Old February 11, 2010, 03:59 AM   #1 (permalink)
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Spyre Kla'teluth Kaldres is a benevolent Adventurer


The Vagabond's Wanderings [Closed]

Spyre moved out from the entrance of the Traveler's Inn and into the streets of Secylion. He had arranged for a room and stabling for Diablos for a cycle. At least for now, and if he wanted to stay longer, he could always do that. He had never really been one for planning things out anyway.

He let out a small yawn as he stretched his arms into the air above him. It was good to finally be off the boat. Not that he disliked them, there was something about standing on the front of the prow as the water raced by underneath he found exciting. But most boats were not meant for comfort and had always seemed so cramped. He preferred to have the road under his feet, working his way in whatever direction caught his interest. There was always more to be seen in the world, and Spyre wanted to see as much as he could.

His arms slowly lowered back down, taking a moment to adjust his white silk shirt so it covered the dagger sheath's in the small of his back. Spyre had left the majority of his weapons back in his room preferring to play the part of a tourist, instead of an armed mercenary out looking for trouble. He he knew how to take care of himself without weapons.... or at least, knew how if could be done. He stayed in practiced with Shaasskah, but that was all he'd managed to do so far. Which to him was a good thing, you learned Zinn'Ka should the worst happen. And the worst not happening wasn't something a person should be upset with!

He tugged slightly at the end of the sleeves, adjusting them over the bracers he had underneath. It was such a shame to cover them up, with the etched leather overlay of twisting vines crossing along the pieces, sprouting leaves and berries. Of course, the bracers like Spyre himself, had a different sort of nature pass the obvious. Under the carefully designed leather lay elvish steel with a second secret, as they each housed a designed slot to work with the daggers to form a set of katars.

His crystal blue eyes opened again as he brushed the lengthy tail of hair back over his shoulder to hand down to the middle of his back as he began to walk through the streets of the Toichos Kikkimos. He had declined the offer of a tour of the city, preferring to see things as he found them. No point in rushing, and a chance to see the city and things that interested him, instead of the same sights all the other traveler's saw in their comings and goings. For now, he wandered along the streets, taking in the sites with no specific destination in mind, he had a good portion of sunlight left in the Brightening.
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Old February 16, 2010, 09:07 AM   #2 (permalink)
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Secyclion, or Eunesia, as a whole, was vastly different from other Mainland Cities that Spyre Kaldres had likely ever been. The islands were by no means smaller, but livable areas were greatly reduced because of the terrain and most establishments and buildings hugged the coastlines. There were eight thousand natives at one time, with another three thousand tourists; a mere fraction compared to the other Cities such as Primus Gadeo or even Medonia. News traveled fast and news traveled quickly.

As the Kaldres moved about, exploring the island, he could sense that something was decidedly amiss. It started out with a murmur here, and a murmur there. There were agitated whispers, almost strained as if it choked itself on its way out of men's throats. There were dark scowls that adorned the features of people, the same kind of expressions people wore when the winds bore ill tidings. Even the merchants were going about their business sluggishly, as if able to feel that there would not be much business conducted this Brightening, especially under this kind of mood.

If Spyre cared to ask around, he would learn that; almost like the Elves themselves, a land burial would be one of the greatest insults to the dead. In Secyclion and some other Eunesian communities, the dead were set upon a burning pyre and floated out to the seas to be reclaimed by the patron God -- Markalin himself. The land burials were reserved for the most recalcitrant and the worse characters on the island, including Mainlanders who had the unfortunate fate of passing on while on the island, since few subscribed to such seemingly outlandish burial traditions.

And now it seemed that one of the natives had stumbled upon the excavated tombs of those buried in the lands outside the city proper while looking for his lost sheep, and had returned to the city in a fluster bearing the terrible news, sheep, not included.

"The wicked walks again. The end is coming!" Someone shouted at the top of their lungs, as others moved on with gloomy faces that belayed the anxiety in their souls. Spyre Kaldres found himself in the heart of the Red Island, and his narrow streets like arteries that fed the center of the city with fear as the people prowled through like blood through vessels, bringing fresh waves of fear.

