Watyll

Captain Andrew Winter was absent for the attack, but David informed him afterward of what happened. It was sudden, the Black Scourge marched right up to the gate and immediately began raining magic on the Sons. It was not long before corrupted minions stormed the castle. All the Sons were either killed or put into retreat. Except for Holy Ser David Winter. While ice crept over Wintermont, David cleverly bided his time, hiding in the central keep. Then, when the time was right, he ran up behind the Dark Lieutenant leader, and thrust his sword through his body, then smote his ruin upon the mountainside. The Sons victorious, the Black Scourge were put in retreat.

((Latin has been the language of the Horens and the priesthood since early Asulon.))

The Chapter welcomes Novice Darek Nasadi, Novice Charles Dracaena, and Novice Hunter Vanderson And elevates Vectis Vekon II to Holy Ser ((Roster updated.))

History The Chapter was founded by Father Grigory Beckett of the True Faith. He approached many lords before Lord Robert Winter consented to give him land for the Chapter of the Sons, Castle Wintermont was quickly built and recruitment began. The idea was simple: to convert the heretic, not kill it. Ceremonies Ceremony of Oaths Captain - *claps fist against chest and faces the standard* “Ave Domine.” Recruit- *claps fist against chest and faces the standard* “Ave Domine.” Captain- “Kneel and face the standard, Novice.” Recruit- *kneels and faces the standard.* Captain- *unsheathes his sword and points it down into the stone* “Do you, (recruit), promise to serve this Chapter until the end of your days? Recruit- (answer) Captain- *makes the sign of the Lorraine cross in the air* “Do you swear to follow the ways of the Creator, and walk in his holy light always?” Recruit- (answer) Captain- *makes the sign of the Lorraine cross in the air* “And do you swear to protect the innocent, destroy the unjust, and shepherd the heretic?” Recruit- (answer) Captain- *makes the sign of the Lorraine cross in the air* “In nomine Patris, et Divinum, et Lux Sancti. Amen.” *sheathes sword* “Rise, Brother (name), rise and face the standard as a true member of the Chapter. Recruit- *rises and faces a standard* Both- *claps fist to chest* “Ave Domine.” Prayers The prayers of the Sons of the Creator are said in the language of the priesthood. To be said when sheathing a sword- In nomine Patris, et Divinum, et Lux Sancti. Amen. To be said when hoping for something- PATER NOSTER, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen. Ranks Captain Commander The Captain Commander leads the Chapter, all of his orders are obeyed without question. Captain Captains are the officers of the Chapter, they lead the Chapter in times when the Captain Commander is absent and put the Chapter through regular drills. Radiant Knight The full title of a Radiant Knight is Holy Ser ((name)). This is due to the fact that all oathed members of the Chapter are monks. Radiant Radiants are the proud full members of the Chapter. Brother Brothers are the meat-shields of the Chapter, though they are still given armor, they are consigned to tasks of menial labor. Novice Novices are the unoathed members of the Chapter, and have yet to even prove themselves as meat-shields. They aren't even given a set of armor. The Holy Hand of Light The Holy Hand of Light is a section of priests who serve the Sons domestically. They are all priests and are in charge of the conversion of heretics. It is known only to a few what transpires in the dungeons of Castle Wintermont... Roster Captain Commander: Captain Commander Andrew Winter - watyll - Captains: Captain Vectis Vekon II - Drazker Captain David Winter - ww2buff99 - Radiant Knights: Holy Ser Sylen Drayzont II - silent_slayer - Radiants: Radiant Okari Angelhosa - legoboy7984 - Brothers: Brother Davkas - xxbegginbobxx Brother Darek Nasadi - Dannybrine - Novices: Novice Hunter Vanderson - xboxershortz Novice Charles Dracaena - assassinmaster56 Novice Raktar'Gorkil - chimp2008 Novice Rikkard Tarus - Xtreme_Prodigy Novice Heshakomeu - ventusyr How To Join There is no application to join us. Find us in rp and ask.

Captain Andrew Winter watches the horses ride out from Castle Wintermont. "Hopefully we will learn from our mistakes here."

