Gaiaterra

[Cartell]

This is a Fan fiction story of my own invention. It is not following the story line of a story from a game, but is all from my head. Trying to write a fantasy piece has been something I have been aspiring to for a while, and I might as well post some of it here to get a feel for how people like it. Any comments could please be restrained to either a new thread, or PM. I would love to hear from you as readers, and any encouragement/Helpful criticism would appreciated. (Key word there is helpful ) So here were go. Welcome, To the land of Gaiaterra.....

The trees of the forest swayed back and forth with the wind. Sunlight filtered its way down, through leaf and limb, and the occasional bird lazily flew its way across shafts of golden light. The idyllic scene was disturbed only by the crackling of the fires that burned away at what had once been houses. Almost malevolent in it’s burning the otherworldly flames seemed to enjoy the bodies that helped feed its blue fires. A black cowled figure stood, face unmoving as a mother was torn away from her child by two of the shilaken. Screams rent the night air as her child was chained with the rest of the children and she was thrown into the fires, which seemed to grow with the presence of yet more misery.
“Come, There is little left to do here.” The voice was barely above a whisper yet even the creatures at the other side of the ruined streets heard and responded. Filled with a depth of despair, the children marched flanked by shilaken. Some had been in the line since three villages earlier and their eyes were sunken into their heads, hope evaporated form their faces. Some of the Greenwood children were broken already as well, but a small few, chained together, had hope and a plan. Turning his back on the remains of the village, he led the shilaken away from the village, and walked off into the forest. As he turned away the fires dissipated, and all that was left were burning hulks of what had once been the village of Greenwood. The place where he had stood was dark still, as if the light had been sucked from the air.

The ranger walked softly through the forest. Fine elven ears graced an otherwise marred face. Burns across one side of the face scrunched and writhed as the ranger stalked, keeping an eye open for danger. Night had long since fallen, and clouds obscured what little light the moon would have given. Well adapted to the woods, the creatures he passed betrayed no evidence of his passing, nor of the lithe panther that slinked its way alongside its master. As he walked the trees parted and he came upon a dirt road, the only entrance to the village of Greenwood. As he walked he communicated with his panther, yet no words passed their lips.
“I wonder what could have happened that wood have meant we were needed.” The panther was in a sour mood, having had her hunt interrupted by an urgent cry from her master. That had started the trek towards Greenwood, so many hours ago.
“Ferux, must you always be so disagreeable when your stomach is empty?” Seeing the foul look the comment earned him, the ranger gave Ferux a small smile and pulled a rabbit from out of his pack. “I also realize that you must eat, and brought this from home.” The rabbit was gone a few seconds latter.
“I thank you Ashaannahtel Feteel” Ashaan laughed quietly, not wished to disturb the silence,
“Do I only merit the use of such respect, and the title of my full name when I feed you?” Running ahead Ferux turned her head, a grin shining in her large red eyes,
“Of course.”
“Very well Ferux, if respect is not gained from my leadership abilities, you lead the way.” Grinning, the ranger swept his hand in the general direction of Greenwood. As they walked, Ashaan thoughts drifted to that of his wife, who was tending to her grove, else she would have been right alongside the ranger, her raven Vestil perched on Ferux.
“O Isiana why must your grove demand so much.” The thought rushed through his head before he could stop it, and though he loved the forest, His elven half granted him that, he desired companionship with his wife, a natural urge. Yet her grove needed constant tending, and so their marriage was not perfect, yet nor was it bad. He would have to settle for mediocrity then, but what if. This thought was interrupted as a sharp mental prod from Ferux dropped him. Moving slightly out from the crouch which he had entered, the second Ferux had contacted him, He saw the village, or what little had been left. He drew both his swords, a short sword for his right hand, and a dagger for his left. Creeping forward, he saw Ferux leapt from hiding, and trip a large creature, donned in black. As it stumbled on the ground, Ashaan leapt out and slammed his dagger down into the throat of the creature, and ripped off its hood. The distorted face of a shilaken stared up in death, and Ashaan cursed.
“Ferux there must be more then one, find them. He slid off into the night and waited for Ferux to alert him of the presence of more foes. Having always enjoyed stealth, even as a child, he would have been a rogue but circumstances, as usual had limited his options,
“Ashaan, I have three more shilaken, and one of them is a sorcerer.”
“Coming Ferux.” Sneaking up behind the sorcerer, who was obviously in control, he stood and slit it’s neck. Moving quickly, Ferux jumped on one, while Ashaan attacked the other. Ashaan’s target managed to get out a yell before he killed it, it’s guttural voice crying for help before being silenced. The element of stealth gone, Ashaan jumped out of the way as an arrow slammed into his arm. Grunting he pulled it out and rolled off into the bushes.
“Ferux, we cannot win, run.” Sprinting off into the woods, he saw Ferux unable to obey, as three shilaken, two with spears, keeping him quite occupied. Fear for his companion overpowering his instincts, he charged, both swords held aloft prepared to deliver the killing blow.

