Death Unto Xion

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

First Embermoore...now this, they never learn...

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

I will kill them all.

All of them.

It ends in your blood.

 

The sea lapped against the wooden pier of Laureh’lin, the sails of moored ships creaking. By all accounts, a peaceful night. A wood elven man knelt before the birchwood sloop docked by the bay, a fiery intensity to his gaze. The druid’s stormy emerald eyes looked downward distantly as his palms delicately held something very familiar he’d found in the nearby grass. A druidic staff, but it was not his.

 

In ends in your blood.

It ends in your blood.

 

He let the mantra repeat in his mind, over and over all the way back to the capital, where he stormed into the city square and bellowed at the top of his lungs.

 

“Sirame! Druian! Gather, we must rally to save our captured kin!”

 

A motley crew gathered,  Kolohe, Aenor, Elros, and Selaros among the crowd, they trailed their way into the square with perplexion and concern as they hastily strung their bows and attached their blades to their hips as they approached Artimec. Indeed some elven warriors gathered wore Sirame armaments.

 

“My Prince, what has befallen?” One asked.

 

The emerald clad Prince rose his hand into the air to impose a figure of authority, his voice rang through Laureh’lins forest glade with vindictive resonance.

 

“The cultists have taken our sister Renn. They are likely in Sanctuary. We will go in, we will find her, and we will kill anyone who would stop us. Who is with me?”

 

The men’s faces hardened and they offered nods of affirmation. Turning to Aenor, Artimec noticed a dark, stoic worry in his eyes, best as the bi-haired high elf was trying to hide it. The woman the cultists had kidnapped was his wife after all.

 

For some it was about those they cared for. For others, it was about revenge.

 

Swift winds carried the warriors across the channel where they landed upon the shores of Sanctuary. The stone-faced rescue party stepping out of the docks to view the marble structures competing with the claustrophobic tropic flora which suffocated the city streets. At the base of the settlement they were greeted by none other than King Tresery, bows and formalities were exchanged before the King of the Elves joined the band of Laurelites on their hunt for their captured kin.

 

“Search every house and every basement. Start with the Siil’Crux manor.”

 

And they did just that. Artimec could not help but be wary as he travelled up Sanctuary’s winding, narrow streets with his hunting party trailing behind him, his eyes darting about the nearby treetops and rooves. He recalled just last night when he’d been shot in the rib by a wayward assassin hiding in a balcony. That was in Laureh’lin. Here he was far from home, there were more Xionists, and no druidic healers to save him this time.

 

Best be careful. We are in a land of spooks and snarks.

 

They came across the Siil’Crux manor atop the city’s hill. A quick lockpick from Artimec was all it took to open the door, and the elven warriors stormed in, searching every inch of the manor.

 

“She’s not here.” Kolohe reported.

 

Artimec spat upon the ground of the Siil’crux home and shook his head, baring his teeth in frustration. Then he heard his king speak:

 

“Search every home, top-down.”

 

Nodding, the elves fanned out once more.

 

“Who’s do we enter first? Estelle, Delonna, or Andrus?”

 

The wood elven Prince looked about all three homes, silence, stoic. His answer came in the form of a shattering kick towards Andrus’s door, sending the hinges flying open to reveal a pale elf and his high elven companion, a man Artimec knew as Alrian. Andrus looked disheveled and surprised. This was the man who aided him in finding a criminal not so long ago, it could not be the man who kidnapped Renn…

 

“If it isn’t the Lord of Torment himself.”

 

Artimec’s gaze snapped to the man who just spoke. Kolohe, a former man of Xion, a defector...if he knew the man in the home as the Lord of Torment, then there was only one conclusion to make. Artimec gripped the hilt of his blade and tugged it halfway out of his sheathe, a fierce glare in his eye as he jutted his finger into the home.

 

“Search this place.”

 

And so they did, Artimec descended into the basement while King Tresery remained above. The solemn druid busied himself looking through the dark room, hearing the sounds of shouting, clanging and struggle above. He didn’t let it bother him, his warriors and his king were able fighters.

 

It ends in your blood.

 

He repeated once more in his thoughts, with a grim, satisfied smirk.