"If you are loyal to the Creator and the true faith of Oren, you may join the Holy Chapter of the Sons of the Creator. We have a garrison in Adunia, in fact, so you may enlist there. The going will not be easy. -Captain Andrew Winter"

((And then there was Laku, who snuck into Haelun'or and harassed you every day for an OOC week.))

((Sounds like good roleplay. Well written!))

((I really hope you don't ruin the only place untouched by conflict rp.)) Dofur Riverfoam peers out of his burrow, seeing halflings congregate in an alley. "Back in my day we gathered in the open!" He then slams the door grumpily.

Chapter 1 A United Fate A hooded figure rides across the landscape of Asulon, while sheets of rain pour down from the heavens and thunder rolls through the landscape. Clutching in his right hand the reins of his horse, and in his left a letter from a messenger bird, the figure moves swiftly. Southward he goes, riding out from the Cloud Temple. As he crosses the Southern Swamp his destination becomes apparent: Oren. Hooves stamp the ground as his brown gelding is worked into a steam, past Salvus, past Seventies, until Arethor comes in sight. Ordinarily the man would take a moment to pause and look out over the gleaming human city, but this night, there is no time. Within moments he rides into the gates of Arethor. The usual guard stops him, ordering him down from his horse. “You there! No hoods allowed in the city!” The figure sighs and dismounts his horse, with the clink of a mail undershirt, and the axe at his back moving against his spine. He stands before the guard momentarily, and then frustrated, casts back his hood. The man, who was then known as Dumont, was not a handsome human. His nose was crooked, and one eye bulged irregularly. His teeth too, were yellowed, and some were missing. The guard grimaced for a moment. “Ugh, you can pass.” Dumont nodded and entered into the city on foot, splashing puddles every now and then with his boot. Arethor stank, as it always did, of misery and rot. It had never been a clean place. Dumont worked his way to the middle class section, before knocking on the door of a certain house, brick in structure with a sound foundation and support of wood. He muttered to himself as he waited in the cold rain, before eventually the door was answered by a lanky youth, wiry and muscular. He looked up and down at Dumont, before standing aside to let him in. “Thank you, David.” David(for that was the youth’s name) nodded, and Dumont walked into the apartment, hanging his coat upon the rack. Wiping his boots on the rug, he walked into the parlor, slapping his letter down upon the table. “I got your summons.” “Oh?” said a voice, whose source was concealed by an armchair. “Good.” “So, where was he spotted?” The man in the armchair ignored the question. “Sit, old friend.” “Victor, there is no time. You know as well as I do the stakes. Remember Rodanche? Skraal?” Victor paused, taking a breath of his pipe. “Yes. I remember that. Every time I sleep I remember that.” Victor took another breath of his pipe, while David came in with a tea tray. He poured the two men a cup of hot tea, then sat down to the impromptu meeting. “Thank you, David.” muttered Victor distractedly. He stared into the fire before speaking. “He’s heading North. We ride at dawn.” *** It was a cold, crisp morning when Soran awoke. It was that magical time of morning when it seemed that nature was about to burst forth with life, and the dew clung to the leaves like a mother’s breast. Soran stretched, before turning on his eyes to watch Ralia wake up. Truly nature had never conceived something so beautiful as his wife. With long tapering ears and bright red hair, she was the image of elven splendor. Much too perfect for a wood elf such as himself(or so he thought). Soran himself was quite the elf, with cocoa skin, blonde flowing hair, and a quick, lithe body, he was almost feminine. His wind evocation was only his second favorite hobby. His first was what he was doing right now. Watching his lover sleep. Just like flower bud, her chest swelled in and out, and her eyes fluttered, not unlike the petals of a flower. Then she unfolded, yawning and stretching. She rolled over and kissed Soran. “Is it morning already?” “It is morning for me, lover.” Ralia smiled and opened her eyes. “Are you going hunting today?” “Yes, as I told you last night, for a few weeks. Do you want me to bring you something?” Ralia smiled and thought for a moment. “Well, Soran, I was looking out the balcony the other night at the moon. It’s so big and beautiful… I would love it as a necklace. Would you bring me the moon, Soran?” Soran laughed. “Yes, I will bring you the moon.” Soran then got up and strung his bow, before blowing a kiss at his wife and heading out the door. Immediately he headed down the stairs of the Great Tree of Normandor, to the jewelry shop. There he found what he was looking for. A smooth, perfectly round quartz stone. He had been saving up for it for quite a while now, and as he handed the minas over to the clerk, he had never been more satisfied. This would be a good moon for Ralia. A while later, Soran was in the woods, but not the woods of Malinor. Indeed, he would not hunt in his homeland. He ventured far from there, until several weeks later he found himself in dwarven territory. There he tracked a deer, tracing its footsteps in the snow. It wasn’t long until he caught up to it, and watched as the deer pawed at the deep snow, exposing the grass underneath. Swiftly Soran knocked an arrow and reached out to the void, then fwoosh! The arrow took flight, guided carefully by air evocation. It hit its mark- the heart of the stag. It went down, and Soran ran over, picking up the deer with the muscular oddity that only wood elves bear. Soran was so focused on the deer that he did not feel the high elf’s stave hitting the back of his head, only saw the blackness blot out his sight as he slipped into unconsciousness. “It was good meat.” said the high elf upon Soran’s awakening. Soran’s face was pressed into the snow, but as his eyes looked up he saw him, with bright green eyes and blonder hair than his own. The high elf spoke. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Porphyrion, a noble of Haelun’or. Don’t bother speaking, as you may have noticed, you’re gagged. Now as I said, the stag you felled was good meat, and I greatly enjoyed it. However, you slayed it on the dwarf Paragon’s lands… ah he is a detestable brute. However, as I am traveling to his city for diplomatic matters I must respect his laws… and turn you in.” Soran struggled, but soon Porphyrion had tossed him over the saddle of his horse, a white mare. “Let’s be off, yes?” And like that the horse galloped forward, over bridges and frozen lakes, until eventually Karik was reached. Kal’Karik, city of the dwarves, mighty and proud. Porphyrion and Soran rode into the hold and up to the gates, where the sentries, with suspicious looks, let them in. Porphyrion and Soran made it up to the seat of the Paragon, where a sentry greeted them. “Ye’ll ‘ave t’ wait out ‘ere fer a wee bit. Tae Paragon be seein some ‘umans from Arethor… dunnae know what it be about. Maybe they be merchants or something… the one smelled awful fruity. D’ye suppose it’s fruit they sell? It’s been quite a time since ah’ve ‘ad me a ripe apple, er banana, er somethin’ o’ tha’ name. Oi think the greenskins grow fruit where they live, down in tha’ desert. Oi won-” “Shut up.” glowered Porphyrion. The sentry shrank back and nodded, and three humans walked out of the Paragon’s seat, looking frustrated. One was short and ugly, with one bulgy eye. One was a wiry and muscular youth, and the last one was tall and proud, and exemplary specimen of the human race, save for a slightly crooked jaw. All were armed, the short one with an axe on his back. They shoved past Porphyrion and Soran, who then walked into the Paragon’s keep. “Noble Paragon!” exclaimed Porphyrion, until his sentence was cut short by a mighty roar. The sound of stone shattering was heard throughout the halls like thunder, and the Paragon, followed by Porphyrion and Soran, fled after him, looking up in terror at the form of a black drake, filling the ceiling of Kal’Karik. It flew over the city, smiting all with his consuming fire. Soran noticed three figures, the humans from before, running straight towards it. It ignored them, continuing demolishing the city with reckless abandon. Porphyrion scowled and charged down to the city, while the Paragon ran after him, roaring with anger. The cavern shook, and rock rained from the ceiling. Soran looked up in shock as a massive splinter of stalactite fell from the ceiling, heading straight for him! He dove forward, but the stalactite severed the bonds at his back, freeing his hands. Quickly he untied his feet and ungagged himself, stringing his bow and running down into the city. He watched in awe as the three humans engaged the dragon on land, the dragon landing and the three humans attacking. They dodged out of reach of his jaws and flame and claws, and shocked, Soran saw Porphyrion rain lightning bolts in the black drake. Eventually, Soran strung and arrow, and with his elf eyes searched carefully for some *****. Then, he found it! With a hiss the arrow sped forward into the ***** in the drake’s armor, wounding it. The drake writhed and flapped it’s wings, bursting out of the cavern and into the air. The proud looking human swore, looking around at the carnage and slamming his sword on the ground. “Dammit. Again.” The short human sat down on a piece of rubble and looked over at Soran. “That was a good shot, long ears. Well done. What’s your name?” “I am Soran… thank you. What may I call you?” “The name is Dumont. The quiet kid is David, and that’s Victor, our leader.” “Your… leader?” At this Victor turned. “Yes… leader of the Golden Lance company.” Porphyrion approached, waving his stave angrily. “Well! Come on, let us after him!” Victor sheathed his sword angrily “He is gone by now.” The three humans then turned to Porphyrion and Soran. Victor studied them both. “Do you know each other?” Porphyrion raised an eyebrow. “In a manner of speaking.” Victor nodded, pausing for a moment. “You fight well. How would you like to join us?” Soran thought for a moment, looking around at the carnage. What evil would do this? What madness? Then his thoughts turned to Normandor. What would he do if this ever happened there? What would he do if Ralia, Creator forbid, was killed by that creature? His musings were interrupted by a nod from Porphyrion. “Yes, I will join you.” Soran looked in shock at Porphyrion. Why would the high elf want to join this group, to hunt the most dangerous creature in the world? Then Soran took a closer look and saw the gleam of greed in Porphyrion’s eye. Ah, the drake’s treasure. But Soran nodded firmly for much nobler reasons, reaching into his pocket reassuringly for Ralia’s stone. “I will join you.” Victor nodded. “Follow us. We head North, where are companions Ectheli and Gradesh await us. We must consult Hilan.” Soran looked confusedly at Victor. “Hilan?” Victor nodded. “The oldest and wisest of our order. Come! There is no time to spare!” And with a swish of black cloaks the three humans strode towards the gates, Porphyrion shrugged and followed suit. Soran lingered for a moment, then his eyes hardened as he looked over the carnage. He squeezed the gemstone and and muttered “So that this may never befall my love…” And then he was off.

