatched a bow from one of his own men and loosed an arrow at her. In response, the gunbearer simply folded her shield arm at the elbow and raised it slightly. Clang. The arrow anticlimactically splintered into pieces on contact with the pavise's surface. Unflinching, she looked on and listened to what her opponent had to say.

    "Your words have no meaning when you are the one who said it, Bitch of Ironheart! How many families were killed just for the kingĺs damned ambition to rule the lands beyond? Attacking our allies? How many innocents have been slaughtered in the name of the crown? How many?!"

    Just as Calliope was about to give her own reply, Cassius cut her off. "Uncountable, but the crown holds the ultimate law, one must not stand against it. You've dishonored your vow as a sworn knight, Captain. By doing so, you've disgraced yourself as well."

    Now more furious than ever, Lucius' nephew loosed another arrow, this time at Cassius. All the same, a futile shot, much like the first one. The traitor continued spouting his traitorous rhetoric, which Calliope largely ignored. Her companion didn't seem to have held up so well, however. Weapon raised, Cassius was in the middle of preparing to charge when the larger Farram snapped him out of what looked to be the first moments of a bloodlust-induced trance.

    The tall knight spoke for the trio this time, raising his voice to be heard clearly. "You're persistent in your words, traitor. I shall give you a few days to reconsider your actions. Your Legion-Commander's eventual demise should be enough to be a reason that you should not betray the crown!"

    The gunbearer balked at the idea at first, but figured that it was at least a viable tactical move, given the time frame they had. When Farram was done speaking, Calliope raised her voice once more. "The kingdom is fighting a just and righteous war, but it is still, at its very roots, a war! Countless innocents die every day, and more will die as the days pass. Such is the nature of conflict! My question for you, men of the 45th army: Do you wish for your loved ones to be a part of those sacrificed for a better tomorrow!?"

    She took another pause to let the last line echo in the rebels' thoughts. "I say to you again, Hydras, I come bearing the king's mercy! This is not to be taken lightly, not even after your new leader attempted to murder two agents of the crown. See the error in your ways, repent, and be saved! Think for yourself, for your wives, husbands, and children. Heed not the words of your traitorous leaders, who even now poison your good judgement!"

    "As for you, nephew of Lucius," Calliope continued, looking down at him from atop her horse. "Your uncle was a traitor, and a fool. I pray you choose not to make the same mistakes he did by choosing to rebel. Your anger is palpable, but I sense the doubt and fear that boils beneath it. The same can be said for your men. You are tired, broken, weak... Be an example to them! Follow your common sense, step down and repent. All may yet be forgiven. Perhaps in time, even you will soon come to understand the we fight for the Greater Camelot! Think on it! For when we return, there will be only one last call to repentance, and then no more..."

    Satisfied with the seeds of doubt she had planted, Calliope gave the town one last look before slinging her large pavise onto her back once more. With a firm tug on the reins, she turned her horse around and began to trot away from the town... in the direction the messenger eagle had come from. "Cassius! Farram! Let us take our leave. Our business is done here for today. We have... other matters to attend to..."
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  2. #22
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    "Stand firm!"

    With Brynne already at the breached wall, a few of the Argenti assisted Latia's guard with their shields to the crevice. She had yet to find Quintilius and Vitos underneath the rubble, but Latia's sophisticated urban planning made the streets rather unsurveyable. With the vigor of thirty men, she bashed and bruised her way into the breach - where the Camelots were bottlenecked until the main gate blew. From inside a twelve-man shield formation, Brynne's head popped up above the large round shields to scout the area ahead. There he was! She saw Quintillius had been ejected into the fields outside the city walls. He was surrounded by chaos and was hardly attacking any Camelon. He seemed to cower in the burned-down barn closest to the breach in the wall. Back inside the city, the remaining Argenti had just taken down a giant by spear and were well underway to their lead Fraulanx. For Brynne, the saving chance was now or never. Her loyalty to Quintilius was unparalleled. While Quintilius himself would never chance the entire warband with saving his slightly incapable butt, Brynne expected it from every soldier.

    "Alalala!"

    The shield wall, now reinforced with even more Argentinians jumping on top of the already-established turtle formation, bashed through the melee and into the fields. For any Camelot who attempted to break this living bastion, spears came from every direction. Not even a giant could interfere - it got quickly disposed of by the swiftness of the Argentinian spear.