Something was squirming through the long dark of the womb, straining to be born, to draw breathe; and for Spyre, someone who wished to perhaps make a temporary home on the Red Island, or to simply conduct some short-term business transactions, it could be beneficial to find out just what or why was there the gasping tension in the air.

Last edited by Ragman; February 16, 2010 at 09:09 AM.
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Old February 18, 2010, 01:30 AM   #3 (permalink)
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The day had started off well. He had a wonderful nights rest, had gotten onto the island with no delay at the post, had found a room and set out to explore this new place. Then that feeling had started, the feeling of hair standing up on the back of his neck as he overheard people talking as he wandered the city.

Part of him wished that the first few times he overheard the rumors, that they were nothing more than rumors. But something about the way they had been spoken, so quietly, as if even speaking of this evil could bring it down on the person. That was what unnerved him, even more so than the fact that the rumors continued to spread.

Though, even with this building pressure, it seemed largely like people were content to just talk and mumble about the problem. Spyre gave a small sigh, sincerely hoping that wasn't the case. The hope that the city's militia was already out trying to figure out what had happened, or some member of the city was doing the same. And while he occasionally battled periods of ennui where he didn't give a damn about anyone other than himself, he still knew it was the right thing to do.

He would return to the inn later and grab the more vital of his weapons, an act that would hopefully be pointless. But the idea of grave robbing, or taking bodies had the idea of magic spinning about in his head. Spyre had too many guesses about the way of the arcane, never having learned much about it aside from seeing it in action a few times. And seeing the Lord Lothain drop several men at once, with what he had called a minor spell.... Well, that was all the proof he needed.

But before he could even plan that far ahead, he would need more information. Because while he might be able to figure out where the bodies had been taken, if that was indeed the case. Following a trail was pointless if you didn't know where it started. And he didn't want to trust his luck in an attempt to just stumble upon it.

He glanced about the streets, trying to find who might be a reliable source of information. Granted, everyone in the streets would likely know the information he was seeking. But that wouldn't be the challenge. It would be finding someone willing to talk about it. As a rule, Spyre would avoid bringing forth such unpleasant talk to children, whom he felt should just be children as long as they could.

A small smile worked it's was onto Spyre's face as he thought of a good person to ask. Though the smile quickly vanished under the worry of the rumors, as well as what might go wrong with his intended source of information. Too many time's Spyre's mind could get in the way, worrying over all the little details.

He made his way through the streets to the Agora Kikkimos, for while it might be easier to find what he was after in the Agora Megalis, he was worried about the quality. Spyre had weapons and some armor, though that needed to be fixed. As his only full suit had a hole in the gut. He had kept meaning to get it fixed, and just never took the time. But given what was going on, armor would be good. Now he'd just need to find an armor smith, preferably one with leather or light metal on display.

It was from the proprietor that would hopefully be his source of information. One who would hopefully be more helpful than some others with the chance of coin from a purchase, and knowing that someone was going to try and do something, other than let doom walk upon the city. Of course, Spyre would need to know where to start his search.

Spyre gave the clerk a warm smile. "Chairete" He gave the items a slow look as he pondered just how to put forth his questions. He glanced over his shoulder at the market a moment. "I wonder if you can tell me something. These rumors going around. Just where are these tombs at?"

Not the most subtle, but Spyre had never been the best student at learning subtlety and tact. It was so much easier to just strike at the heart of a problem than dance around it for a lengthy talk. While he waited for a response he hoped was coming, he continued to look at the pieces on display. Coin wouldn't be a problem for buying, it would be a matter of finding something that suited his tastes.
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Old February 22, 2010, 11:14 AM   #4 (permalink)
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Even with the rumors, the Agora was packed. It seemed everyone from the islander had congregated in one place at the same time, and even if he did not speak Eunesian, Spyre would be able to guess just what they were talking about just by watching their expressions -- Eunesians were after all, not the most stoic of people, and wore their emotions easily on their faces.
Right now, what the man saw was worry, anxiety and fear.

The person that the Kaldres decided to approach turned out to be a weapon seller by the corner of the street where the human traffic was rather high. The establishment was a small stall perched like a tent where his wares are place almost in a haphazard fashion in an untidy heap. He had finished a transaction with a pale-looking man with light green eyes when Spyre accosted him, inquiring about the desecrated tombs.