Isiana moved with a grace only her elven kind could produce. Tall, like the rest of her kind, she had brown hair that was kept unnaturally short. Her eyes were a startling yellow, a testament to the lesser half of her blood. She was tending to her grove, Balthomaranh, bequeathed to her by a nymph. When she and her husband had entered the forest, still new in the way of their classes, they had been contacted through the animals of this small forest, about a horror that was happening in the eastern corner. It appeared some worshippers of the ancient devil Lich Canres, were preparing the nymph as a sacrifice to summon him to life. Young, naïve, and unskilled, they accepted the task that had been given them, and prepared to save the nymph. Unable to save her, though the worshippers lay dead, she Isiana had agreed to a final request of they nymph. The acceptance of her garden. Unknowing of the burden that it would grow to be or how fully it would take over their lives they accepted. To be killed through some sort of ritual sacrifice. Isiana shuddered, what an awful way to die. But, it had proved to be one of the best moments of their marriage, and of their vows to nature. They had had to kill all of the worshippers, and enter the cesspit that was their lair. Together, fighting the evil that had taken over the forest had been exhilarating, and the joy of working with her husband had almost overshadowed the horror of the temple. However, the joy of stopping the ritual had been marred by two things, the death of the nymph, and the scarring of her lovely husbands face. The leader of the worshippers had blasted Ashaan with black fires from hell, and like that half his face was gone. At this thought she slid down and sat underneath Balthom, the nymph tree from which the grove took its name. Vestil woke up and flew down to her shoulder,
“Isiana, come now, if we all sat and thought as much as you the world would never get anything done.” She turned and looked at him,
“Vestil, my dear Vestil, if we were all so apt to work as you should then we would have no fun.”
“Fun or not the garden isn’t going to weed itself.” With that Vestil flew off to his nest and went right back to bed. Vestil was being unnaturally cross, but, as with most ravens, it was not all that abnormal for such mood swings. “But,” she thought as she stretched out and stood up, “He’s right” And she went back to tending the garden as thoughts of that fateful night swirled around in her head. The flowers that grew in the ground were plentiful, and the trees grew best here, near the grove. Animals that happened near were happily spoiled by the Isiana or Ashaan, whoever happened to be near at the time. However, everything else in the garden was overshadowed by the large tree that grew in the center, its leaves pale and silvery, and the trunk a light blue. As she worked she started humming, an ancient tune, from a time when magic had been more prevalent in all races and peace had been here. A deep magic was imbued within the song, and as she hummed all the weeds slipped back into the earth, and all evil that was near dissipated. In fact, her own worries disappeared as she hummed, and she began to sing. As magic filled the air, her senses became dulled, and she let the song take her away to until the conclusion. As she sang she failed to notice as eyes, waiting around the edges of the grove, the magic of the song holding them back, but waiting, for the songs end.

[Cartell]

“Move or die.” The harsh shout was yelled at the children, as they were awakening, and yet another day of misery waited. As they waited in the makeshift jail for the shilaken to chain them up them up a small group sat in the middle, talking intently.
“We must move now, some of us can barely stand, let alone run.” This whisper came form a younger boy, light blond hair gracing his head. “Michael, we must act now.” The other boys seemed in agreement until Michael spoke. A tall boy, with reddish hair, he seemed to posses the confidence that others lacked.
“We will wait, Gilthon. We will wait. We are not ready to run, or prepared to survive in the wilderness.” The others looked at Gilthon, waiting for a response, but none came except a nod of concession. It was true, of the eight boys in the circle, only three had any skills in their chosen paths of life. Gilthon was natural born monk, and while his fighting unarmed was his specialty, he was slow, and thus open to attack. Marcus, a short Halfling who had known Michael the longest, was a rogue excellent trap breaking and lock picking but his archery skills left something huge to be desired.. Michael, the unspoken leader of the group, was a paladin, a holy warrior for the god Rafthon. The others, Uthgar, (a Half-Orc) Marie, (A Gnome) Marcel, (another Halfling) and the elven brothers, Adelas and Cecil were all unskilled in the crafts, and thus would, for the time being, be more of a burden then a help in the escape. However, as each village’s children were added the line, they had formed a pact, and together they would get out, or they would all go with the rest of the children to what could quite possibly be there death.
“You eight, lets move it.” A whip cracked and the boys cowered, the shilaken taskmaster was pleased, so pleased that he missed the dangerous looks that passed over the children’s faces. As they walked towards the exit of the fence surrounding the makeshift camp Michael turned to the others,
“We have no choice but to move now. I will stay and defend with Gilthon, since we have the best chance against those monsters, the rest of you would simply get in the way.” A grin lit Gilthon’s face at the prospect of the oncoming fight. As Michael walked through the gate Gilthon screamed in pain, and the shilaken were confused, and for three precious seconds, Michael had an opportunity to bend over and pick up a rock. Which he proceeded to smash into the face of the nearest shilaken, as it fell, he grabbed its weapon, a greatsword, “Now my brothers,” He yelled and hacked down into the oncoming shilaken guards. Gilthon rushed outside, and began systematically beating the guards coming round the east end, while Michael held his own against the remaining shilaken. The six others sprinted out the gate, and began running towards the woods, from which they had come the night before. The clanging of swords, and the thumping of fists, was alarm enough, as the shilaken began pouring towards the two boys, who with the light of battle on their faces, the glory of cause, had become men. The shilaken archers now in place, arrows whizzed by as the party of six raced up the hill. Uthgar, the slowest was the first hit, and with his first misstep a dozen arrows thudded into his back. Marcel screamed as an arrow slammed into his throat, and he too fell. Gilthon yelled in defiance as the more shilaken began pressing in. As he fought his slow lumbering punches knocked creature after creature back, but then for the first time in his life he felt the power of his god enter him, he became like a madman and his heavy fists became speedy as well. Michael was surrounded on all sides, having fought away from Gilthon to give him a chance. All sorts of thoughts raced from his mind as he fought. He had known that he would not survive the escape attempt. His only goal had been to get the others out. He fought like a demon and many shilaken died at his hand. Adelas turned to help Marcel but upon slowing his step he too was killed by an arrow to the chest. “Noooooo,” Cecil turned and screamed at what he saw. His brother’s body, laying over Marcel’s, an arrow in his chest, he felt a familiar sensation, creeping into his limbs, and instead of denying it hold, as he usually did, he accepted it and the magic rushed through his veins. Dark magic from an ancient time flew from his fingertips as fire slammed into the archers. With a twist of his hands he revived their corpses, still burning from his magic, as they assaulted the shilaken nearest them. Gilthon was weakening, no matter how much the power of his god filled him he could not fight eternal, and as he fought he again slowed, a shifty looking shilaken, seeing his chance slipped thought the ranks, dagger held forward preparing to strike. Michael had abandoned all thought, what ever he had been thinking was gone after the first arrow struck him in the leg. Fighting all the more fiercely he was a whirlwind of steel as he cut first one then another then a third in half. But he too was weakening, and his blade also slowed, but he fought on. Cecil had surrendered himself completely to the dark magic. Blue fire lanced first one way, then another, as entire waves of shilaken were blasted into oblivion. Marcus turned, and saw what was happening, unsure of what he was seeing; his first thought was to get Cecil out danger. He crept forward, and grabbed his arm.
“Ahhhhh!” Marcus screamed as blue fire rent his arms. “Cecil!” Cecil turned and upon seeing his burned friend, the magic left him. He picked Marcus up and ran towards Marie. They trio then disappeared into the woods. Michael had fought his way back towards Gilthon. As the two glanced at each other they saw the battle rage mirrored in the others eyes, and they fought on. Then the fighting stopped. The dead were littered around the pair, and the remaining shilaken formed a semi circle around the men, and waited. Michael stood, using the time to gather his energy for a final assault, while Gilthon stood still, meditating to regain his strength.
“You have fought well.” A voice slid over the field like oil, slippery and dark, and though spoken softly all heard. “And so I give you a choice, an honor. I will let you join my ranks, as captains. Or you can die here away from your family, your friends, and your homes.” With this final statement, a black robed figure walked to the front of the ranks, and Michael got his first good look at him. Tall, and muscular, it was obvious, even from under the black robes that this man was not simply a mage, though his robes did suggest otherwise. Long white hair spilled out form beneath the hood. Although inside it was unnaturally black. “So, my little warriors, what will it be, will you accept the hand of friendship offered you, or will you deny my will and suffer the consequences?” Michael breathed heavily, even with the power of Rafthon flowing through his veins the battle had still been taxing. He turned and looked at Gilthon, and saw nothing; turning he saw his friend lying on the ground, a poisoned blade slammed in his side. Gilthon’s head turned, and a small grimace lit his face,
“No.” The simple word broke whatever thoughts Michael had had of accepting the man’s offer. On the ground, Gilthon breathed deeply, one last time, and closed his eyes. Gilthon looked up, a small smile on his face. He whispered a prayer to Rifthon and brought his greatsword to the ready position. His eyes weeping for his friend, he looked at the black cowled figure in the distance, and spit. The figure simply nodded, and a wave of arrows hit him in the chest. Dropping his greatsword, he stood upright, blood pouring from a dozen wounds, arrows sticking out of his sides, chest and legs, and he began to mutter an incantation. Even as his body fell he spoke, until the spell was complete. A circle of light had surrounded both his and Gilthon’s body. At the very least, they could die in peace. Looking up at the sky he gave a final shout and Rafthon took his soul.