    Once the breakthrough was completed, they had set a perimeter around the burned-down barnhouse and the tactically fallen rubble around it. The phalanx was twenty-five strong, Quintilius included. Brynne threw him her spear while she unsheated her feared flail herself. Blood and guts flew everywhere. The quarter-hour of intense fighting painted the average argentinian in dark-red. Quintilius' horn rang through the fields around Latia. A distress call, for any man listening. It was far too late to push back to within the city wall now.

    Quintilius' shield bashed against the mass-produced helmet of a Camelon. His spear soon followed, piercing through his belly. His next opponent came in hard and his armor was thick. Without hesitation, the Argentinian threw his new spear into the next. He unsheated his sword to face his left, where he shocked to see three mercenaries approaching him all at once. Quintilius lifted his shield to block the blows, but the blows never came; arrows rained from the Latian walls in aid of the Argentinians. It were Vitos and Sifra, accompanied by the Fraulanx and some Latian bowmen. At the other side of the barnhouse, Brynne had it rougher. A red creek surrounded her - all brainsplatter of the Camelons. In a crescent moon, the Argent phalanx surrounded Brynkvinna, tempting any westerling to enter the impromptu-arena. But after their most courageous knights had tried, the Camelots had brought in their own mercenary berserkers. More than ten scarcely bear-clothed men began throwing stones and axes into the shield formation, which forced Brynne's retreat and fatigued the phalanx. The berserkers could not breach the line either however, as more Argentinian reinforcements turned up. It was Hester the Horsemistress, shortly followed by Milos and thirty more Argentinians on horseback.

    With the cavalry raiding and trampling their way to the breach, the rest of the argentinians could make their retreat back into Latia. With no man lost, Brynne was the last to re-enter the walls from her twenty-four original men.


    ***
    A brief pause inside Latia

    "Hester, you madwoman!"
    Quintilius congratulated the horsemistress with her amazing push. By how early she arrived, he was certain she did not knew the rest of the horses were even following her. Milos joined in, his face restless and agitated. "How many?" his commandant asked. "Berios, Dahlos, Merilanos and Naamis." Milos answered grumpily before storming off to help with the breached gate. Quintilius nodded and looked back up to the axe-wielding redhead. "Hester! Spare these horses the horror of battle! And find Sifra!"

    "Skipari!" Brynne, soaked in blood, slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Dahlos' men," Quintilius replied. She nodded in return. It was painful, but a miracle. There was no time to linger, however.

    "Wa muten f°r inquisiteur gahn." Brynn's foreign words ranged of resolve. Quintilius nodded along in bitter-toned agreement. "Let us find Androkles and Ironshield. Argentos has done her part." With the argent phalanx under command of Milos, Quintilius and Brynne sought out Marcus Ironshield and Androkles of Skalagos. Together, they could surely devise a plan to mitigate the Inquisitors' influence on the battle.

    When the blood-soaked duo arrived at the Latian gate, Marcus and Androkles were already regrouped. "Ironshield!" Quintilius sang. "We must devise strategics to counter their commander's touch!" He instinctively threw a spear back over the walls. "I will not let the Argent fall for a losing battle!"
    Last edited by Q; 12-07-2018 at 01:58 PM.

  3. #23
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    Truth be told, she'd not yet met a traitor before. But then again, in her particular profession, the definition of traitor was a rather loose one. A traitor to one man may be a king to another. Deciding she must think upon such things with an open mind, Janny returned his smile. A smile makes everything better.

    "...I was after all, a famed knight once served for the crown,"

    And he said something else after that too, but Janny didn't quite catch it. For she was far too suddenly immersed in the realisation that stood before her, was a real life actual physical Knight. And a knight of the crown no less! Her smile erupted into a childishly giddy grin, hands rushing to her face in excitement.

    "You were a Knight?! A real one?!!"

    And without him even needing to ask, she rushed forward. Despite her girlish enthusiasm, in a surprisingly gentle movement, the girl looped an arm under his in attempt to help haul him to his feet.

    "Here, let me help you,"

    Knights were an almost unearthly thing to Janus Sage. Sure there had been the occasional story told by her Pater if she pleaded hard enough, and some of the posher people she offed cried out for them in final words. But that was all she knew of them. Unseen other-worldly spirits that hail from old tales and myths. Figures to aspire to, people to look up too, but real things? This day just kept getting stranger...

    As eager as she now was, doubt lurked in the corner of her thoughts. What on earth would a blessed Knight of Camelot ever think of a baddun like her? Hmmmm. Maybe she would keep quiet about her profession. Yes, perhaps that was the best thing to do. For the Knight appeared friendly enough, and she would be naught but friendly back.