An instant scrounging up of his nose as if he had smelt something bad, the Secyclion native, with his thick, almost unruly beard parted to reveal pursed lips like a teacher would to a recalcitrant pupil. Even if Spyre had not truly expressed his desire explicitly to explore these 'rumors', the Eunesian had quite simply assumed such a decision and was obviously appalled.

"The tombs? You no go, Kyrio. Bad luck." The Eunesian warned, his face suddenly worried. His Common was clearly broken, like most of the islanders, but he clearly was bottled up with apoplexy in an attempt to convince Spyre not to consider investigating such a seemingly dangerous phenomenon.

"It is bad when the tombs are open and the dead walks again. Very bad. You see, everyone is scared." Gesturing to the multitude of worried faces around them, murmuring and talking in hushed, hurried tones.

"You no go, Kyrio. The Wilds are dangerous, potholes, pitfalls, cliffs, strange creatures. You not know the terrain, bad for you to try." The man murmured again, shaking a finger at Spyre, and truly looking concerned about the man's decision to go gallivanting and looking to investigate these so-called tombs.

Inside the humble establishment however, Spyre's eyes would be dazzled by the multitude of wares on display, from bucklers to short swords, from spears to kite shields. Each piece was unique, special, and it was clear this was not a man who carters to mass purchasing. Almost everything is of Eunesian make and design, and likely adapted to dealing with the critters and beasts that Spyre may encounter in this region. One particular recurring piece was the leaf-shaped Xiphos blade that was in itself a short blade with a bladed end and a blunt end that he had seen most of the militia carry.
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Old February 25, 2010, 04:22 AM   #5 (permalink)
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Spyre looked up from the rows of weapons to look at the man, or rather just over the man's shoulder as he tried to pick at the man's accent. And he had used that word, Kyrio, one several others had address him by earlier this day. Maybe it meant elf, or something like that. Of course, the man had made a rather good point, Spyre had no idea what to expect outside the city walls. But there was one thing the man had said that bothered him.

"They walk again?" He mumbled to himself, glancing back to the man more specifically his eyes. Some said it was easier to determine how a person was feeling by observing their whole person, Spyre preferred to focus on their eyes. He spoke louder this time, wanting to make sure the man actually heard him. "What do you mean, they walk again? Has this happened before?"

The dead, or undead, or whatever the right term for a dead person still moving around worried him. It just wasn't....natural. People lived, people died and then they stayed dead. Granted, there were occasionally a few exceptions, but those relied on the God's themselves to provide. And if the man had spoken the truth and this happened regularly? That was even more disturbing.

While waiting on the man's response he looked back down to the table and the weapons. There were many fine pieces, meaning the man, or whoever it was that made them certainly seemed to know his craft. The smaller blades every guard seemed to carry was quite a piece. But despite it's looks and quality, it would not suit his style of combat. The blunted side of the blade while... making sense for a guard who might need to take a person alive. It was pointless to Spyre, when he pulled his weapons he was ready to kill.

But for now, if the dead did indeed rise on a regular basis. He would need to rethink this whole thing. It meant he'd not go for the tombs until early the next brightening. Of course, the longer he waited the harder it would be for him to follow. But each problem in it's own time. For now, he needed all the information he could get on this.
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Old March 28, 2010, 03:11 PM   #6 (permalink)
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"No Kyrio," The propertier murmured with a slight apologetic tone, perhaps in part embarrassed that he had misled the foreigner. His legs shifted uneasily as if speaking of such events were enough to give him the skivvies. His eyes darted nervously out of pure fear likely fed from silly superstition; but then again, only a fool would ignore these claims completely.

"You see, the living walks, but when they pass on, their spirit leaves them, and they lay down to rest. When the dead walks, it is like unnatural. And reeks of the evil." Clearly having a rather strange sentence structure, but then it was apparent by now that Common was not many of the islander's first language.

The clamor of the Agora outside was the first sign to indicate that something else was happening. There was a mixture of worry and excitement and if Spyre were to venture out of the shop, he would see a man standing atop an overturned crate, garbed in the typical garb of a Mainlander adventurer. There were other men around him, each one brawnier than the other, sporting a rugged expression, and bearing battle scars rather proudly on their arms and face.