Ashaan sprinted forwards, and upon reaching the trio of shilaken, brought both swords down with all his fearsome strength. One of the pike wielding shilaken turned and began stabbing towards Ashaan while his partner fell, two bloody lines, slashed through his chest. Realizing his mistake too late, Ferux leapt upon the last of the pike shilaken, and brought it to the ground. Ashaan adopted a defensive stance and prepared to finish off the remaining shilaken. Ferux had finished the first shilaken and was also menacing the last. As the final shilaken weighed the odds, it deemed them not good enough to attempt. It turned and ran. Ashaan waited then threw his dagger with all the force he could muster. Blood splattered the nearby trees as the final shilaken fell. Turning to Ferux he grimaced as he noticed the large cut that went from shoulder to shoulder.
“That’s a fine souvenir you got there.” Ferux turned, pain mixing with humor in his large eyes,
“Yes, but tis a shame that my master could not receive such a fine present from our shilaken friends as well.”
"O yes, such a shame." Ashaan’s grin disappeared as he turned and saw the damage that the shilaken had caused Greenwood. “Ferux, look at this, the entire village was destroyed. There must have been more shilaken, but why are they working together, shilaken are usually tribal.”
“Look at this Ashaan.” Ashaan walked over to where Ferux was standing. A pile of bodies, lying in heaps,
“O my God, look at this. This doesn’t seem like shilaken at all. And I don’t like how this looks.”
“And Ashaan, where are all the children.” Ashaan looked at Ferux, thoughts swirling through his head, but most of all, if shilaken had killed and burned the village, where were the children???

[Cartell]

(I have come to a bit of an Impasse, and if anyone has any ideas on where to take the story it would be much appreciated. Well enough from me.)

