RP:Death of a Half Blood
Part of the Tales from the Row Arc
Synopsis: Knarl confronts Duke in battle, and a fight between seven of Duke's men and twenty of Knarl's warriors breaks out, ending with Duke's death.
Characters: Knarl, Vaduuk, Mahri, Urmelena, seven npcs of Duke's faction, twenty npcs of Knarl's warband
Location: Kelay; Kelay Way
Knarl said to Vaduuk, "Found you."
Vaduuk said to Knarl, "Ain't that hard ta find me."
Knarl said to Vaduuk, "Seems you've managed to piss off my employer."
Vaduuk said to Knarl, "It happens. I don't really give a damn."
Knarl said to Vaduuk, "Does it look like I care what you think halfbreed scum? I'm just informing you of why your going to die."
Knarl reaches behind his broad back, and brings forth the massive one-handed axe he uses, a sinister smirk forming upon the orc's thick lips.
Vaduuk snorts at the sight. "Ye're not a bright one, are ye?" After all, there the half orc stands littered with weapons; a plethora of throwing knives in sheathes sewn into his clothing all over his body, a pair of daggers at his hips, and a backsword in a sheath on his back. "Git goin' back ta yer master, whelp."
Knarl eyes the half-breed "plethora" of weapons and doesn't seemed impressed. " A cowardly remark, you disgrace your orc heritage." Knarl begins to stalk towards Vaduuk, murder in his eyes, and recites in the ancient tongue of the gualon orcs, causing the runes upon his axe to flare to life, dark flames consuming the blade. " I will enjoy ending your life."
Vaduuk wears a smirk on his face. The moment the orc started coming forward, a few men standing around outside the tavern draw their own weapons, moving to stand between halfblood and fullblood. "Ye should really learn more about yer marks. I ain't ever on my own. If ye had thought ta ask yer master questions, ye mighta found that out." And so there it is, these men are Duke's. From daggers to swords to even a crossbow, there are seven men with weapons prepared to defend their leader. Even Duke's lazily drawing that backsword of his.
Knarl allows a confident smile to form upon his scarred features as he takes from his satchel a warhorn, formed from the tusks of an elephont. Without so much as a reply to Vaduuk's cocky display of cowardice, Knarl, who was indeed warned of this man's lack of a backbone, calls upon his warband by blowing a single note into the horn. The tribal call is answered by those who were lying in wait, causing Knarl to reply to Vaduuk, as orc warriors, heavily armed from spears, swords, axes and bows, encircle the area, ready to tear Vaduuk's men limb from limb. " Oh, I am indeed educated in your cowardice "Duke"." Knarl looks about, ready for the chaos to ensue, and says. " Too bad you couldn't face me in combat alone, for now you shall die a cowards death. Hiding behind your men."
Vaduuk lets his smirk grow, the new grin accompanied with a laugh. "An' ye call me a coward," he says, his arms swinging wide to gesture at the almost two dozen warriors that circle the square. "Ye're showin' yer own, sendin' so many after less than half yer numbers. So what makes ye think ye're worth my time?"
Mahri is all over the place, isn't she! Only this time, she isn't alone and isn't even human! At the horn's sounding she, mixed with near to a dozen wolves, abandon the hunt they had been indulging in and make their way south of the forest. Coming to Kelay Proper, the pack gives pause at the scene laid out before them. Mahri, not being a natural wolf, might stand out among the wild ones, being slightly bigger with snowy fur that mimics the pattern of scars on her body. And this is precisely the reason she doesn't take the lead with these beasts. Silver-gray eyes scan the groups of men and whatever else happens to be there. Her shiny black nose twitches as olfactory senses sift through the myriad of scents. With muscles quivering in anticipation and excitement of the impending fight, the pack spreads out and circles. A few glance at the lycan-alpha and silent communication between druid and animals ensues. Silent on padded paws they move, like ghosts between buildings and blending with shadows as best they can.