The man who was speaking however, was much smaller in stature compared to the other men around him, but whatever he lacked in musculature, he clearly made it up with charm. Spyre could instantly identify why those men would follow him, because he was the 'brains' of the group, so to speak. There was a certain intelligence in his eyes so easily attributed to slyness given they shone with such an obvious light.

"Fear not Secyclionians, my men and I shall investigate the tombs, and allay the fears of the populace. My name is Ives Damiano, the great adventurer, and I shall bring the answers you seek." A dramatic flourish of the blade later, he stepped down from the raised platform and was beginning to make his way out of the Agora, pressumably heading towards the so called 'tombs'.

Around him were the half-skeptical, half-expectant eyes of the islanders. Some scoffed, murmured, dismissed the lunacy of it all, while others seemed hopeful. In such a small community, such behavior was soon to spread across quickly, and perhaps even in the entirety of Eunesia.

Perhaps Damiano was simply looking for a way to establish his reputation as a mercenary, or perhaps there was more than it met the eye.
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Old May 13, 2010, 12:00 PM   #7 (permalink)
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Spyre paused a moment, trying to work through the man's accent before nodding slightly. It seemed that the man was having as much, if not a bit more difficulty speaking to him as Spyre was having understanding his speech. But problems like that could be worked through with time and patience. The whole walking dead thing on the other hand...... that might take longer.

Still, the shopkeeper and he did fully agree on one thing. The dead walking shouldn't happen, and it could very well be hiding a deeper problem as well. The dead didn't just decide to get up for a stroll by themselves. Could there be some force that just made the dead rise, or was someone specific causing this problem? It was the second possibility that worried him most. As a person would have their own plans and purposes that might not be readily apparent.

His head shifted slightly at the growing noise outside, turning to half face it and allow him to hear easier. Though the clamor of noise made things harder to sort through, but it was something large, given the size of the Agora. He ducked outside the shop, trying to see what was going on, and moments later was thankful he did. It seemed he wasn't the only one intent on doing something about these events, but the other had more luck or knowledge of the area.

Not only that, but the man appeared to have the muscle, at least in terms of people to follow through. Still, he did seem slightly out of place compared to the others of his troupe, but that was not truly unexpected. Spyre himself had traveled with a dwarf and a fairy for a short while before they ended up going their separate ways. Still, it did present an opportunity for Spyre himself, if this Damiano was willing to wait....and if he wasn't, well then at least Spyre would have a trail to follow.

Quickly Spyre pushed through the crowd of the Agora, working to catch up to this departing adventurer. "Damiano....Damiano hold...." Hopefully the man would hear him and stop. If he managed to catch the man, he'd be as quick as possible, given the amount of people and noise that might be hard enough. "I heard your declaration. And if you agree, I'll travel alongside you and your troupe. But I plan to go either way...."

OOC: Sorry for the delay, work has me in a funk
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Old May 21, 2010, 01:06 AM   #8 (permalink)
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The man seemed to be enjoying the attention enough from the crowd as he and his troupe of men began to move out of the district, heading towards the direction of the Wilds.

A brief scrutiny, eyes roving from the Esh'lahier's head to toe before a nod ensued, followed by an out-stretched for a handshake.

"Very well, we could always use another able hand. Welcome to the team. You'll have better luck sticking it out with us than going alone, the Wilds are not your average Wilderness. Strange things go on in there." Giving an expression of 'As-though-you-didn't-already-realize'. He seemed confident in his abilities enough, if not, of his entire team. The other men reached forward to shake Spyre's hands after muttering their names and introducing themselves briefly.

There was Agrippa -- an Olympian, tall for his people, with light sandy brown hair and green eyes, a bow and a quiver was his weapon, along with an assorted array of knives and daggers. Odan, a tall Vagaran with golden hair and blue eyes, a handsome creature with a large bastard sword that not everyone could wield because of its cumbersome weight, though if anyone could wield a blade that heavy, Odan surely could. There was the Kemite brothers Tatsuke and Taro, with a quiet demeanor that almost made them seem harmless though the katanas and Aeternia-knows-what being concealed under their traditional cassocks gave them a deadly vibe. And then lastly there was Harad, a young man of Enamorian descent, like Damiano himself, who carried what it seemed to be a gun swinging from his hip, and a large, wickedly curved scimitar swishing from side to side as he walked. He was the friendliest one of the entire lot, who only greeted Spyre half-heartedly, more than anything.