 

Finally he came upon a rattling box hidden in a shadowed corner of the basement. Without hesitation he rushed over and began prying at its hatch and hinges. Before long the box sprang open...and inside, was a bruised, tied up, but very much alive Renn Calithil.

 

“I’ve got you.” Artimec grunted as he exerted himself to haul her out of her confines and undo her binds. As he removed her gag, the first thing to come out of Renn’s mouth was a ragged warning.

 

“Alrian is good!”

 

Alrian, the man they’d found in the house besides Andrus. Artimec had assumed he was an accomplice in Renn’s kidnapping, but no matter now, she was safe. He helped her carefully climb the ladder back to the surface to find that King Tresery, with the help of the Sirame, had captured Andrus, who had tried to flee. Among the victorious warriors was Aenor, the husband of the captured druidess… his eyes stormy and cold as he regarded the necromancer who took his wife. The king seemed to note his soldier’s fury, and offered him a deferential nod.

 

“This man’s fate is in your hands, Aenor.”

 

Aenor nodded vindictively, and with the help of two wood elven comrades dragged the bound up necromancer back into his home. Andrus hissed something in a dark, foreign tongue to Alrian before looking up to Aenor to speak blearily.

 

“Extract your revenge, It does not matter if I live or die, for I am a lie."

 

“There is no point in killing you.”

 

A scream followed, and soon rivulets of blood ran out of the necromancer’s now empty sockets. Artimec strode in behind Aenor, gaze stoic and eerily unphased by the gore.

 

“You blinded him?”

 

“Yes. He will only re-arise as something worse should he die.”

 

Artimec nodded, respecting the decision of his friend.

 

“Then let us go home.”

 

They did not notice Alrian slip into the basement where Andrus now laid as they began to leave, by the time they heard the second scream it was too late. They rushed back into the home, eyes wide, scrambling down the steps to find Alrian bloodied, Andrus dead. Rai’wyn of the hunting party put her waraxe to Alrian’s pale throat, glaring.

 

“Damn you! He was to be left alive as his punishment!”

 

Artimec shook his head, his empty eyes dismissive as he made a waving gesture with his hand to make her stand down.

 

“It matters not. It’s over, now.”

 

The emerald-clad prince dragged the Lord of Torment’s corpse out into the open and down the hill, there, he laid the body down on a patch of grass and knelt down, calmly uttering out a last, serene, monotonous prayer.

 

“Lady Cerridwen of the forest glades, and Lord Cernunnos of the hunting plains, I offer you our vanquished enemy, so his body may beget new life upon his death. May his sacrafice please you, so we may find luck in life, and swiftness in future hunts.”

 

He rose, offering his men a nod, and a tired, yet content smile.

 

“Let’s go home, lliran.”

 

And so they returned to Laureh’lin, leaving the dead body of Drazalar, Leader of Xion to the vultures.

 

[Angmarzku 1251]

A dark figure, an old  armoured ghoul  , hunched on the rooftops of  the Sanctuary glances at the sight of people through his visor, grunting a few times and snarling as it slowly crawls around, digging his fingers into the tiles to follow with his rotting gaze on the Sirame. 

[Gone 869]

15 minutes ago, 吳憾戰士14 said:

And so they returned to Laureh’lin, leaving the dead body of Drazalar, Leader of Xion to the vultures.

 

And yet... The vultures would not take him. Cheza stared at her four lovely birds. The mother she had forged a friendship with and the three younger yet now fully grown bearded vultures that she had helped raise. 

She knew these vultures. She'd seen them devour corpses before,  yet they would not take Drazalar. There was something about this corpse that the vultures wouldn't even approach him. The answer came as she communed with the youngest female, a horrible sense of wrongness. These creatures that regularly devoured the dead and rotting thought this fresh corpse smelled foul. Very foul. 

 

With a soft sigh the drui signals for the birds to take off, they know she'll whistle if she needs them yet the mother stays. The elder vulture disturbed and picking up on Cheza's own uneasiness from the entire affair follows her friend upon the ground. Talons clicking upon the stones as they walk about until finally exhaustion takes the elf to sleep. However the carrion birds do not follow her into the peaceful rest.