    The woods were deep, nearly an ocean in and of themselves. The canopy was thick, and only the odd beam of sunlight managed to force itself through the thick forrest cover. But that was alright, he was more than used to the darker side of things. He could have walked along the road, but the forrest suited him better in his opinion. He liked the calm and quiet the woods granted him. It was time to reflect, and think back over things.

    Sage had been amidst the trees for a few days now. It had been a while since he'd even seen another mans face. Save for those lordly lookers on the road down the Westerstorm a while back. But have been something to do with the war as they were flying the colours most proudly. What fools...

    He did love the quiet so. He loved his daughter too, but sometimes she did talk quite a lot. Damn. He shouldn't have thought about her, even if it was in passing. For as soon as even the inkling of her memory managed to pass through his common thinking, the worry arrived. There should be nothing in the world for an Assassin to worry about. A good Assassin at least.

    They'd parted not too long ago now, a week by his reckoning. Her first solo commission of note should be a task undergone alone. They had both agreed upon this, both concurred that she was more than suitably skilled and practiced for the job in question, and yet, this worry ate away at him further. There would be nothing of his sanity left if it kept on at this ravenous pace. Damn it all.

    Some deep inner sub-conscience whisper murmured a song unto his lips. The words floated through the forrest as he walked, little more than a hum and sang to nobody in particular, The Sage continued on his way.


    I HEAR THOSE SLEIGH BELLS JINGLING
    RING TING TINGLING TOOOOOOOOOOOOO

  4. #24
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    Latia, the Northern Pearl,
    The United Province of Grecca,

    Marcus takes a deep breath and his gaze fell unto the bloodied blade of his sword. He wondered how many men have fallen to the Night's Blade and yet, he kept on fighting as if there was nothing else on his mind. His armor stained with crimson and scarred with the weapons of the damned Camelots. As Quintilius approached him with a few of his companions, he lifted his eyes from the gold-rippled blade of his dark sword and looked at the man of Argentos, "You're right, with the Inquisitors at the helm there's nothing much we could do. The soldiers are only getting slaughtered by the minute," he breaths heavily as he looks outside the walls where the fighting was the most chaotic. Horses fell, Giants slain and soldiers crushed.

    Androkles turned to Marcus as he finishes killing a few more of the legionnaires. His armor is now red with the blood of the fallen, his helm drips with the same liquid too. Yet his eyes remained as determined as ever, though the same could not be said of his mind, "We must pull back!" The Skalagosi said to Marcus, "The longer we stayed here, the more of our men are killed. If we fight in the streets, it would be a slaughter. We must retreat!"

    Quintilius sulked. Perhaps Androkles was right. It was not their fight to begin with, especially not the Argentinians'. But to see Latia, the northern pearl, fall to Camelot? Their fathers would be enraged.

    "Milos! Have you laid eyes on the western wall?"

    Milos, Quintilius' second-in-command, looked up from the two-leveled shield wall at the gate. He was in little position to discuss strategics, evident by a shieldmaiden's foot on his shoulder, but Quintilius knew of Milos' fine qualities in multi-tasking.

    "Under much stress, Lokhagos!" The young Argentinian noble added some fire. "Much like I!"

    It was no surprise that Latia's western walls were on the brink of collapse. The supply line with Camelot was well-set up. Alas, it seemed Dame Godfrey's army had not managed to tilt the battle in greccan favor.

    "So be it, Androkles! Let us sound our retreat, and make haste for the hills. I fear by now the Camelons will be more devoted to slaying our kin than to sack the northern pearl."

    A pair of heavily-armored giants neared the main gate. Simultaneously, Camelot forces slowly broke through the breach in the wall. While the Latian defenders shifted to fortify the square near the main gate, Quintilius and Brynne joined their Argentinian brothers and sisters as a grand melee ensued. "Ironshield!" Quintilius' voice could hardly be heard over the clings and clangs. "Where would we meet, in the case we disperse from one and another?"


    Marcus gave a long thought, frowning as the thought of retreating from the battle would be considered a shame to their Greccan culture and yet, it's best for them to save many lives than to let them die of Camelot steel. Then, he thought of the place he never think of visiting, "Kaldir!" He shouted, "Ride forth to Kaldir! My men and I will buy some time for you people to escape. Go now!" He charged back into the fray and signals the full retreat with his horn.