Quite an out-fit it seems, at least they seemed to know what they were doing. If not, they certainly played the part well enough.

"First time on Secyclion, then I assume?" Damiano asked again, perhaps drawing from the fact that Spyre had intended to enter the Wilds alone, likely a very witless act, given his slight condescending stare as he says this as he pulls out a handkerchief from his pockets and handed it to Spyre, with a silent gesture to indicate that the Elf was going to need it.

If he inspected the fabric, he would find that it smelled slightly funny, almost as if there was some herbs rubbed on it previously. There were certainly some stains to show that some earthern root had been forcefully smeared over the fabric, giving it a starchy texture now that it had dried slightly.

"At least you don't look as squeamish as some of these locals. Look at that one, his muscles are bigger than my head, yet I'm sure he'll scream at the sight of an Undead trudging down the hill towards him." The man confiding in him softly, smirking as the crowd parted ways for them to move pass.
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Old May 23, 2010, 10:32 AM   #9 (permalink)
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He nodded politely, shaking hands with those offered as he introduced himself as Spyre Kla'teluth. Crystal blue eyes danced over the forms of the others, returning the groups own distant scrutiny. Damiano had certainly found himself an interesting group, one probably set to deal with a wide variety of things. And though they all seemed to favor steel and other metals, one of their group would probably have some skill with the arcane.

Spyre's head tilted slightly as he took the handkerchief from Damiano, his thumb rubbing over a small patch of the fabric. It certainly had an odd smell to it, which was curious as one typically would dispose of or wash something like that. Maybe it was one of those cultural difference's the crewman had warned him of during his travel to the island. Unfortunately, they hadn't given him more information than that, perhaps to see the new arrivals flounder in an unfamiliar setting?

He tucked the handkerchief around his weapons belt as he glanced over to the man indicated by Damiano. He certainly did appear tough enough to keep most problems at bay. But given the port, he could very well be that way from hauling heavy boxes all day. "Perhaps Damiano. But I've learned one thing about human in my short life. You are all not to be underestimated when forced to act" Spyre gave a small shrug as a follow up.

Humans' were hard to predict, and until you got to know a specific individual, the only thing one could count on, was their unpredictable-ness. Some would give their lives to defend absolute strangers, and others would descend into untold depths of evil to seek what they thought was justice. Rash, headstrong and willful.... or course, that meant they could be far more interesting then certain elves. And thankfully like minded humans did tend to group together....

He shook his head slightly as if forcing the errant thoughts away, as he quickly explained that he would need a few moments time to gather the rest of his equipment from his rented room, and arranged to meet the others at the gate. Then he quickly rushed for the inn and his room there.

It didn't take long to gather what he would take. His sword and long knife were strapped to his belt on their respective hips. The knife sheaths in the small of his back adjusted to make sure they would be hidden under his green cape. He opted to leave the bow behind due to his lack of skill, especially since one of the group seemed to prefer it.

His staff however, gave him pause as he wasn't sure about it. He had never trained in using it as a weapon, and should a fight break out he had no way to store it. Granted, it may be useful in the Wilds as a walking staff, but somehow that seemed an insult to Crystallium device. And so, for the time being, it was left in it's spot as Spyre went out, with the determination that when he got back, he'd find someway to train with it.

He quickly made his way to the gate, a medium sized sack dangling over his shoulder as he glanced around. Inside were several days worth of rations as well as black shirt in the event it would be needed over the white cotton one he wore now. A small smile found it's way to his face as he spotted Damiano. So it seemed the man hadn't simply been humoring him earlier.

