Veteran's End

[Skylez 870]

1595 - the past

Spoiler

 

 

-

 

((Credit to an unknown Artist))

 

Mercer found himself back onto the fiery hellscape that he toiled upon near seven decades prior, donned in shoddy ferrum, a crude blade within his mailed clutch.

 

“Push them from the walls, forwards!”

Bellowed the sonorous man whom led their arduous efforts, Baldur the black.

 

Ever since the battle of the Gorge the Empire found itself dwindling evermore, vassal after vassal claiming sovereign independence from a collective Orenia. The odds were perpetually situated against those that remained fervent in defense of Johannesburg, once the capital of united man.

 

A whistle blew amidst the soot covered skies.

This signaled their charge, pitted against the superior manpower and arms of the Coalition; an amalgamation of all those wronged by Oren in times past, Uruk, ‘Fenn,

Dwed, and furthermore, headed by the Stauntons of Courland.

 

Mercer begrudgingly grasped about the small ladder leading up from his muddied trench, heaving himself into a clamber; leading in tow a small detachment of legionaries that served with him in the Legio I Ioannes, a seasoned lot of middle aged men. Arrows, bolts, and all manners of projectiles whizzed by as the deplorable defenders of Johannesburg emerged from their holes dug within the ash covered earth.

Screams and shouts drowned out the atmosphere, a stone shot meant for the walls behind instead barreled into the rank at Mercer’s left, ensuring bloodied viscera spreaded to and fro in some macabre fashion.

 

The battle was lost long before it begun, only a handful of meters did they advance before their losses were all too apparent, fallen corpse and cadaver filling their ranks rather than living man; they struggling to maintain the fruitless clash. Legionnaires began to route, mayhaps a loss of heart or a lack of discipline, likely both.

 

“Back onto the walls, we've pushed enough!”

The commanding Baldur shouted after momentarily disengaging from the bloodied fray.

 

Thereafter the remaining skirmishers turned suit, rushing back towards the last bastion of the Crownlands whence they rallied hours ago. The backs of men made for ripe targets, and thus many did not manage to withdraw.

 

-

 

Several more of these horrid battles were to transpire over the waning days of the Empire, their final throes.

 

“I have lived steadfast and fierce, I will not kneel to the dogs of war and my wings shall not be clipped by the greedy paws of the Staunton. I live for the Empire! Ave Oren, Ave Horen, Long live the Empire!”

The Emperor of Orenia defiantly declared, lobbing two flasks of alchemical flame onto the stores of Thanhium below.

 

And all went blue, and then black.

 

 

((Credit to Sebastion Horoszko))

------

 

1661 - the present 

 

 

((Credit to zez zhaoenzhe))

 

The small group sought deeper therein the scar of the earth, eventually to come onto a peculiar man-made canal, rivers of sanguine flowing in the stead of water. Occultists of some foul sort were within, the trio to make quick work of the deranged and demented. Their intrusion would be noted however, the flock coming to avenge the demise of their shepards.  

 

The walls began to close in upon the three, though not of normal brick and mortar, but rather bone and muscle.

 

 

“I’ve our rear, move!”

The helmeted veteran croaked as he brandished his poleaxe. The first of the men spared no time, heaving and hauling himself onto the length of rope.

 

Mercer lunged out, arcing the axehead of his weaponry onto the skull of the nearest mindless. It’d stumble and then fall, though another were to take its place near instantly - not even a buckle in their lines.

The Redshroud took aback, looking onto the second man as the first made it out of harm's way.

 

“Go Mercer, I’ll stay!”

The young Highlander shouted as the walls neared, encroaching from both corridors, splashing through the muck - soon to be cornered.

 

“You’ve a life to live, you’ll not throw it away for the dead - no heroics!”

The forlorn knight harshly returned, sending another glimpse over his pauldron - Robert begrudgingly beginning at the rope, though struggling more so than the man that ascended before him - more time was needed.

 

Mercer nodded in turn, moving to stand as a bulwark of steel and bone against the advancing undying.

Jutting forth he’d impale into the nape of one lively cadaver, point of the polearm piercing though and out the other side. It too fell as the one prior, though another moved to take the freed gap - no respite given.