    Androkles fought with such a devastating ferocity unmatched by any Greccan warrior on the field. His sword now covered in red and flesh of the fallen, one by one the legionnaires fall to his wrath but even if he slew a thousand men, it would be inconsequential to the grand scheme of the battle itself. "Androkles!" Marcus called out, pulling him by the shoulder. "You should retreat with the others, I'll stay and hold them off,"

    "No!" He drove his sword into a Camelot's abdomen and red liquid poured out. He pulled his sword and cut off the man's head with a quick swing of his blade, "I'll stay and fight. If you insist on retreating, it must be you!" Androkles then swung down his sword, splitting the skull of a legionnaire with ease.

    "But you'll be dead without someone else to back you up!"

    "I'll be fine, Captain," the Skalagosi smiled underneath his helm. His eyes burned without a shred of fear. He slammed his clenched fist to his heart, "For victory or death, Captain."

    Marcus sighed as he frowned and raised his own bloodied fist to his heart as a response, just how a captain should respond to their men. "And for Grecca, Androkles. See you on Kaldir!" He ran for the escape route, helping any units that caught themselves in the midst of chaos during the battle. He saw pillars of black smoke rose from the city, he saw flaming stones hurled from across the wall and slammed into the buildings. He heard the deafening crack of thunder and the bright burst of lightning in the skies. As he ran with a few of soldiers behind him towards the exit, the walls beside him began to crumble and fell upon him.

    *** At the walls of Latia ***

    Androkles kept on fighting with only a few hundred men who chose the valorous option to stay behind and buy some time for the rest of the army to escape. "Spears on me!" He shouted to the nearest warriors. They rushed to his side and locked shields, spears forward as they held the breach and slay every Camelot unfortunate enough. It wasn't long until a giant broke their formation and crushed a few of the Greccans in its fists.

    The Skalagosi rose on his feet and grabbed a nearby spear. His vision blurry and his legs began to tremble, yet he knows that if he surrenders then all will be for nothing. He looked around and saw an Inquisitor upon his steed, clad in an armor with a crimson cloak and his hands sparked like Axinius in the days where the world was young. Androkles took aim and threw at him with all his strength before picking up his sword.

    It cuts through the air with a blazing speed and struck the Inquisitor off his horse as he fell to the ground. Androkles smiled at the sight of it and continued to fight on, despite the overwhelming odds stacked against him. His gaze fell onto the red blade in his hands and took deep breaths, his eyes closed as he uttered. "Valerios, give me strength. May the fallen charged forth from the Halls of Novogarde and aid those in battle. May the spirit of our fathers rose from the realm of the dead and be on our side!" he recites and raised his sword in the air, its blade glows green as the veins on his arm does the same. "For Grecca!"

    Ghostly entities appeared beside them, all armed with the weapons and armors of Old Ghath. As Androkles charged forth with his sword, the fallen warriors aided him and the rest of the defenders in the battle. Some of the Camelots flee at the sight of such power, to call upon the dead for aid is no small feat but yet a mere human like Androkles managed to do so.

    *** Inquisitor Arhanion ***

    He spits as he saw Marius was struck by a spear to his chest. Yet underneath his helm he cracked a smile, seemingly amused by a human managed to deal a blow to one of the Inquisitors. Perhaps it was just luck, perhaps it was Marius' own carelessness that injure him. Arhanion rode past Marius as he was pulled away from the battle by a few of the legionnaires and charged forth into the walls where the defenders made their last stand.

    His sword cuts through the Greccan warriors with little difficulties but then a legion of ghostly warriors appeared behind them, seemingly wearing an armor of ancient origin as they charged towards the Camelots. "By the Twelve," he uttered under his breath. He grits his teeth and shouted, "Form up! Run away and I'll fucking cut your head or relieve you of your manhood!"

    The legionnaires formed a solid wall of shields as the ghost warriors pushed through. Arhanion had his eyes set upon one particular warriors who managed to tore a bloody path with his sword alone. He dismounts from his horse and engaged the man with the black and red crest. Without a word to speak, they exchange blow after blow, even with the Greccan dealing several cuts to Arhanion. A formidable warrior indeed, one that Arhanion had never seen before.

    He grabbed his sword by the blade and struck the warrior with the hilt, knocking him unconscious. Arhanion deemed him too valuable to die like the rest of his brethren, yet he wished to see him be made like an Inquisitor just as he was. To be chosen from the ranks of a soldier. As he fell, the phantoms began to disappear one by one as if they were pulled into a gate by an unseen force. It won't be long until the rest of the Greccans fell by the might of Camelot's blade and thus it did.