The time was upon him then. Time to follow through with what he had started with the rumors that morning. Time to learn more of the area surrounding the city. And time to learn more about the people he would be traveling with.
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Old May 27, 2010, 09:52 PM   #10 (permalink)
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"It's the survival instincts, everyone has it." Daminao shrugged back, not particularly agreeing or disagreeing. As much as the mercenary was concerned, opinions were like the butt -- everyone has one. As far as the manner in which the longer-lived race seem to regard the shorter-lived and more effusive Humans, the Humans clearly didn't feel the same; perhaps simply because they lives, so transient and short like the flame of a wick were only too short for them to notice such things that were observed by creatures such as Elves over a generation of Humans.

"You'd want to cover your nose with the handkerchief, otherwise you might start seeing pink rabbits traipsing about." The man warned the Esh'lahier, referring to the strange hallucinogenic volcanic fumes that spew all over the Wilds on the main island. Many a foolish traveler had fallen off those dangerous cliffs or had drowned in rivers because they had been ill prepared in inhaling the smoke that was invisible safe for the characters tinge of sulfur that even the geysers themselves would release.

"We close?" One of the two Kemite twins asked after awhile, lifting up the flap in the handkerchief as he spoke. There had been a mist that had settled over the lands as the fumes had began to thicken considerably at times so dense that Spyre wouldn't be able to see the second person in front of him.

The Wilds for the most part seemed like a safe countryside, except that it wears that face only to fool those untrained and untested. The ground was not firm, made out of volcanic rocks and pebbles that made it difficult to navigate about without losing their footing. Strange insect chirps seem to echo in every direction and the air was damp and warm from the vapors clinging on most tenaciously to the air, and then on their skin. Not to mention the unbearable humidity that made them sweat excessively, soaking into their tunics.

"Not yet." Agrippa murmured back idly, it seemed he was the official navigator of the group; and the one who seemed the most serious and unfriendly out of the rest of the outfit who had indulged in small talk with Spyre except for the Olympian who did not seem interested in the Kaldres whatsoever.

And then the leadman Odan suddenly and abruptly moved to a crouch position, the others instinctively went down with him as well. From behind grass that barely concealed them they watched through the strange mist a hulking shape... no hulking shapes trudge along the fog in front of them.

"What in the name of Aeternia is that?" Damiano asked as the others crouched low around him, watching the strange humanoid-like creatures moving slowly in the white fog, their feet dragging the ground, shoulders slouched slightly and moving in a manner most awkward as if the living soul inhabiting those bodies were not used to that physical shape.

All had their weapons drawn and poised as they watched.
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Old June 1, 2010, 12:58 PM   #11 (permalink)
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Spyre's head tilted slightly at Damiano's words about pink rabbits. Though a few moments later he had the connection. A man on the boat he had sailed over on had been talking of dancing pink dracons, though at the time he smelled somewhere between a brewery and a pile of manure behind a stable.

Though, it would be untrue to say Damiano's words over what to do were unhelpful. And as such the handkerchief was tied around his head, fastened in place under his tied back hair and hanging in place over his nose and mouth. He stayed quiet along the trip, letting his eyes work around the area. And he quickly understood why that shopkeeper had been so forceful in his proclamation that Spyre shouldn't go out alone.

Things were very different out here than he had even begun to suspect. Granted, that was based largely on what he knew from the mainland. The weather there was similar, but over all the mainland creatures and other things were similar across the land. But out here.... it was like nature had gone insane, at least in the past. And upon ridding itself of insanity, decided not to eliminate what was already there.

Though he let that particular thought die quickly as Odan went down. Spyre thinking to move forward and help the man regain his footing if necessary. However, when he saw the others go down as well, he followed suite. The reasoning came clear a moment later as Damiano spoke.

He stayed silent for a moment, squinting and glaring ahead as he tried to peer through the thick mist. He almost wished for a wind to come and blow it all away, but then again. If these things hunted by smell, that could be risky. He spoke softly, not even lifting the handkerchief as he did, not trusting the heavy mist in the air. "It's like they barely have the energy to stand....."

Spyre tilted his head, glancing over at Damiano. He was calling the shots for his own group, and Spyre didn't want to do anything that might ruin some strategy the others had. For now, he'd follow along... though that didn't stop his hands from shifting closer to his weapons, or stop his eyes from glancing around to see if there were more shapes than just the first ones they had seen.
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Old June 1, 2010, 02:00 PM   #12 (permalink)
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No one acknowledged Spyre's words, all attention riveted upon the strange sight before them. Other than sulfur, there was now the characteristic smell of strong decay surging around them -- something was rotting, and had been rotting for a long time now.

