Unti Family/Nerta/A5S1: Difference between revisions
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|Sender=Nerta the Weaver | |Sender=Nerta the Weaver | ||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Old Gods | |Recipients=Everyone in the Old Gods | ||
|Content=Nerta hadn't fought like this since [[Unti Family/Nerta/A2S4|Seven Rivers]], when the dead had stretched to the horizon and only Bob had dared join in battle. Bob and..... '''Jacinda'''. | |Content=Nerta hadn't fought like this since [[Unti Family/Nerta/A2S4|Seven Rivers]], when the dead had stretched to the horizon and only Bob had dared join in battle. Bob, Mielba and..... '''Jacinda'''. | ||
The memory earns the next zombie a vicious stab while claws scrabble at the shield and wolves howl. | The memory earns the next zombie a vicious stab while claws scrabble at the shield and wolves howl. | ||
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|Sender=Soren Navaar | |Sender=Soren Navaar | ||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Old Gods | |Recipients=Everyone in the Old Gods | ||
|Content=Soren absently wondered who would mess with their own realm’s road signs. Instead of going home through Yipinalke from the tournament, he had gotten turned around and gone north during a bout of fog. A trick played by the | |Content=Soren absently wondered who would mess with their own realm’s road signs. Instead of going home through Yipinalke from the tournament, he had gotten turned around and gone north during a bout of fog. A trick played by the Mist Walker if he had ever seen one. A sigh as he ran a hand through dark hair and looked up at the sky. I may as well keep going, he decided. Go the long way home, or turn around and risk trouble with more border guards. He had already hidden his livery and was passing through as a well armed bard. For the tournament, he had taken the spear on his back, and at his hip was his sword. | ||
Silence filled the air, as if something had stirred driving the wildlife away. Ignoring the signs, and bored by himself, he decided to hum and fill the empty air. Each note crept a little louder than the last, subtly at first, until Soren’s lips quirked into a smile and he started, singing as they rode along until his voice echoed over the land. | Silence filled the air, as if something had stirred driving the wildlife away. Ignoring the signs, and bored by himself, he decided to hum and fill the empty air. Each note crept a little louder than the last, subtly at first, until Soren’s lips quirked into a smile and he started, singing as they rode along until his voice echoed over the land. | ||
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Flashing a grin at Nerta, the feeling of relief lighting up his face, as he pulled her free from the last creature and cut it down. "You had better not die on me, Nerta." | Flashing a grin at Nerta, the feeling of relief lighting up his face, as he pulled her free from the last creature and cut it down. "You had better not die on me, Nerta." | ||
|Title=Count of Seven Rivers | |Title=Count of Seven Rivers | ||
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|colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | |||
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|Type=Roleplay | |||
|Sender=Nerta the Weaver | |||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Old Gods | |||
|Content=The bard's grin is repaid with a scowl as Nerta shoves him aside to assist Balin. | |||
"This is like Seven Rivers." | |||
A claw glancing off chitin, she sweeps the spear through the shamblers on the left flank of the crimson haired man. | |||
"There must be a commander. Someone working for the Sunken Kingdom.". | |||
|Title=[[Melhed/Foederati|Foederati]] | |||
}}</center> | |||
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|colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | |||
|Width=100% | |||
|Type=Roleplay | |||
|Sender=Balin de Chaol Ghleann | |||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Old Gods | |||
|Content=This was a battle like no other that Balin had ever been in. The dead kept coming, and were overwhelming their skill with sheer numbers. Dead arms grabbed at him from every direction, while the woman was grappling with multiple shambling corpses, her spear on the ground. Balin knew he could not reach her in time. Perhaps the end had finally come. He felt a pity no one was there to watch it and write about the the glorious death these followers of the Old Gods would earn this day. | |||
Suddenly, a new voice joined the cacophony, and singing none-the-less. Just as he looked towards the direction the song could be heard, he saw a young noble with dark hair and grey piercing eyes, burst through the ranks of the foul creatures, smashing into the undead that were attacking the woman. Hope returned as the woman flung off the dead creatures pinning her down, and picked up her spear. He was momentarily stunned as he he heard the noble refer to the pale woman as Nerta - the leader of the church. A grin formed on his face. Of course! This would explain her prowess in battle and why she was here looking over the new temple in Bessimir. He was brought out of his thoughts as a fleshy dead fist missing a few fingers connected to his helmed head, bringing his focus back to the battle. He roared as he smashed the owner into the ground with his war hammer. | |||