    A cheer erupted from the army as they have defeated the defenders of Latia despite paying a high price. Even if a large number of the enemy forces have retreated from Latia's vicinity, a victory is a victory nonetheless. Arhanion turned to his cheering legionnaires, "The city is ours! Gods be praised, we have conquered Latia! Burn the buildings, take whatever you wish! Turn this place to ashes!" His gaze fell to the fallen legionnaires that lies lifeless beside his feet, "And for the dead? Bury them and send their most valuable treasuries to their families. Don't you bastards dare to steal any of their belongings. You have the city to loot,"

    ***

    The outskirts of Westerstorm,
    The Sovereignty of Camelot,

    Having to deal with a rogue legion is not easy. To deal a famed legion is difficult enough. They may have killed their most renowned leader but would it be enough to make them surrender peacefully? These questions plagued Cassius' mind as they set up camp somewhere within the forests outside of Westerstorm's region. As the night falls, Farram returned from the depths of the woods with a deer carried on his back before cooking it for dinner.

    Cassius sat on a log with his eyes gazed deep into the flickering flames that kept them warm during the cold night. There was silence between the three for a brief moment, with Cassius thinking of how to deal with the 45th for a peaceful resolution. Damn it all to the Abyss. He thought to himself. I am the one who carved a path of corpses during the war with Sorror and now I wished for a peaceful negotiation is nothing more than just a damned joke to myself. He chuckled and sighed, covering his face with his hands. "Damn it all,"

    "Something wrong Cassius?" asked Farram as he looked into the flames and waited for the deer to be cooked. He unstrapped himself of the sword belt around him and laid his weapon beside him. He saw on the opposite side of Cassius and yet, he still looked taller than the rest of them. "Was it about your family or something?"

    Family. The word resonated in his mind. "Not really. But speaking of family makes me wonder how is she back home," he continued as his gaze fell onto his hands.

    "Oh, so you have a wife?"

    Cassius raised an eyebrow and casts a smile, chuckling at his words. "No I don't have a wife. I'm thinking of my sister. It's been quite a while since I've left home years ago."

    Farram laughed, "Thought so. It's hard to think of you, the deadliest fighter in all of Arno'or would have a lover." he pointed at Cassius. "Perhaps you have, perhaps you don't," he shrugged.

    "You don't know me," Cassius crossed his arms, "Perhaps you have way too many bastards to be counted with your fingers, Farram." He replied and looked into the flames once more. He could vaguely how his sister looked like, bright eyes that would glow like the stars of the night, a hair of silver and a beauty perhaps unmatched by the noblewoman of Camelot.

    "I'm still doubtful that you don't have someone to call a lover,"

    "Even if I do, I would not tell you nor any of the Ironhearts for that matter." Cassius replied. Damn it all. He cursed once again. He could even vaguely remembered how his lover would look like. Perhaps her golden hair has changed to something with a pale color, that her blue eyes would be different from the way he remembered it.

    *** Within Westerstorm ***

    A pillar of smoke rises from the center of the town, the flames burned Lucius' lifeless body as his skin turned to ash. Surrounded by the legionnaires of the 45th, they watched as their former commander ascended to the Halls of Novogarde at the hands of a loyalist. There were no tears for him, but rather there was vengeance that swelled up within them for avenging their fallen commander. None of their wrath is that of Zachariah's.

    After the burning of Lucius' body, Zachariah returned to the Lord's Hall where the high ranking soldiers of the 45th were gathered. A map stretched upon a large table, with flag that marked the position of every known legion on Camelot. As Zachariah entered, they nodded at him. "Legion-Commander." One of them speaks out, acknowledging Zachariah's rank as their new leader. "The rest of our legions would arrive shortly in three to four days,"

    "Five," another speaks. "If the weather is on our side, then the Hydras would be at full strength by next week. Then what about our allies? We have no one to trust as we are basically alone in our rebellion,"

    Zachariah's eyes scanned on the map, looking at the four pieces near Latia and five others on their way to the Red Fields. He counted another six scattered in Greccan and lands a nine more preparing themselves for a full assault on the Kingdom of the Sun. Arthur is about to wage war against another nation. "We can't ask for help from Rhoyse. His army is one of the most loyal legions to the crown,"

