Death of a Serpent

[Cobbler 809]

 

Death of a Serpent

 

 

The sky darkened as Sorcaril's horse rode up the main road towards the Midlands. His horse's breath could begin to be seen as the cold crept up over the lands. His day had been long, finally revamping the Sillumarian pay reforms and submitting them to his council while dealing with a local bandit group setting up a toll. With his new position came a change in his workload; with the shift in his workload, Sorcaril had found the uncomfortable fact that his days leading troops into battle had been traded for days behind a desk. He'd venture north to conduct business and diplomacy to remedy his newfound boredom. His first stop is his fellow Mali'thill in Celia'nor. Perhaps stopping on the road would have been wise given the day he had, or maybe it was fate, though Sorcaril Sythaerin wasn't prepared for what he'd encounter.

 

In the distance, one could spot the pillar representing the fork in the highway. Indistinguishable from other pillars, it sat atop a large hill that would lead to the Principality of Celia'nor. Upon approaching the ridge, a small band of what he thought to be Midlanders would come over the cliff, eyeing him from a distance. Multiple times, Sorcaril would stop and wave at the trio, getting no response. Using his best judgment, he'd ride to the city's gates. Getting off his horse, Sorcaril's hair would rise on the back of his neck. He'd swing his head quickly to see the party had closed the distance; their features, or lack of features, came to fruition through the dark. Without removing his eyes from them, he'd slowly back up onto the drawbridge entrance to Celia'nor, placing his hand on his blade.

 

The air would become thick with the smell of sulfur and rotten flesh; Sorcaril quickly began to understand what was approaching him. He'd heard the stories through merchants that had passed through the Silver City of the undead that roamed the Midlands, though he never thought they'd come so close to the gates. Sweat would form on his forehead as he called out to the approaching group, his voice sounding calm but confident, unsure if the trio could see through the facade he was putting up. The spearmen would approach ahead of the others, with a deep echoed voice he'd speak.

 

"Halt, our dark lord wishes to speak with you"

 

Sorcaril would begin to slowly back peddle towards the gate, all while speaking back.

 

"For what reason does your lord wish to speak with me?"

 

The party's dynamic would become apparent as the spearmen broke off ahead, leaving another man with two axes and a lone rider. Sorcaril would pause as the spearmen approached.

 

"A toll to be paid to the dark lord" 

 

With a quickness, the man wielding two axes would charge forth, closing the distance. The lone rider slowly approached from behind, riding along the middle of the two men. The smell of death got stronger as his horse got closer. Sorcaril would find himself mere feet from the gatehouse to Celia'nor and could see a small group of mali' forming behind him. Not knowing if they were armed, he'd prepare to defend who stood idly.

 

"No mali'thill I know bends the knee to a dark lord. I shall not be the first"

 

Sorcaril would draw his blade for the last time, eyeing the civilians behind him. The spearmen would charge first, stabbing outright at Sorcaril's torso as a green wall of fire grew in front of him. Quickly parrying the spear with his blade, his confusion of where the flames originated would promptly be dulled by the sound of hooves as the lone rider jumped over the flames, swinging his sword manically at Sorcaril's head. He barely had time to lift his blade as the horse fell strongly on his body, crushing his chest and shoulder. His scream would echo throughout the gatehouse as he was thrown to the floor, the horse standing on his body. The lone rider's entourage climbed carefully over the wall of flames, eyeing him screaming on the ground. With a single horrid cry, the rider rushed towards the crowd, slowly retreating into the city. As the horse lept forward, Sorcaril would scream out once more, and blood would pour out from his body. The spearmen would lower his gaze to the near-lifeless Sorcaril as he plunged his spear into his chest, quickly finishing the Okarir'til.

 

Spoiler

I've had a blast playing Sorcaril over the last 3~ years. Thank you a ton to @MrSyth for giving me the chance to play in the Sythearins. I think I made the most of the opportunity and sparked some fun roleplay. I know to many this PK may come at a shock, given that I was just given the role of Okarir'til, though I think it's important for players on LOTC to follow the flow of roleplay and take what's given to them. Thanks a ton to @SimplySeo for the roleplay interaction. Remember folks, PK on death! 

 

[marikandaperc 1818]

The following days, a mali'thill paced about the streets of the Silver Empire with undying anxiety. She did not often meet the cousin prodigy, yet for him to be gone for so long felt odd. "Where have you gone, Sorcaril.."  was she left to murmur. Then weeks, spent searching. Only a month later did she decide it had been enough, and so she retired to their family manor in the upper side of the Silver Citadel. Maeralya Sythaerin had never been too close, yet not too distant either, with that cousin everyone admired.

 

Seated onto a armchair, she unfolded a giant dusty book. "Come, my dear." she spake onto her youngest. "Let me tell of how we helped form an empire.." and for the years to come, the stories of Sorcaril would become a daily for her husband and son. @Tav

[MrSyth 636]

An ancient elf pours himself another drink. A deep, exasperated sigh echoes throughout the streets of Haelun'or. A single tear battles its way out of a blind eye. A bedroom starts to collect dust. A serpent slithers on.

"Why must the good ones always die young."

[Samson Option 9652]

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 another moderator.