 

 

((Credit to h1fey))

 

“The Abyss draws near.”

The plate-clad Redshroud uttered to naught but himself, words strained and droned out to those above. Backpedaling, he retracted his bloodied poleaxe; backplate pressing against the stonework now, the two hordes beginning to converge, barely out of arm’s reach.

 

Mercer heedlessly discarded the lengthy weaponry, dropped as he vied for the armament at his front - withdrawing a mere arming blade of Aurum.

 

An outreached arm latched upon his vambrace, grappling it. The man’s sword arm jolted out, slicing to free the plate-clad arm.

 

The dozens did fall upon the platemailed man, the latter staggering and clattering against the floor and wall. His metal leggings strained and gave inwards as corpse upon corpse smothered him, underlying bones crackling as they were fractured and destroyed.

 

Even so the Darkstalker buckled and writhed, managing to yield a few off him; many more took their place, arms, maws, and fingers pried at the armor he donned. His armet was forced off, binds broken - they would find not meat and muscle, but a chipped and worn skull.

 

 

((Credit to tentaclesandteeth))

 

Next his chest plate bent and broke, a cage of bone lying underneath the steel. Foreign, vibrant energies seemingly teemed below the ribcage, flickering green that shone between the gaps.

 

--

 

The Redshroud could truly do little but watch as that too was broken, hoarse screams and shouts of rage pouring out from his maw, the greater undead to be undone by the lessers.

 

The Darkstalker always carried his phylactery once finally imparted with it, carrying the crystal upon his being made him feel alive, to prove to himself he was still a mortal man. A twisted hand reached within the broken bones to take it, ripping the crystal from its rightful container.

 

“End it THEN, CRUSH IT!”

His horrid voice screamed aloud, watching as the mindless of the Abyss looked over the gleaming thing within its vile clutches, moving it upwards, jaws to open - and then..

 

  

 

 Undone

---

 

OOC: Had a lot of fun with this guy in the two years I have played him 2016 - 2018.

Really enjoyed my time spent with the Legio I Ioannes, and was arguably some of the best military RP I have had on the server.

Big thanks to @Lyonharted™ and @Vetren54 for that.

 

Also would like to thank @Swgrclan and @Geo for continuing the story of my guy, back when the Darkstalker ritual was strictly kept between two people.

[----- 838]

 

Robert glared upon the dozens of undying beasts that surrounded and lashed against his comrade, the supposed never-dying knight Mercer. The man bellowed and barked incoherent words at the countless undead below as tears trickled from his eyes; impotence, rage and sorrow choked Robert's heart. The would-be knight implored the darkstalker of old to remain unyielding against the dozens, but only the crack of bones was heard-- his acquaintance and brother-in-arms had collapsed to the corpses.

"Mercer!" Robert roared as a curious cadaver seized the knight’s soul, contained within his cage of bones. An orcish hand grasped Robert’s pauldron, dragging the broken Raider of the Respite from the depths, and as he was forced to draw away, the shattering sound of Mercer's perish pierced his ears, withering the remaining hope in his being. Wrath bloomed within him.

[HurferDurfer1 2978]

Coltaine mourns, knowing only Ebrietas awaits such tainted beings as Mercer, as it also waited for the lich.

[Britannicvs 2508]

Robb Bridgewater greets Mercer in the seven skies remembering their time in the Imperial Legion.

[Parkins 550]

Beneath the feet of stone and rock which covered his brood, Gravelord Adremeich simply stared toward the wall from atop his throne. Seeming much like a lifeless skeleton which had faded with the ages, he spent many hours reminiscing over the soldier he had dragged from the horrid ruins of Johannesburg. 

[Vetren54 368]

"Welcome home," murmurs Ser Mattington with a gentle smile on his face as he sees his old friend ascend to the seven skies, "It's nice to see you." 

[Inkthorn 1434]

Sylvester sheds a tear in remembrance of Mercer's dedication. "Ave Orenia, " he murmured. The imperial knight was old – too old – and would likely join Mercer soon enough, five feet under.

[osumanduas 1442]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.