    "What about the 35th? The Bulls?" Another interrupted. He was older than the previous two, with a coat of orange beard and dark brown eyes. "I have associates in the 42nd as well,"

    "We can't risk them," said Zachariah. "If a third of a legion are the ones who opposed to the crown, the two remaining halves would crush them easily." He said, "We don't even have the money to buy mercenaries at this point." His gaze then fell upon the mountainous regions near Latia. It was considered an impenetrable place where the coldness of the north is the most violent and yet, "Send word to the Pale Traveler. We need her help,"

    The rest of the captains remained silent at his decision and looked at each other. She was a mysterious figure who came to Grecca and established a faction that resided deep within Latia's coldest regions. Some said she had vast amounts of wealth accessible because of her access to the numerous gold mines within the mountains. Yet, it was her mysterious nature that made them question Zachariah's decision. "Are you certain of this, commander?"

    Zachariah nodded.

    ***

    Dhűnwall Prison,
    The containment blocks

    "Thank you," the knight replied. His ears listened for sounds that would come from the end of the hallway and the other prisoners did they same. He looked around and scanned each of the cells. The sound of boots became nearer as he saw shadows approaching the end of the hallway. The knight immediately gestured to Janus to hide herself as he kept his eyes upon the approaching guard. "Hide!" He whispered. "And keep your head down until I told you so,"

    As she returned to her spot, his ears caught the sound of multiple boots and the clanking of keys. He can even hear the water dropping from the ceiling, the breaths of the prisoners and hear the faint voices of those who are approaching the cells. "Oh hell," one of the prisoners mumbled. "It's the Warden,"

    A lean figure with a crimson robe trimmed with gold approaches, a guard on each of his sides as well. His square jaw and his crimson eyes seemed otherworldly, glowing in the dark like a red flame. Underneath his robe is an armor which he worn at all times within the prison for he is prepared whenever a prisoner attempts to kill him. Or rather, he wears it just for the sake of it. His eyes scanned each of the cells, looking at each of the inmates from top to bottom. Then, he stopped at the knight's cell and turned his head. "How is your day, Galahad?" He said, casting a sinister smile upon his face, half scarred with burnt marks.

    The knight stands from his feet, his pain began to go away as time passed by. "Terrible enough, Warden. Are you here to bring me away once again? If so, come back another time you old bastard."

    The Warden chuckled, "Acting as if you were as powerful as you were before aren't you? Very well, I shall return tomorrow for our...appointment. You haven't told me the location of your father, Lancelot. But I am more interested in your damned mind. You lasted more than a year here, Galahad. Stronger than my previous prisoners,"

    "Shut your damned mouth," Galahad stares at him. Fighting against two armed guards would result in a devastating end. Even with his passive regenerative abilities like his old friend, Gwayne, he do not possess such strength within him to surpass the guards yet. "And you'll never get to know where my father is,"

    "Oh I will," he laughed as he walked down the hallway. "Oh I will, son of Lancelot,"

    ***

    The forests of Dhemer,
    Near the ruins of Dragonspire,
    The Sovereignty of Camelot,

    An Inquisitor's work is never easy and the same can be said for those in the Deadly Seven multiplied by a hundred. Yet, everything they do is for the crown. Or so they were told. The king is the ruler of Camelot and one cannot disobey his words - if one dares to do so, shall be dealt with. Thus, the Defiance of Dragonstorm has become one of the most pivotal moments in the history of the kingdom. So much so until there were none that dared to defy Camelot until someone brave enough to do so.

    There she was, standing at the ruins of Dragonspire - a once mighty castle where the once famed noble family of Dragonstorm used to live until the Defiance took place. At times, she'd even picture the battle happening there in her mind. Where the greatest 9th legion faced against the might of several others before it sadly decimated by Arthur's wrath. She looked around and saw a tattered banner with a rusted golden dragon on top of it, erected as a reminder that defiance shall be met with death.

    Avelina explored the ruins of the old castle, at times even venturing deep into the underground sections of Dragonspire where the weapons would be kept. Now, it was an empty place. A hollow representation of its former self. She emerged from the ruins and saw the man she was supposed to wait - an assassin of high regard. Perhaps even the most deadliest of all.

    "You there!" She called out to the man in the shadows. "Are you the infamous Sage?" She asked. The winds blew as the leaves rustled against one another, whispering like ghosts that speak of their acts in the past.
    "May the great Twelve have mercy on us all," - Marius, Inquisitor of the Crown

    Spoiler: Random stuff 

  5. #25
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    Sounds from the hallway. Janus was like a hare. Instantly she stood to attention, limbs rigid with vigilance. Her eyes lay locked upon the cell door, waiting, counting the incoming paces, trying to measure their distance. The girl was practically twitching with careful observation.