Isiana slowly stopped singing as the song neared its conclusion. She ended and continued humming for a while, lost in the moment before stepping back to look at her garden. Over the course of the hour, the plants had grown, been trimmed and watered. She watched as a mouse skittered across a small garden of flowers. As she looked up she stopped humming, two yellow eyes stared out unblinkingly from the darkness of the surrounding forest. She drew her katana, modified for her, and a little lighter then usual, but just as deadly. Giving a whistle, she watched as Vestil heard and flew down to her shoulder.
“Well, what do you think it is?” She watched out of the corner of her eye as Vestil turned his head to look at her.
“I don’t know, but there are more of them behind us.” On instinct she turned, and saw a dozen pairs of eyes staring at her. As she turned back she noticed the first pair of eyes had disappeared. A sixth sense, one born out of years from living in the forest, warned her, and she dove sideways just as a dark shape threw itself at her. Turning to face it she saw a shad. They were much like werewolves, only forever in the haunted shape, and evil to the core. She called upon the magic nature had granted her and a bolt of lightning creased the night sky, slamming into the shad. Its dead twisted hulk lay there, defaming the beautiful garden it lay in. She spun around, and in dismay, saw herself surrounded by shad, who had taken the time it took for her to kill their kin and moved in. She was surrounded.
“Vestil, get Ashaan, or anyone near, but I need help, fast.” Vestil flew off, a black arrow launching itself towards help, or failure. She summoned two proud black bears, who came lumbering out of the darkness, bowling over a few shad on their way to sit by her side. Communicating with them, she described her desire, and they turned, prepared to help her fight. The onslaught was came quickly, and Isiana felt herself attacked on all sides, her katana a blur as she mostly defended herself. Unable to attack she settled with stopping all attacks on her, and let the bears, massacre any shad who came near. She ducked and a particularly brave shad flew right over head, into the claws of one of the bears. Getting between the bears, she found herself safe for the moment, and yelled out the words necessary to summon an ice storm. Great blue pieces of ices flew down from the heavens and smashed the remaining shad into pieces. Walking over to the first bear she whispered a healing spell, and it groggily stood up. She thanked them and sent them off, still nervous about possible attack, but unwilling to endanger natures creatures anymore then necessary. She stumbled over to the druid tree, bleeding from several large gashes and bites, and began to bind herself with a healing pack. As she worked she wondered, and foremost in her mind was the question, where had the shad come from, there were no shad in her forest, and she and her husband had wiped them out upon arriving. And then it hit her, and why were they working together, shad were solitary figures, fighting if they even got too close, and unable to work together. The thoughts swam around in her head as she waited for her husband to arrive.

Darkness had fallen quickly upon the world, and the three runaways had found it increasingly difficult to move as they stumbled on through the forest. Not a single one of them had escaped unharmed, and Marcus in particular was close to death. The fire had devastated his arms, and he found it took all his strength to keep moving, and to not scream with pain every time his arm moved slightly. He finally admitted to himself that he could not go much farther, and he yelled up to Cecil and Marie,
“I have to stop, I’m going to collapse if we keep moving, and it doesn’t help that my bloody arms are so useless.” He yelled this last part mostly because of helplessness, but it was also accompanied with a glaring look at Cecil. Cecil’s eyes were sunken, his body pale, and his bones showing through his body. In the few hours his body seemed to have become weak, and despair showed in his green eyes. He walked over to Marcus and looked at him,
“Do you think that I haven’t thought, haven’t suffered over what happened.” His eyes sunk deeper into his face as he talked, “I know, I should have told you all about the magic, but I had no choice.” As he talked on he seemed no longer to be explaining himself to Marcus, but instead was rationalizing to himself. “Michael would never have accepted me had he known, after all he was a paladin, sworn to uphold all things righteous and just. And here I was the half-blood spawn of a demon. I would still be locked up there with the rest of the children.” With this he seemed to stand taller and looked at Marcus, this time no apology in his eyes. “I did what I deemed necessary to survive. None of you would have done any different in my position. So do not judge me!” Marcus, and Marie both looked surprised at this entire revelation, and Marcus was the first to speak,
“You are a demon-child, from legend?” There was no longer rage, but a mixture of fear and loathing. Marie looked just as shocked, and simply stood behind Marcus. Cecil turned back around and looked at Marcus,
“Yes, but you have nothing to fear from me, friend. I have it under control, although if the need arises, I can make use of my cursed half. We that he reached forward, and grabbed Marcus by the arms. The sounds of his incantations were blocked out by Marcus screams of pain as his arms slowly rebuilt themselves. Marcus stared down in shock and slowly moved his arm. There was no pain. “I have fixed what damage I wrought, however you will never be as strong as you were. My magic is very powerful, when uncontrolled. You were lucky to be alive. A lesser man would have been killed the minute he came into contact with the power held within me.” Marcus gave a small grin as he flexed his painless arms,
“It’s okay, I was mostly just mad about the pain, but tell me, do you know which demon is your father? He cannot be that evil if his heritage grants you healing powers as well.” Cecil gave Marcus a sad smile. When we make camp I will tell you the story, and then you may decide if you wish to keep traveling with me. Marcus nodded and they walked off into the night.

[BlueSky]

just discovered your thread. Liked the little bit I've read so far ...am going to print out so I can read it all...

keep it up....working in a library , I have an appreciation for budding writers.

[Cartell]

(Out of the Impasse )

As the fire crackled warmly they went about setting up their camp. Marcus and Marie had set their shelters up on one side with Cecil’s on the other side of the fire. After they finished setting up, they lay around the fire, again the fire between them and Cecil. Marcus looked at Cecil, a new appreciation for the Elf in his eyes. Cecil looked back and nodded.
“Yes, I know it is time for me to tell my tale. I will understand if you do not wish to travel with me after hearing it, but to not tell you would to be far too dishonest. So you all know who the five kings of misery were correct?” Marie looked up at this, and spoke for the first time since having seen her love, Marcel, shot down.
“They were the five demon kings of old, but they were defeated by a hero, weren’t they?”
“That is what the history books will tell you, but what they leave out is that the hero was killed in the fight.” Marie again spoke up, “That can’t be, and he helped rebuild civilization.” Cecil looked at her crossly,
“I will tell you the story only if you stop interrupting me.” She nodded, and Cecil continued,
“Let me take you back to the time of the gods, when demons and men roamed the earth.”