A corrupted fortress, uncompromising and cold, squats before the North Wall. Its name is Urkvorkuhz Ghûl, though once called Greywyn in the tongue of men. Meanwhile, in the land of the Firstborn, the Elves, stands a corrupted grove, beneath a once mighty tree. It's rotted leaves sag, desolate and withering fruit writhing with maggots. These two territories have something in common, you see. Look beyond the taint and corruption and stare into the abyss that is the hordes of the Glurtzfolok. They have inhabited these once proud and beautiful places, and made them their own. They struck with impunity, led by their hooded leaders- The Dark Lieutenants. Heralded by shrieks that brang terror, the Glurtzfolok rampaged across the North. But now, it seems, a reckoning has come. For all across the Third Continent, armies march. From the Southwest, the Empire of Urguan with their stout and hardy Dwarven Legionnaires! From the Southwest, the Orcs, sounding the horns and calling Anthos to arms! And from the East, the shattered human Kingdoms rally for a stand, proud knights in polished armor stand ready, marching West! And finally, the Firstborn, the Mali, march from the West, their armies shining bright with the light of a setting sun! Indeed, it seems as if the age of evil is coming to a crashing end, as the armies prepare to assemble for an assault on Urkvorkuhz Ghûl. But the Dark Lieutenants have not given up... From the corrupted fortress, scouts are sent out. Light, fast, they scour the land and report back to their masters. Deep within the heart of the dark castle, the Dark Lieutenants send out orders to their minions. "Ready the trebuchets." "Boil the oil." "Prepare the horde." Soldiers of corruption pour onto the battlements, shrieking defiance at the orcish camp, brandishing cruel weapons and baring rotted maws. They are ready. Prepare for battle, Anthos. ((And here is an excellent voice-over created by Lach'li Douglas ^_^ ))

*looks at the treat that has risen from the shadows, it looks tasty to him.* ((Small mistake there my friend.))

((If you don't have anything nice to say keep it to yourself ^^ ))