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4rza

BLOODIED BEACHES

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BLOODIED BEACHES

 


 

 

Harlond Isle rejoiced in bustling festivity, a Mali’ker population ever growing to surpass that of founded nations. With festivities dying down and the bonfire neglecting to be fed, smoke heralded the closure of a night to be remembered. Rising tides of the Southern Sea licked up the beaches of the Sable Principality, fortified with rudimentary palisades adorned with wooden stakes. But what came with the rising tide had been the guttural throes of waterlogged beings, wading onto the beachhead.

 

Aspirant of the Div’cruan, Inara, a particularly alert Mali’ker stood atop the battlements; hearing the disturbance of water. Joining him atop the wooden walls came Elder Vulnir of Syllar, Emac of Reg’wir, and the recently promoted Hierarch Daichia Jusmia. Foolishly, or perhaps unknowingly beyond his depth, the Aspirant Inara plunged into the sands to courageously patrol what came in the night.

 

 

"Sir Inara, are ye’ seein’ anything?inquired Emac aloud, peering helplessly into the darkness where Inara delved into moments earlier. Aye, stay up there! he responded below, hand resting cautiously upon his sword belt. As he neared, the murky depths bubbled as marine life darted away, weaving from the location.

 

 

Elder Vulnir provided overwatch, glove twitching as a tangible thrum filled the air; eventually resulting in a spatial lighting weaker than that of a sconce. Inara came upon what could be conveyed as sticks protruding from the surface of the water, and as swiftly the noises came quickly did Inara drown them out. Screaming, what could be made out of Inara dwindled, the audible thud of something heavy being dragged further and further from their domain.

 

Xavis of Ashwood, his daughter Morgana, Emac of Reg’wir, and Hierarch Daichia swiftly sprang to action, leaping from the battlements haphazardly, keen on aiding their fleeting compatriot. Sticks became spears, and the murky waters revealed two entities distinctly humanoid with their intent wholly clear. Stirring the Mali’ker awake, it came to life as though a hornet’s nest. Valen Syllar, Hortiator of the Div’cruan sprung to duty, hoisting himself up the rung ladder to evaluate the strife. With narrowed hues, the mind of a tactician processed the situation before exclaiming aloud to his kinsmen on the field.

 

 

Mind your flanks, Div’cruan, they rise from the shore! With his words came truth, seven beings arose from their watery grave from all sides, with all a bone to pick.

 

 

In tandem, the Syllar cousins dropped onto the beachfront, Vulnir channeling through his staff whilst Valen eliminated what distance had been between him and a waterlogged creature slogging from the sea. Thrusted had been the rusted brine of a pike undoubtedly diseased towards Valen’s shins, sidestepping and counter attacking in a duel for two. With a parry deflecting his advance, it took little time at all for the Hortiator to dispose of the creature, sinking his longsword into its throat.

 

Five of the Mali’ker previously descended swiftly made work of the mangled invaders, withstanding injuries yet nothing critical bar a spearhead driving deeply into Morgana’s shoulder. Vulnir whisked his staff, roaring violently with crackles popping in the air around the gemstone; a sickening bolt of electricity piercing by his comrades and meeting its mark. Flesh filled the air singing nostrils, cooked from his sinister magicks alongside the undeniable stench of iron. Bloodied became the beaches, viscera and entrails washing away with rising tides. Until the sea became crimson for the night, Vira’ker did not rest. Her people did not waver.

 

 

 

They stood triumphant, the first albeit small victory for the unified state of Mali’ker.

 

Edited by 4rza

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The Ones who Fled

 

 

 

Two, only. Watching as their men were hacked and bullied by the Arcane power displayed by the Vira’ker populace. Both retreating beneath the murky water that now was dyed crimson by the blood of their brothers. Slinking back to their decrepit hiding, among the islands not far from the shores of once a pitiful battle. Maybe a warning.

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A mali’ame donning the purple and black robes of his family’s colors raises a bottle in his hands. “Yeah I’ll drink to that,” he states as he takes the bottle to his lips.

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Prince Avurak Syllar would later be informed of the battle with the sea folk. Valen spoke to him with exceptional confidence and pride, explaining it in graphic detail. Avuraks response would be simple - a large white grin on his face and a short response "Handled as expected brother." followed by a firm nod of his head and a twitch of his wrist

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