“My mothers name was Illsamhel; she was an ancient elf, and a sorcerer of great power. As she delved deeper into the arts of conjuring, she began to descend down into necromancy. She quickly asserted herself as one of the more formidable necromancers, amassing an army of undead in months, and proving herself a driving force, even once the Necro-wars began. She joined in the war, and found herself allied with one of the ancient lich kings, Wasterans. He betrayed her early in the campaign, and took command of her army. As she lay dying, the ancient demon, Kastashakch came to her and offered her demonship, and life, if only she would give him part of her power. That’s when you are powerful, when you lay dying, and a demon lord still only desires part of your power. She was so corrupted, that she accepted, and he brought her back. With the Necro-wars over, humanity had thought itself safe. Kastashakch changed that. With in the course of three years he and my mother had begotten five demonic sons. In truth they were only demi-demons, but they were still vastly more powerful then the humans of the day. When a demon lord impregnates one of his vassals, in this case my mother, a sacrifice is needed to insure that the child will inherit his father’s characteristics. The quality of the sacrifice also determines the power of the son. Five men of ancient kingly lines were sacrificed. The fact that their father had been a demon of lower stature, along with the fact that a human sacrifice is a weak one, and so they only merited the demi-demons. Thus the Five Kings of Misery were born. They quickly took over the five remaining mortal settlements, and took the shape of those they ruled. Elves, Men, Dwarves, Shilaken, and Gnomes, one those five Shilaken, were the only ones who accepted the rule, and flourished in it. And then came the time when Kastashakch needed to reagents to rule over the five kings in his name. So he came and impregnated my mother, and sacrificed two demons of high stature, to insure their ultimate strength. The first son, Jïaghtrul took after his father, cruel imperious and dedicated to the cause of evil. I, Kertül, the second was different. I had through some miraculous occurrence, inherited his mothers conscience. Not through any action of hers, no she was fully committed to the cause of Kastashakch, but through a fluke. And so I assumed my position readily, along with him, and I did horrible things, awful things, all of which I am ashamed. But I then learned of a Hero, by the name of Fildran. Fildran had assumed command of the humans, and made alliances with all the races save the shilaken, and a revolution was born. The revolt ran its course, and a final battle was prepared. The five Kings of Misery, The two reagents, and my mother led the Shilaken army, and the four other kingdoms, helped by the Half-ors, and lesser races, were led by Fildran. As we fought I noticed a stray arrow struck Fildran. The irony of such a great leader being killed through an accident, and the rebels began to falter; I saw this and turned on shilaken. Blasting my mother with fire, I killed her, and then proceeded to kill the remaining of the five kings, two of whom had been killed by Fildran’s blade. What a warrior he was. The leadership of the shilaken was broken, yet so was my spirit. I had killed my half-brothers, and my mother. And so I used my magic to give my life energy to Fildran, and died. My brother disappeared and was never found. I however, was reborn. A part of my magic was such that if I gave my life to one who had died, I would be reborn. And so I made it my purpose, my oath to find and eliminate evil where it was needed I changed my name to Cecil, and took the form of an Elf. I became for all intents and purposes, a paladin. Ironic isn’t it, the greatest evil force of the time, and he is a paladin sworn to destroy evil. I have died, and been reborn many times, my life has graced many men, and saved many more. I will continue until I find my brother, Jïaghtrul and kill him.”

Cecil looked weary as he stopped speaking, and his breathing was heavy, “I am sorry, this story takes much out of me, and the retelling is painful.” Marcus and Marie, just looked at him, and Marie spoke first,
“So, do you know were he is?” Cecil looked at her for a while before speaking,
“I believe he is the masked man who leads this new force of shilaken, and I also believe he will try to take over the world again, and thus recreate the kingdoms of old. I intend to stop it.” Marcus spoke, looking down at the fire, measuring his words carefully,
“So you are a demons son, sworn to kill another demon son, and one who has killed his half-brothers and mother.” He looked up at Cecil now face to face, “Why did you mention this earlier, perhaps then Michael, and Gilthon, and Marcel, and all the others would be here!” The last words were shouted, and Marcus was on his feet. “You fasdreth,” Marie flinched at the insult, “Why should we keep you with us, if you won’t even use your powers.” Cecil simply nodded and took the insult.
“If I use my powers too much, they evolve, and become more evil in nature. I use them only in the direst of circumstances, or when I am surprised and they become unleashed. Seeing my brother Adelas, however temporary a brother he was dead, caused my powers to be unleashed.” Marcus walked back and forth, as he listened to this and he walked to the edge of the light of the fire. After a few moments he slowly walked back hanging his head, As if ashamed of the tears that streaked through the grime on his hardened face, “I just with they were with us.” He sat down and Marie walked over to him, and gave him a hug. Cecil took watch the whole night, and Marie held Marcus until dawn.

[Cartell]

Ashaan moved slid silently behind a tree as at the first sign of fire. A small glow lit the clearing ahead, and he nodded to Ferux. Ferux slinked off to the right, and prepared to check it out. He moved left, and drew his dagger. He saw two small shapes sleeping close by the fire, and nothing else nearby. He crept forward a gnome and a Halfling. Why would they be here? His forest was everything but hospitable and there was no reason for them to be here. He was preparing to step forward when he felt a blade slide into his back,
“FERUX!” He had time to get a single scream as the poison raced towards his heart. Feeling blackness slid towards him from all sides, he went limp and dropped, unconscious before he hit the ground.
The first sense to return was touch, the rough dirt under his back, the aching pain in his side, and the constant pounding in his head. The rope chafed at his wrists telling him that he was tied up. Smell was next in returning, with the choking smell of smoke hitting him. The regular smells of the forest were blocked out by the smell of smoke. The stench of blood was overpowering, and as he felt the wetness of his shirt near the pain in his side, he figured it was his own. He slowly eased open one eye, and using his peripheral vision, tried to examine his surroundings. He also saw two people, most likely the gnome and Halfling from the fire. His mind foggy, he tried to contact Ferux, but was met with an impenetrable wall around his mind. The sun shining in his face was blocked; He shut his eyes, hoping to continuing faking unconsciousness.
“I know you’re awake, I felt your mind try to reach out. No doubt an animal companion. Am I right ranger?” Ashaan eyes opened and he stared into the glare of an Elven man who, it appeared, was powerful in the arts of magic. Anyone capable of blocking him from Ferux was powerful indeed. “Don’t bother denying it, I wouldn’t have thought you a rogue, but when your mind reached out, I knew.” The face was rough, about three days worth of beard grew from his face. This harsh visage did little to improve his disposition, and he became worried about who had captured him. “So, what shall we do with ranger?” The elf tilted his head, and gave a little grin, “I guess we’ll have to see what my friends say won’t we?” The elf walked away, towards the two others, and left Ashaan’s immediate vision. His mind wandered, all the time wondering who could have possibly snuck up on him.