 

The vultures stay awake through the night as they watch the now quiet island. Restless and vigilant. This corpse was wrong but more will come, they can smell it on the winds.

 

[idiot 502]

Garsto sits cross legged on a stump of a tree, watching the elves go past,

 

"Let us hope they find what they have come for..."

 

He would then stand, walking off into the night.

[Your Favorite Impure 736]

Aenor's thoughts wander to the events that transpired only a few hours previous, reflecting on the actions that occurred. His lips form a thin line as he stands upon the ramparts of the gatehouse in Laureh'lin, his mind drifting to Andrus, the now deceased Seer. He was supposed to live. He was supposed to learn, to never forget this visage for the rest of his miserable existence. It was for naught. 

 

Aenor paused in his pacing, recollecting his composure as a soft smile spreads across his lips. No. No, it wasn't for naught. Renn is back, and all is well. All is well. The stoic Mali turns his gaze to the winding road, his grip tightening around the haft of his spear But this is far from over. 

[justDEWit 133]

A young mali'ame sat on a bench, listening to the various conversations within the surrounding area. "One could say it was over before it started." 

 

 

[Wolf Druid Ouity 1461]

Wolf stood before Song. In the dim light of the cave and under the shadow of his cowl, all that could be seen of his face were two piercing eyes surrounded by the sea of green and gold of his heavy cloak. He crossed his arms.

 

"I told ye he was good stock. It was correct ter let him remain, even in the midst of our own doubts. More has he done fer th' Aspects than any o' our fellows in his time, and those who come after will be hard pressed ter live up ter his deeds.

 

So what if it is for himself or for the Order? Need we analyze such things? Ye may if ye like, but after all is said, blood is spilt, and Aspects' will are done."

[Aengoth 2890]

Aengoth was heavily disgruntled to find out during the whole kerfuffle that the figure being attacked by the Sirame was woefully poor leaving nothing for Aengoth to scavenge from his house.

[arakrsptec 171]

The apprentice stood before the body of his master long past nightfall, taking in the disgusting picture the Elves had left. 

 

"A bold move, for a Druid. Perhaps I should bring an excuse of numbers, but that would be childish." 

 

He breathed a deep sigh, eyes set on the body through the small slit of his helmet. Wind snapped at his cape, blowing away some of the rotten smell. 

 

"If it is blood you want, my Prince, it is blood you shall receive." 

 

He turned, gaze set upon the home of the Wood Elves.

 

"Fear the Old Dark."

 

((Few times do I post by my phone. Apologies.))

[Ford 1996]

Archembalt sighed again.

 

"****'s. Sake."

[luv 3469]

A red hooded aheral would make her way out of Sanctuary after all of this discussion, not wishing to see the end of this confrontation.

[Swgrclan 2682]

And yet godlessness remains intact; for it was not the "leader" of Xion that was felled, but the keeper of a sect of zeal. There remains still the founders, the temples, the histories, the ways - all things remain, tucked within the minds of the Heralds and followers whom had not converged upon this conflict with an open lust for death and undoing. A battle has been won - but the widespread ideology in which Artimec's fellowship has come to oppose has not been undone. The Book of Xion remains prevelant, and those among Man shall keep to their adage: "Fear the Old Dark."

[HurferDurfer1 2978]

The old man, hearing of Dralazars death would mutter "Pha, sod should have know better then to hide out in that spooky town Sanctuary, good ting he only lead those extremists, Xion will continue on just fine without him." Would then hobble off to do nefarious deeds.

[Song Druid 1486]

The Elf scowls at his companion and turns away.  "Perhaps you are right.  There was a time when we both acted as he, ignoring the politics of the Order in favor of making drastic moves for the Aspects."

 

He chews his bottom lip silently for several seconds, all that can be heard is the drip drop of water from stalactites hanging from the roof of the cavern.  "I find it amusing that he submits his cull to Cerridwen and Cernunnos, when he fulfills the calling of another...."

 

He chuckles to himself and begins to hobble from the cavern.

[SmartScout 392]

Elros remarks on the events of the previous day. "It is like the wars with Embermoore in Athera are occurring all over again...hopefully they will come to a just as or more favorable end... for the good of all..."