Balin then heard Nerta mention an undead commander, and he looked to the left flank where she pointed. She was right, the shambling corpses had no faculties of their own, and only did the bidding of their commanders.As he looked closely to the left flank, he saw a figure up on a skeletal horse starring down at them with cold blue eyes. Hope rose in his chest. He pointed excitedly with his war-hammer and shouted, "Up there! On that horse!" | |||
But the momentary hope quickly faded as reality struck and he saw the rows upon rows of undead filling the space between their small party and the commander. Although there were three of them, he could not see an end to the dead and knew that even with the new noble joining in the fray, it would just be time before they all three fell. It was ironic that a bard should join this battle, the very person he wished was here to observe and write songs about this glorious death, yet he too would be fated to join them in the afterlife. He knew in his heard that they would not be able to make their way up where the commander stood unmoving, and pierced them with icy blue eyes filled with hatred. Balin spoke a short prayer, readied his weapon and prepared to die. | |||
Just as Balin roared defiantly, he was surprised to hear loud howls surrounding their little group, accompanied by low growls and snarls, and terrifying sounds of snapping of teeth, bones breaking and flesh being torn apart. He stood there stunned trying to understand what was happening. And as he stood there, he saw the undead part, as if a great sea was being separated into two, a path forming straight up towards the commander. He gaped in wonder at the widening path. | |||
From the top of the church, an small brown owl watched with interest as on the left flank of the great battle, large wolves with massive jaws and sharp teeth bit, smashed and tugged at the undead, pulling them apart, and forming what looked to be a path up the hill. The owl didn't understand what it was seeing, but it watched nonetheless for it had never seem such events before and likely it never will again. | |||
|Title=Count of Bessimir, Priest of the Old Gods | |||
}}</center> | |||
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| [[File:DeathKnight.jpg|center|200 px]] | |||
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|colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | |||
|Width=100% | |||
|Type=Roleplay | |||
|Sender=Nerta the Weaver | |||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Old Gods | |||
|Content=Nerta’s spear slices through another shambler on Balin’s flank as the roaring man smashes a pair with shield and hammer. Breath steaming as the howl goes up from the woods, the woman cracks a grim smile. | |||
“I think you’re right Old Man, the Gods ''are'' watching.” | |||
Her grey cloak snaps as Nerta springs past Balin, and her spear swings through an arc to sweep a zombie into the waiting jaws of a wolf. | |||
“Come on! Time for a real fight!” | |||
As zombie guards are mauled by snarling wolves the imperious death knight pulls on the reins and lashes at the hounds of the Wolf Lord. His skeletal steed rears up to display the standard of the [[Sunken Kingdom|Dread Necromancer]], before thundering down the growing corridor. As the death knight closes those baleful blue eyes flicker to witchfire green and the black blade ignites. | |||
“[[Unti Family/Aldo|ALDO!]] Necromancer!” | |||
The galloping horse seems to move beyond the font of power as something drags away the greenish glow. Hunting for its master, the death knight twists around as Nerta first springs off a falling zombie, and then the back of the wolf biting it. | |||
Like a thunderbolt, Nerta's lance pierces plate and unseats the thing. But the champion felt no pain and the black blade flashes even as they fall. Nerta catches the blow with a hand but the death knight is too strong and blood bubbles between chitin as the pair crash to the ground. | |||
Nerta screams as the thing tears the blade free for another swing. Abandoning the spear, she leaps back as the blade slices through her cloak instead of her side. Cradling an arm she draws knives as the shadow of the death knight rises and blood splashes in the dirt. | |||
|Title=[[Melhed/Foederati|Foederati]] | |||
}}</center> | |||
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|colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | |||
|Width=100% | |||
|Type=Roleplay | |||
|Sender=Soren Navaar | |||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Old Gods | |||
|Content=Soren snatched up his spear in the ensuing chaos and returned it to his back. The hammer swinging man seemed to have things back under control as Soren cut down a few more dead nearby. Cursed Emperor he thought to himself once more as he deflected a hand axe and sliced through another creature. Nerta had already gone springing ahead. Trusting her to do what she needed to, he continued to hack away at the risen dead as they broke free from the wolves. He was trying to help two people at once, and it split his attention. | |||
A fist collided with his side, knocking the air from his lungs as he turned and cut down the dead creature. It was only a matter of time before the divided attention got him killed. He knew he should just go back and help the other person clear up the dead. | |||