    "Hide!"

    She didn't need telling twice. Faster than you could say Excalibur, Jan had flung herself across the Cell, skidding to the floor and back down into the hole rom whence she came. She heaved the stone slab shut behind her, but took care to leave the teeniest of tiniest gaps so she could still hear and see what was going on. Jan just hoped nobody came wandering in, for if they stood too heavily on the slab they'd plummet right through.

    The Warden huh? Now who could this be. She hadn't been in the prison long enough to yet make his personal acquaintance. And the way everybody else in this place spoke and treated him, jan was rather glad she hadn't met him. Instinct forced her to instantly analyse and observe the Wardens gear and attire. Trained eyes spotted where a weakness could be exploited here and there, where his strengths did and did not lie. But she tried to shake this compulsion from her head, for she needed to concentrate on other things first.

    Wait,

    Wait a moment...

    G A L A H A D ? !

    Janus fell backwards (hopefully nobody up top heard) and she had to try very very hard not to scream. It wouldn't have been a fearful scream mind you. More of a shocked beyond belief scream. As if somebody had just made her jump. Hands clasped tightly over her mouth, her eyes locked themselves upon the Knight. And she'd been speaking to him mere minutes ago.

    By the twelve...

    The warden fellow continued to spout more fire at Galahad, but his flames were unheated and misaimed. Galahad merely waved them away. The Wardens words did not burn this Knight, heavens no. Galahad was far too upstanding to be demeaned and brought down by such common insults and jests. In her opinion the Warden could sense this too, for he left almost as quickly as he had arrived, with nothing to offer the Knight save for petty jabs. And the two of them were alone once more.

    Janus all of a sudden found herself a lot more nervous than she had previously been. All forgoing giddy enthusiasm was now doused by a bout of skittish anxiety. Knights lived by honour, it was their bread and butter. It's what people admired about them, what made them so highly rated and praised throughout the world. So if he were to ever find out what she did, who she really was, surely, he'd have her killed on the spot.

    Slowly, very very slowly, Janny opened up the slab once more, and emerged from her hiding spot. There was no smile this time, despite her tries. Instead she looked cautious, almost frightened but not quite. her voice was quiet, and low when she spoke,

    "Umm, are you alright... Sir?"




    He'd reached Dragonspire a little while ago now, and sat amidst the old forgotten ruins of the place. Sat upon a rock, he cleaned his sword. The hem of his clock used as a makeshift cloth. His swipes were long, and delicate, careful not to press too hard upon the blade. The mans hood had been lowered, but despite the streaming daylight, he seemed still somehow cast in shadow. As if the sun itself were fearful of his presence. But I'm sure it was really just the time of day or something...

    The man didn't look up at the call, he barely even flinched. Instead, he simply finished his current task before anything else. He brought the hem up from the bottom of the blade, all the way up to the top in a last sweeping stroke. The hem of his cloak fell back to the ground, and raising a hand, he pricked a finger against the tip of the sword. It wasn't a particularly forceful jab, quite delicate in fact actually. But a scarlet bubble beaded from his fingertip at the simple movement all the same.

    The man smiled ever so slightly.

    He lowered his hand and rubbed it against his tunic casually. Rising to his feet the blade was sheathed. Slow sauntering steps lead him towards the woman. He voice naturally low, but the tone was as casual as the rest of his apparent countenance.

    "That name may as well be a death sentence one way or the other Madam. Are you sure you want to be throwing it around so offhandedly like that?"

    I HEAR THOSE SLEIGH BELLS JINGLING
    RING TING TINGLING TOOOOOOOOOOOOO

  6. #26
    Member Q's Avatar
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    A five-hour ride from Latia


    Wide valleys and open plains, at last! The bulk of the Argentinian warband traversed the greccan lands in a curve around Latia. They would meet up with Ironshield at Kaldir, but this was of little importance. For now, they thought of the fallen, their own mortality and the wonders of the world. Out of the original seventy-three, fifty-six Argentinians stood standing. They had lost young Llairos, the veteran Dahlos and his three brothers, and the others were still unaccounted for - either lost in battle or merged with Godfrey's forces. Their deaths hit hard, for the few Argentinians had a close bond. But it was a miracle to see any survive the bloody siege of Latia.