“Marcus, Marie.” Cecil walked away from Ashaan and shook them both awake. Marie was up first and she was also the first one to spy Ashaan.
“Who is he?” “Marcus was fully alert now, as the sight of a stranger had his weapon out before his mind analyzed everything he saw. Cecil smiled and simply motioned at the ropes. Marcus sheathed his blade, rage on his face. Cecil saw this, and spoke before Marcus had time to beat their newly acquired “guest”
“He is not a threat, nor is he in anyway responsible for the death of our friends.” With this he turned to Ashaan and spoke so he could hear as well, “Well, we all await your story my dear elf, and chose your words carefully. If I so much as sense another attempt to contact your “pet” I will not react kindly.” Ashaan rolled around until he was sitting up against a tree, and tried speak,
“My name is Ashaannahtel Feteel. I am a ranger; I am married to the druid Isiana. Together we tend for this forest, and the Nymph grove bequeathed to us many years earlier.” He spoke quickly, noting the fury that still remained on the Halflings face, and whose name was apparently Marcus. “I was called to Greenwood to help with some problem the local people were having. I arrived and discovered a small tribe of shilaken. They are dead now.” A small grin lit on his face as he remembered the feeling that killing those evil creatures had produced. “I was on my way home when I saw the fire; I was worried, and was waiting to see who was there, that is, until your friend here ambushed me.” This last part was spoken to Marcus and Marie. He then returned to speaking to Cecil. “I never though that I would see the day when I would be ambushed. I congratulate you…”
“Cecil.”
“I congratulate you Cecil.” This was spoken with obvious respect to his skill. “So, if you could untie me and un-hold my mind, I would happily leave you alone and continue home to my wife.” Cecil looked hard at him and nodded. His pack appeared in front of his feet, and the ropes untied themselves. Ashaan’s eyes went wide at the display of magic. Cecil laughed,
“It is not as hard as one would think, especially for one of my power.” From any other mouth this would have been arrogant, but something in the way the elf held himself, made it seem depressing, and something not to be talked about. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer he questioned the trio as he picked up his pack,
“So that’s my story, might I hear yours?” The question was answered with, if not outright hostility then at least a discouraging gaze from Cecil.
“Perhaps, when I get to know you better.” Ashaan nodded, and started the long trek home. Before he left the clearing he turned around and spoke,
“Do you all want to come with me? I could the use the company, and besides you owe me. I need protection, and after all you did stab with poison.” The three escapees looked undecided, and Ashaan spoke again, “Besides, my wife is an amazing cook, and I’m sure your hungry, I can see you have little food.” Cecil motioned to wait with hand, and pulled the other aside.
“I think we should take his offer. If he wishes us harm, I can handle him, and besides, we can use as many allies as possible. I say we go.”
“I think we should go too, mostly because we need supplies.” Marcus looked at the two of them and nodded.
“I say we go as well. We should see if we can recruit that man and his wife, extra help is always useful.” Completely in agreement they turned and walked over to Ashaan, and followed him into the depths of the forest. As they walked Ashaan called out to Ferux, looking for any sign of him. It wasn’t until nearly midday that Ferux answering call was heard, and it was a call for help. Ashaan warned his travelers and began running, shouting for Ferux, with all that his voice could muster. Sick of the danger, and of having been separated for so long, the shouts alone would have stopped a demon in his tracks, as Ashaan, ignoring the reopening of his dagger wound, tackled a shad as it lunged toward an injured Ferux, guarding Vestil. Using all of his considerable skill, the warrior in him overpowered his rogue side, and he began beating the shad bare handed, anger spilled across his face like the scar that was already there. Bloodlust came upon him, forged in the fires of his pain at almost losing Ferux twice and he lost his senses. The shad that he had tackled had long since fled, and he had killed two. His hand was black and blue from the fearsome beating they had given, and he bled freely from an awesome gash and his left leg. The final shad was knocked against a tree, and Ashaan picked up a stick and slammed it through the creature’s heart. He stood there, anger empowering him, helping him, and coursing through his veins. Cecil had wisely kept the others back and watched, concern on his face, as Ashaan had lost his mind. As he slowly came back he walked towards Ferux, and the rough and tumble embrace that followed was filled with love. He slowly stood up, and walked towards Cecil and the others, limping now that he finally felt the pain of his wound,
“I am sorry you had to see that. I have never felt the power of the Bloodlust before, though it was said to have run through my family.” He winced as he tried to pick up his pack with his brutalized hands. Marie helped heave it onto his back. He thanked her and turned to Vestil, “Vestil, where is Isiana?” The raven flew up to a nearby limb and started to speak,
“She was attack by shad. She is alive, and waiting for you to return, but she is wounded, I fear she may even now be dead. If they attacked again she will be unable to fight. We must hurry.” With that he flew off towards the grove. Having heard what the raven said, Cecil, Marcus, and Marie needed no explanation but ran as swiftly as Ashaan as they sprinted off towards home. The tree’s all around him blurred as he ran and landmarks so familiar to him were unnoticed objects, his single objective to get to his wife as quickly as possible. All of his ranger skill went into keeping his footing as he ran around trees, over rocks, and through streams in a single blind charge towards fate.

[Cartell]

(Sorry this is so short, The previous post ran over the chracter limit so I had to post some of it in a different post.)