The plan broke off before he had even taken a step back as Nerta screamed. Without a second thought, the bard rushed in her direction, cutting through a pair of skeletal creatures as he ran to stand beside her. She looked to be injured, but still ready to fight. That's just like her, he thought to himself. Leveling his blade at the death knight, he growled and prepared to fight. "Let's see how you like daimon steel, you bastard!" The sword he pointed at the creature was passed down from the fourth invasion, a weapon taken from a daimon during the fall of Heen, and it gave off the feeling that it was exactly that. "Nerta, just tell me what you need me to do," he grunted as he blocked the death knight's weapon, and then deflected it away. | |||
|Title=Count of Seven Rivers | |||
}}</center> | |||
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|colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | |||
|Width=100% | |||
|Type=Roleplay | |||
|Sender=Balin de Chaol Ghleann | |||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Old Gods | |||
|Content=Balin recovered quickly from his momentary awe at the path the wolves had created towards the undead commander. Nerta was right, the Old Gods were indeed watching. He saw Nerta rush by him and charge the death knight, and with a loud bellow rushed in after her. He saw her spear pierce deep into the Knight throwing him off of his rotting steed. He rushed in at the knight, trying to take his focus away from the pale woman, as she leapt backwards, trying to dodge the undead's blades that had already bit deeply into her arm. | |||
He ran at the scourge, dropping his shield and holding his war-hammer with two hands, while roaring a defiant challenge. He didn't stop as the undead knight lifted his large swords and sliced at his head aiming to cleave it off in one swoop. Though Balin's short stature had in the past been joked about, today it proved an asset as the large undead simply wasn't used to hitting targets so close to the ground. At the last moment, Balin slid on his knees right under the whistling swords, and came up around the side of the undead warrior, swinging his warhammer in a large arc and smashing it straight into the back of the creature. The blow was so powerful that it knocked the undead onto his knees and arms, stunning it momentarily. | |||
And yet, it was not vanquished. Balin knew that it would take three to slay such a powerful creature, and he was off balance trying to regain his footing as well. He would not recover in time for another blow. The creature was already shaking off the stun and was trying to crawl back on it's feet. Nerta's spear and Balin's warhammer had weakened it greatly, and it was in a vulnerable state, a sliver of the back of his neck open to the sky, while his rotting head was still facing downwards, visible in between the heavy armor and helmet that it was wearing. | |||
Balin looked towards Soren and hoped he would see the opening in time to act. | |||
|Title=Count of Bessimir, Priest of the Old Gods | |||
}}</center> | |||
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|colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | |||
|Width=100% | |||
|Type=Roleplay | |||
|Sender=Nerta the Weaver | |||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Old Gods | |||
|Content=Nerta stands in the shadow of the leering skull as the black blade rises for another swing. Armed with only a knife, she prepares to dodge the looming death, but crashes into the Crystal-Cursed bard. | |||
Eyes wide and wild while Balin barks his challenge, Nerta lets out a hissing chitter. | |||
“By all the Gods!” | |||
As the warhammer crushes the death knight like an avalanche, Nerta shoves Soren toward the toppling giant. | |||
“We don't have time to be fancy. Just hit the thing!” | |||
|Title=[[Melhed/Foederati|Foederati]] | |||
}}</center> | |||
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|colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | |||
|Width=100% | |||
|Type=Roleplay | |||
|Sender=Soren Navaar | |||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Old Gods | |||
|Content=Soren stumbled forward and readied his weapon. "Sorry for thinking there might be an actual plan!" Stalking forward another step, the young knight took on a different demeanor. Years of training drilled into his skull from a young age took over and he side stepped the tumbling creature, bringing the blade down on its back. The ground felt the force of the impact as the creature hit. Not letting up, Soren had already looped his blade around, picking up momentum, and brought it down on the creature's skull, cleaving through helm and head alike. | |||
The ethereal blue light that gave the creature life sputtered before them like a candle buffeted in the wind. A wretched screech rang out from the creature, and around them numerous dead began faltering in response. As their flames guttered out, corpses quickly littered the earth, and the will-o'-wisp grew brighter, the flame steadying as it drew power from its subordinates. Soren brought the blade up once more and drove it through the creature's armor, praying the metal would disrupt the flame's regeneration. Another deafening screech cut through the air, the death knight struggled to get up, failing to even get to its knees with the blade in its back. As it fell back down, the blue light dimmed, faded... The banshee's howl that came next pushed Soren back as the flame scattered into the air. The creature's final death throes sending a cold, clammy shock wave through the area, and then, at last, silence from the thing. | |||
Soren wrenched the blade free and looked between the two. "Do we hunt the master next?" he asked, referring to the Necromancer, and glancing at the wolves finishing the job behind them. | |||
|Title=Count of Seven Rivers | |||