Agrippa suddenly stood up, loaded an arrow to his quiver and then seemingly without effort fired a shot through the fog, impaling one of the hulking creatures in the face. It screamed, clutched at its face, but didn't fall, instead snarled and barked in a strange, monstrous cry that garnered all the attention of the others lumbering about them. It was nothing unlike Spyre had ever heard before, a scream so terrible that it seemed able to rip itself out of his throat if Spyre ever attempted to scream in that manner.

"They're Undead." Agrippa whispered in the same breath as the tension was released from the bowstring; as if expecting an outrage from the rest in his party; given that he had just seemingly shot at someone without having ascertaining their identities -- or maybe he had after all.

He fired a few more shots, each one hitting the torso of the creature, who jerked, swayed, took several steps backwards from the impact; but continued moving towards the Olympian while the others, having caught sight of the others had started towards them, barking, shrieking in their same, grotesque shrills.

With a deep, carnal howl, the zombies charged.

"Don't let them bite you, go for their heads!" Damiano screamed. Of course, it was an old wives tale that once bitten by an Undead, the poison would spread in the living and infect them, turning them over to the darkness where they are forced to roam the earth while their flesh rotted and decayed as though he was dead.

It was not sure of course, if such was indeed true, no one had ever seemed to be able to properly authenticate such a hypothesis, and no one stupid enough to try.

As the zombies stepped out of the fog to attack Damiano and the others, however, it was obvious that these weren't normal zombies that were summoned by Necromancers -- First off all, they were incredibly fast, and could withstand an arrow being shot into their eye sockets. They also seemed like mismatched parts of various bodies stitched together, instead of being in one body -- as if someone possessed darkly enough had decided to break apart the various body parts and then joined them together to form a living flesh golem that had been animated.

The one charging towards Spyre had two faces -- one of a woman, one of a man with a lopsided jaw. Teeth had but rotted away in both of them, leaving only glaring black marks where they once where on their dark gums. It had the remains of what seemed to be a body of a man, and the right arm belonging to that of an Orc.

It ducked low for a shoulder charge, one normal Human hand tucked to its side while the other Orc arm was held before its head as it lumbered after the Esh'lahier, snarling and dripping with blood and mucus and strange, vile liquid where the various body parts had been joined like a botched experiment of an incredibly sick man.

The others were having their own fight as more of the damned creatures poured from the fog, quickly outnumbering the small party.

Things were turning ugly, very, very fast.
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Old June 9, 2010, 04:03 PM   #13 (permalink)
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He took a long slow breath, trying to figure out just how many there were. Or at least that's what started, but his attention quickly shifted when he saw an arrow leap out at the shape. Spyre's head jerked to the side, not even noticing that Agrippa had stood until that moment.

His mouth opened to ask the man about his reasoning when he heard the scream. His head twisted back to look at the creature in the fog. Whatever that was.... it certainly wasn't normal. That was further proved once he actually got a good look at the.....things. And even then.... Spyre found himself wishing that he really hadn't gotten a good look at them.

His feet quickly got beneath him, as his weapons came out... longsword in his right, long knife in the left. The knife probably wouldn't do much against these things, but he still felt far more comfortable with it in his hand. These things were fast, so Spyre would have to try and be faster.... if that could be possible.

Spyre shook his head slightly as he saw all the shapes in the mist. He knew that given their looks, these things didn't just start making themselves. Which meant someone else did....and likely with some sort of magic. But those thoughts would have to wait.... because when fighting something unknown.... you needed all your focus in the same place.

So much for easy Spyre quickly pushed that thought from his mind as the thing charged him. Damiano's shout kinda made sense.... but then again one didn't exactly let an opponent bite them anyway. His weight shifted back and forth a moment as he let the creature get closer, almost into striking range before he moved.