Isiana was backed against the nymph tree, holding her hands up threateningly, with sparks of magic tingling just at the tips of her fingers. She was working as hard as she could to work the magic that would awaken the tree, and protect her from harm. Her mind shot to years ago when the nymph had taught her the incantation. She repeated it again and again, all the while with shad advancing towards her. She was beyond hope, and a driving determination drove her, and she chanted aloud as she prayed desperately for the help of the gods. As the shad leapt for her, time froze; the thought frozen on her mind was the irony of a druid, a nature worshipper praying to the gods. She watched as the shad, claws outstretched, was knocked aside by an arrow. She turned and saw an elf, who had a bow in hand, knock another arrow to his string and let fly, this one nailed the shad’s throat, killing it. Ashaan sprinted down the hill and embraced his wife. She was crying, the shock from her near-death an assault on her senses.
“It’s okay, I’m here Isiana. Don’t worry.” He walked her over to the tree and sat here down, and began tending to her wounds. Cecil calmly walked down the hill, as Marie and Marcus checking the perimeter for any enemies. They pair returned and told Cecil that the perimeter was safe. He walked over to Ashaan and Isiana,
“There are no more shad right now. The area directly surrounding us is safe.” Isiana looked at him, confusion in her eyes. Ashaan noticing the look, called over Marcus and Marie,
“Introductions are needed, Isiana, these three are here for a while to recover from, who knows what. They are Marcus, Marie, and he is Cecil.” Cecil, bent low and spoke,
“It is an honor Isiana. We hope to stay for a while and re-supply, and we promise we will be gone within the week.” Overwhelmed with everything that had happened; she slipped away, and let the blackness take her. Ashaan covered her with a blanket, and started watch with Cecil.

[Cartell]

(Sorry it's been a while, I had a lot of school work on my hands. But, here you go.)


Morning broke over the tops of the trees with a childlike enthusiasm. Its brilliance was only matched by the brutality of the combat going on next to the grove.
“Attack” Marcus screamed as a large man bowled him over, and then turned, a weapon in his hand, and a long vicious gash that started along his shoulder ran down his chest until it hit his kneecap. As soon as he had turned, four hunched shapes came after him. Burned beyond recognition by their stay in hell, the demonic beings had also been empowered by their brief stint in the lake of fire. Three times the strength of a normal man, they were also impervious to heat, and their fire burned skin was so tough that it offered protection like leather. Once humans, they were know bent in service to Kastashakch. As the reached the grove, they slowed and conferred to each other in tongues known only to their demonic brethren. The man, who had bowled Marcus over was now looking at him and Marie, and the rest of the group as the assembled behind them.
“I’ll take the two on the left, you five take the rest.” He hefted his weapon up, which was now shown to be a smoothed down pole. Around three and a half feet long, it was an inch thick in diameter, and was smoothed down, its ends were flat, the man held it like a sword with one hand, the other hand hanging loosely by his side. Cecil taking command of his small band, had Ashaan and Marcus in front, sword and dagger held high, while he Isiana and Marie sat in back magic readied. Cecil held his demonic magic at bay, ignoring its seductive lure, as he readied the magic that his own Elven heritage provided him with. Marie called up several healing spells, ready to be cast with the twitch of a wrist. Isiana called up the earth, the trees, and the sky, and her party was protected with spells. The hellspawn, noticed the enlarging of the force in front of them and finished conversing in their harsh tongues, the slid into two groups, two moving confidently towards the ragtag group led by Cecil, with the remaining two moving more cautiously towards the stranger who had started this battle. With a roar the man leapt forward bringing his shortened staff crashing against the stomach of one of the hellspawn. Marcus watched in awe as the bone-crushing blow knocked three hundred pounds of burned flesh into a tree. Diverting his view from the awesome spectacle that was to his left, he readied his short sword as he prepared to do his share for the battle. Cecil conjured a shard of ice, and launched it at the enemy. It moved too slowly and the shard slammed through one of the hellspawn's arm pinning it to a tree. The second launched a ball of fire, with slammed into a distracted Cecil. Marie quickly cast a healing spell and he got back on his feet.
“Ashaan, Marcus, Now!” The duo leapt forward, and began a vicious assault on the unpinned foe. Working in tandem, they struck from one side then another, in deadly dance of blades. Unhindered by the cuts the creature swung a burned arm and finally caught Ashaan in the face. Knocked backwards, he screamed, for the touch of the creature from hell had reacted with the burns that marred his face and the pain was unbearable. He fell unconscious and lay near the druid tree.
“Ashaaaaaaaan” Isiana’s scream rent the morning air, as she ran full tilt towards her husband, ignoring the battle. She ran right past the hellspawn, who with a deft flick slammed her right next to her husband, and as blood poured from the slash she received, she blacked out. Marcus was fighting a losing defensive battle as the other creature had unpinned itself. Both came forward, and it was all he could do to keep their deadly claws from his throat. Another icicle slammed into the chest of one of the creatures, and Marie, cast defensive buff after buff. Fighting a losing battle they struggled on, knowing they had little hope, but that was all they had. To their left, the battle raged much differently.
The man brought his pole up, and slammed it into the shoulder of a hellspawn, bringing it to the ground. He then slammed his pole straight through its chest. He pulled it up, and turned to face the last hellspawn. Deciding the odds were not to its liking, it turned, and started to run away.
“Today hellspawn, you do not get away!” He roared it, and as Marcus turned to ask for help against the unrelenting onslaught he witnessed one of the most amazing feats of strength he had ever seen. Responding to the challenge the hellspawn had turned around. As it turned the man threw his rough hewn pole with all his might. Its blunted end slammed through the creature, and pinned it to the tree. He walked up to it, pulling it out, he then spun and slammed it against the creatures head, smashing it into the tree. Where the hellspawn’s head had once been there was a dent in the tree, the head shattered. Marcus was jarred from the scene as he was slashed, a deep cut on his arm. Losing blood he began to weaken, and even Marie could not save him. A sudden blast of blue fire hit the hellspawn, but it shrugged off the even the demonic flames. However, realizing the greater danger it turned away from Marcus who lay weakly sword held up in a defensive position, and hurled balls of deep red fire towards Cecil, leaping lithely out of harms way, the bolts whizzed by and slammed into the druid tree. Realizing their mistake, the two hellspawn stopped fighting and ran, as the ancient magic that warded the grove became active. Rippling through the earth, the wind, the grass, the trees, and all living things, it was an old magic, in place since the beginning of time, in place to ward against the destruction of the grove. The ancient magic ripped through the retreating hellspawn, shredding them completely. Slumping down, Cecil lay still as Marie tried desperately to help him. The Druid magic had also felt the evil that burned within him. It began destroying him, its sole purpose to save the garden. Cecil lay dying, the magic assaulting him, and yet slowly it began to stop. He turned weakly and right before he passed out, saw that the druid tree was burning, and whatever magic held within dissipated, and then all was black.