    As night fell, they had set up camp in the cliffs. A small stream ran nearby and the flora was rather lush. Tranquil, yet surrounded with treacherous territory. The Argentinians could find peace here, at least for the night. While the hoplites were still setting up tents, the command crew sat around the fire. From left to right; Milos, Sifra, Quintilius and Brynne. Their treestumps looked comfortable and the mood was light. Milos was revisiting the events at Latia.

    "...Before I knew, we were half-way to the wall. I must commend Hester for her tenacity. Were it not for her and dame Godfrey's knights, we could have never passed the Camelons. Nor survive the offense!"

    The other three nodded along. They were all inside Latia's wall and saw little of the battle beyond. "How fared Lady Godfrey herself? Pabos spoke to us about an apparent disappearance?" Sifra asked Milos politely, her fine articulation evident.

    "She suffered great defeat. I estimate half of her forces must have perished, but I do not know. The melee was overwhelming." Milos responded calmly. He preferred calculated risks in battle. This was a whole new experience. "You ought ask Hester when she returns from hunting. Where that woman even finds the energy!"

    Meanwhile, their purple-plumed leader was smoking his opium pipe and gazing up in the sky. He frowned. It was unwordly how serene the sky was, so uninterested in what had just transpired on earth...

    "Quintilius!"

    He looked up at Brynne. She continued in her broken anglo-greccan.

    "It is time!"

    With a confused look, Quintilius replied.
    "For what? For... Pleasures of the flesh?"

    "WINE!"


    *****


    But half an hour later, the majority of the Argentinians was shouting loudly.

    "For towers of silver!"
    "Hoo-ray!"
    "For Llairos and Dahlos!"
    "A-yay!"
    "Merilanos and Naamis and Berios!"
    "Heuuuy!"

    The tent's flap opened at the other end of Quintilius' impromptu treestump-for-speeches. Hester and Vitos walked in, both carrying a big, fat, mountaindeer.

    "To Hester, the scourge at Latia!"

    "Magnifi-cay!"

    "Brynne! Halgos! Bring us more of the Latian wine!"
    He could not help but be enthusiastic about Brynne's theft.
    "It tastes of cherry and honey!"

    The festivities went on for hours. Milos and Sifra were the least drunk, yet still far gone. Around the fire in the main tent, Vitos was playing his lute while others manned the wardrums and flutes. The up-tempo ballads filled the tent with comfort. In the middle, Brynne was taking shots from her wooden cup whilst arm-wrestling any contender who dared. A loud clang on Quintilius' shield interrupted the party.

    "Attention, brothers!"
    He nearly collapsed when Hester hit his shield with a warhammer.
    "It is time... to..."
    Speaking was hard.
    "...Contit a winner!"
    The room stared at him with confused looks. Hester pushed him off his treestump and spoke up for her stumbling lokhagos.
    "To pick who was the finest warrior today! Everyone cast their contestant in the vase and the victor will have full command for the days ahead!"

    As the vase (like the wine, stolen out of a Latian home) passed by all the argentinians, it returned at Quintilius and Hester. By now, Quintilius was barely conscious. "Skipari! Who will you choose?" He answered in mumblings: "Mhmphfn... Brynne!" A sudden strike of energy sprung him back on his feet. "Mattios, Voyos! Count the parchment!"

    The wardrumroll intensified as Mattios and Voyos relayed the count to Hester, whispering in her ear.
    "Take heed, riders of Argentos;"
    "Trioth, with tri-deci votae, Brynne of Vascrannog!"

    Loud claps and cheering ensued. Hester nodded at the brutish Brynne who stood front and center in the crowd of fifty-five.

    "Secunda, with quat-deci, Vitos of Argentoros!"

    The argentinians cheered even louder. The kind-hearted mountainman had lost so much.

    "Primos!"
    Hester let out a devilish smirk.
    "I."

    Wine flew through the air. The wild lot slammed their hands on the table and began chanting. A staggering twenty-nine of the fifty-six had voted for Hester the Horsemistress! Nearly everyone finished their drinks and refilled their tankard.

    "Milos! Keep this lot under control!"
    With wine in hand, she descended down to the troops.
    "Balrios, Voyos, guard the perimeter and comb the horses!"
    She pointed into the crowd, her eyes on fire.
    "Quintilius! My tent, now!"
    Last edited by Q; Today at 01:56 AM. Reason: made it even cooler

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