Spyre's right arm went into a circle, swinging down and out as he jumped to the side of the creature's back. His arm continued the circle as it went, coming back up and lashing out, aiming at the creatures shoulder. The blow likely wouldn't sever the creatures arm, which would be a nice But hopefully it would at least show Spyre whether the creature was still vulnerable to his blade.
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Old June 17, 2010, 07:35 AM   #14 (permalink)
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The creatures were fast, but one thing they lacked was grace. Spyre's lithe form managed to evade the initial attack as the momentum carried the creature forward, tossing it head back to let out a wretched shrill as it swings back in an attempt to renew its attack on the Esh'lahier. A spray of red warm liquid splashed against the sides of his left cheek, but there was no way to know

No one could manage to stand in a hurricane storm of violence like this, but somehow Agrippa does, bashing them with his fists and shoving them back before finishing them with an arrow pierced into their skulls -- fired at point blank and often completely skewering the soft skulls of these roaming Undead. The rest of Damiano's mercenaries, including Damiano himself were lost in the mist of screaming and shrieking monsters and the grunts and cries of the living.

The blade screams for its mark -- the bladed end biting into the flesh of the zombie creature, sinking far deeper than intended, and almost hitting the shoulder bone simply because of the charging momentum of the beast combined with the impact of the swinging blade with metal met with the tough, hardy hide of greenskins.

Even before he could pull his weapon out of the sticky flesh that seem intent on taking the offending weapon with it, the Esh'lahier suddenly found himself being smacked from the back by something incredibly heavy and colliding against his back, forcing him to pitch forward and just narrowly missing a large slab of rock that would have cleaved his skull into two if he fell on it. If Spyre rolled over, he would be able to see his latest assailant scampering to peer at him with bright yellow eyes that resembled that of a cat.

It was no more than 3 foot tall, with the features of a gnome though the left top half of his skull had already rotted off, exposing a pulsing purplish-blue organ that resembled the brain. It smiled, or tried to, but its jaw gave way to a stream of yellowish and sticky drool that had already began to form a pool around its feet. The creature also bore limbs that were entirely too big for its small body, so much so that he his arms hung from the top of his shoulders to the ground even while his muscular legs propped itself up, and then the spine curling in the manner of a primate so that the creature hunched over, and had both fists dragging on the ground.

Chittering in a strange monkey-like language, the gnome-creature canted its head almost curiously and then pounced at Spyre's face, attempting to claw out the Esh'lahier's face, or bite it off -- not that it truly mattered either way, for it was going to hurt... an Aeternian of a lot.

Just who were the master or mistress of these botched abominations was clearly a genius, or a madman, depending on the perspective one chose to look from.
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Old June 21, 2010, 01:48 PM   #15 (permalink)
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Things had already gone from bad to worse when the large group of these....stitched Zombies came flowing out of the heavy fog. The hope of things picking up for Spyre quickly came crashing down as something slammed into his back, stealing the opportunity for him to even smile at the successful strike.

It's possible he would have panicked had he realized how close that rock came to his head, but at the moment Spyre was busy shifting to try and see what it was that struck him. He had been expecting another large creature like Orc-arm but not the Gnome-monkey. It was then Spyre realized that things had gone from worse....to whatever came after that. His right hand clenched tightly at nothing, his sword being lost somewhere between his last strike and his rough landing.

Spyre's long knife quickly shifted in his hand to a reverse grip. At this point he could only wish that the others in the group were having better luck than him. And one would hopefully keep the other Stitched-Zombies away. As the gnome monkey leaped at him, Spyre rapidly jerked, hoping his panicked movements would be fast enough.

This was certainly not something that had been covered in any of his training. Back then it had all been on equal footing. Learning fighting trainer on his feet against someone with a similar style. He had fought a few other times as well, each one against someone who fought differently than him. But never had he been at such a disadvantage, save for Silrosia and Spyre really hoped it wouldn't end up like then.

His right knee jerked up toward his chest, not as a strike but to put a set distance between his face and the gnome-monkey. Likely not the most effective given the size of the things arms. Spyre's right arm flashed out, his hand and fingers seeking a hold on the hole in the creatures head. If he managed to find a purchase on the handhold, he'd use it to force the creatures head...and teeth further from his own face. Even as his right arm moved, his left pumped as well, pulling back and driving down, seeking to drive into the flesh of the Gnome-Monkey's neck.
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