[Cartell]

Sorry about the wait, I've been playing Guild Wars
(Surprisingly addicting ) but here we go.

Captain Gaius stood in silence as he watched the fires burning on the field in front of him. The walls he stood on had always seemed impenetrable, but in the face of the great that lay camped on the plains in front of him his faith wavered. But he held his continence for the sake of his soldiers who needn't see his fear. Walking towards the stairs down him held his head high, pride filling his face. For as he passed the soldiers on the walls he saw no fear. He was sure that doubts were held inside the hearts of these men, but courage came in facing those doubts and persevering. And why should they be afraid, they were the soldiers of Merchire, strong, brave, proud men. He smiled to himself as he thought about his home town. Built near one of the trade routes, it had originally been a small outpost. It was a place to hire mercenaries, and over the time the sign hade weathered, till Mercenaries for Hire had been gone, and only Merc Hire had remained. By that point the outpost had grown and had become a town. Holding to their pride in what they were, the name Merchire was taken right from the sign. For 50 years his ancestors had defended this town with ferocity worthy of the ancient Spartans of Greece. Spurning walls they had relied on the might of their militia, and a potent militia it was. They remained unbeaten, unconquered, denying allegiance to any king, and they stopped every attack. It took the full might of the Necro-wars, to bring us down. The pride of the Merchirens had taken a beating that day. A wall had been deemed necessary once the town was repopulated, and a ten year project had been begun. It had been finished a mere two months ago, and only weeks before the arrival of this hellish force that besieged his beloved city. But he held on to hope, for with walls, he was sure that his army could hold up to any assault that the enemy would throw at them. As he walked back towards the barracks, he worried, for his army had never quite faced an army of such...Hellish dimensions.


Groaning in pain, Cecil slowly opened his eyes. The sun blinded him, and only increased the pain that slammed again and again into his head.
"Cecil!" He felt, rather then heard Marie's scream of joy, and his head pounded even harder. "Thank Kiras, you are ok, we feared the worst. You have been out for two days." Grinning she stood up and yelled to Marcus. Cecil grimaced,
"Dear Marie, could you try to control your excitement. I doubt my head can survive any more verbal assaults." Smiling she closed her mouth and grasped his hand.
"So, you look stronger then I thought." Marcus walked towards Cecil, with gruffness in his voice, but his eyes smiling. Cecil, gave a small laugh and welcomed his companions.

"Welcome to the land of the living elf-friend." hearing a strange voice he turned and saw the bear of a man that had fought with them against the hell-spawn. "Glad to see that you lived, I would hate see such a powerful friend killed." He grinned. "My name is Arges." He said this loudly so even the approaching Ashaan and Isiana could hear. "I have been hunting and killing those demon spawn for weeks, but four was too much for even me. But what of you, who are you all." The voice was deep and rough, yet there was a friendly quality in it, and a sadness hidden deep within. Ashaan and Isiana had walked next to Cecil greeted him, yet they held themselves with great sadness. They were mourning the loss of their grove, of that which had been beloved.
“Hello Cecil, I am glad to see you unharmed.” Isiana’s voice floated across the lawn as she stood a few feet away from Cecil, “I am happy that that the magic of our grove did not kill you in it’s waning hours.” Marie, sensing Isiana’s pain walked over to her and held her as she stood with tears in her eyes. Ashaan stood near his wife but did not heed her tears. Bring the full brunt of his gaze to Cecil, he walked over to him and whispered in his ear,
“I want to go with you when you leave to whatever quest it is that you and your friends desire. I cannot stay here, but my wife will need to. She shall stay, and apparently so shall Marie.” As he said this he looked aver at his wife’s sobs and the little gnome who stood right by comforting her. “But I will go, and so will Marcus. We have decided to follow you, wherever you go. Marcus and I decided this while we were still unconscious, but we waited for your input to decide if we would take Arges with us. We know nothing about him.” Cecil slowly eased his way to his feet. Grimacing, he spoke to the circle of people that stood by and waited. His voice carried and seemed filled with power, but at the same time sympathy. “Isiana, you have endured a pain far greater then many mortals could bear. I ask no greater task of you. Marie, I ask that you stay and comfort Isiana for she will need your company in the months to come.” His voice became harder, and he directed himself to the rest of the group. “Ashaan, you may of course come to with Marcus and I, we could use the extra sword. And Arges.” Hearing his voice, the rough, bearded face turned towards Cecil’s smooth one. “If you so desire, you may accompany us all, I ‘m sure there will be plenty chance for killing.” Arges, grinned and in his deep rough voice, spoke slowly, “I will come with you” Raising his arm high he gave a deep battle cry, his shout striking deep bowels of all close, and thus with the party concluded, they set out for the settlement of Merchire, to try and find others to join their cause. As they walked away from the ashes of the grove, Isiana and Marie turned and went inside. Cecil thoughts flew unbidden, the worst fear that rose however, was the battle that would come four warriors against so many foes.