}}</center> | |||
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|colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | |||
|Width=100% | |||
|Type=Roleplay | |||
|Sender=Balin de Chaol Ghleann | |||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Old Gods | |||
|Content=Balin watched with satisfaction as the green light faded from the undead commander's eyes. Soren's blow had hit it's mark true. A deadly spear, an expertly weighted war-hammer and a razor-sharp blade was what it took to fell the death knight. This would be a battle bards would write songs about for years to come. A lucky thing then, that the wielder of the sword just happened to be a bard. | |||
As Balin looked around he noticed that the remaining undead now stood aimless and without purpose, without a commander to instill its will into them. The wolves were making short work of remaining undead, soon after retreating into the forest. Against all odds, the battle had been won. He took a deep breath relishing the crisp air, the life that still hung to his body, placed his warhammer at his back, and turned his attention on his companions. Noticing the blood on Nerta's hard he came closer to her, and clapped her friendly on the back. | |||
"Nerta! We live and breath! I suppose the Old Gods still have need of us." His shoulders shook as he laughed merrily. "Do ya need some help bandaging that wound?" | |||
Had Balin looked up towards the edge of the clearing, where the forest meets green grass, he might have noticed a large grey wolf, with deep piercing eyes, watching the battle end, his snarl looking almost like a grin of satisfaction. He might have seen the wolf bob his head as if in a nod, before turning away and disappearing into the great forest of Bessimir. | |||
|Title=Count of Bessimir, Priest of the Old Gods | |||
}}</center> | |||
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|colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | |||
|Width=100% | |||
|Type=Letter | |||
|Sender=Nerta the Weaver | |||
|Recipients=Personal letter to Dancer Rea | |||
|Content=As the champion crumbles to dust, Nerta's Graft fades with a shuddering twist of pain. Chitin gone, blood flows and Balin’s friendly hand sends Nerta staggering. | |||
“I’ll need bandages and alcohol. The thing hit harder than you.” | |||
Adrenaline wearing off, Nerta almost collapses to the ground cradling her arm. But she nods to the great wolf on the edge of the forest. | |||
“I think we can say the Gods are pleased and if so, who am I to say otherwise? Welcome Guardian Balin. May your hammer always be ready.” | |||
|Title=[[Melhed/Foederati|Foederati]] | |||
}}</center> | |||
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! Vel's Tale | |||
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|Type=Letter | |||
|Sender=Vel the Explorer | |||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Agyrian Academy | |||
|Content= Greetings, | |||
Hello everyone!, I was just passing by in Firbalt before I saw the guild hall and decided to join. I look forward to the correspondence's and the story telling. | |||
Signed | |||
|Title=Adventurer | |||
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|colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | |||
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|Type=Letter | |||
|Sender=Nerta the Weaver | |||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Agyrian Academy | |||
|Content= Hello Vel, | |||
Happy to have you though things have quieted some ever since the Temple was founded. | |||
What sort of things are you interested in learning about, or studying? | |||
|Title=[[Melhed/Foederati|Foederati]] | |||
}}</center> | |||
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|colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | |||
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|Type=Letter | |||
|Sender=Vel the Explorer | |||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Agyrian Academy | |||
|Content=Lady Nerta, | |||
Right now I am doing a tour of the major cities of the lands and the various realms. I have found that Firbalt is beautiful with the many verity of flower that can be found there! | |||
Any information you can have of the others would be most pleasing, I was hoping to head to Reven next to see what the remolding the new ruler accomplished though I wouldn't mind taking a detour if you are willing so i can explore your region with more than a outside look. (( rp opprunity)) | |||
Signed | |||
|Title=Adventurer | |||
}}</center> | |||
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|Type=Letter | |||
|Sender=Nerta the Weaver | |||
|Recipients=Everyone in the Agyrian Academy | |||
|Content= I'd actually considered a tour of the land myself once. I had been heading down to Firbalt to bring some books from the main Agyr campus. Turned into an ill fated expedition thanks to the mess in Keffa. You're certainly welcome to come up here, though I don't really have a home either. | |||
|Title=[[Melhed/Foederati|Foederati]] | |||
}}</center> | |||
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|colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | |||
|Width=100% | |||
|Type=Letter | |||
|Sender=Nerta the Weaver | |||
|Recipients=Personal letter to Dancer Rea | |||
|Content= | |||
|Title=[[Melhed/Foederati|Foederati]] | |||
}}</center> | }}</center> | ||
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Latest revision as of 05:23, 4 July 2022
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