Knarl watches as his mount, trained to answer the call of his warhorn just like his troops, comes from the northern skies and lands before its master, sending dust rising up it its wake as it lets out a terrifying roar. The wyvern's eye lock on to several of Vaduuk's men, eagerly awaiting permission to feast upon thier flesh. Knarl, without care of the half-breed and his men, climbs atop the beast, and then replies. " I was willing to face you in combat, such is my people's way, but you, you opted for the way of the coward and called upon your men." Knarl grabs the reigns of the wyvern tight, preparing to take control as he continues on with. " And you are nothing more than a thug, whose only claim to power is the fall of another man, who had the courage to stand in combat before another, so in reality fool, your nothing, and I shall enjoy slaughtering you and your men. " With this said, seven orcs, armed with bows, unleash a volley upon Vaduuk's men, while five toss thier spears with deadly precision at others. The warriors armed with swords and axes lunge forth, numbering ten total, while Knarl pulls back on the reigns of his mount, and spurs her into motion. The wyvern, fueled by a bloodlust that is never ending, bellows out another powerful roar before lashing out with its barded tail at the men who stand between Knarl and his prey, in an attempt to maim or kill as many as she can. Vaduuk's men now face an assault on various fronts, being: The arrows, the spears, the charge of the warriors and Knarl's mount. Lets hope these thugs are highly trained soldiers, lest they fall before a warband that has seen several campains and lived.
Urmelena shrieks as she quickly flutters high, taking a place upon the roof of the tavern as the fight begins. The Cenril native grins behind her mask as she suddenly appears in her larger size of five foot eight. Crossing her legs over the side of the tavern. Urmelena reaches into the shadow of her cloak that drapes over the right half of her body to hide her mangled limb. She withdraw a small sack, one the size of an apple containing her infamous foul dust, a high intoxicating and combustible powder. Gripping the sack in her hands tightly, the pixie creates a small ember which slowly burns through the sack as she tosses over the side of the roof. As it falls in the path of the fighters, it explodes in huge puff of sparkling mist mixed with droplets of flame which quickly descends upon the battle. With a high chance of both side inhaling the dust and suffering burns, Urmelena watches and waits for the hallucinogenic dust to take effect, she'd now if the men start to believe they are surrounded by a roaring wall of flame.
They are not highly trained 'soldiers'. They belong to no army, they do not march to war at any monarch's beck and call. But what they are are highly trained mercenaries, men who have served with the half orc on assignments before Cenril fell to the sorry state it's currently in. Only one falls to that initial onslaught, the youngest and least experienced of the men so terrified by the sight of the wyvern that he doesn't think to move when the tail of the beast comes to sink into his throat. The rest of them, however, they had the mind to keep an eye on things, to watch for the twitching of muscles - and orcs certainly have big enough muscles to notice a twitch. That's why each of the six left alive manages to either twist or roll out of the way of the projectiles, be they ducking or lunging aside. Duke, though, he's aware of these sorts of tactics, the usage of overwhelming numbers against a considerably smaller force. The arrow meant for his head only slices a cut across his cheekbone rather than finding his brains, and a spear is intercepted and taken hold of by the halfblood. Even as his men are engaged by the orcs, bodies and weapons moving about, he's hurling the spear at the wyvern. Even as that shaft is sent towards the beast's shoulder, Vaduuk spins to meet axe of an advancing orc, his backswords blade clanging loudly against the brute's weapon. Duke doesn't fight fair, however. He's a mercenary, a rogue, and he's littered with weapons. Even as the weapons separate, another is pulled from Duke's body...and finds itself slipping into wet flesh and severing a windpipe. Oh look, now there's a dagger in what was Duke's open hand. "Ye're showin' just why yer kind are thought ta be dumb, orc. I didn't order my men ta do shyte."
Mahri :: The wolves shift restlessly. The smell of freshly spilled blood bringing the younger ones to their feet with eager growls. Mahri is calm and that sense permeats the pack. They would do nothing yet. Knarl is recognized, from the peripherary of her sight but it's Duke that the lycan is focused on mostly. Mentally, she's catagorizing every move and noting where each weapon comes from.
Knarl : The pixie's attempt is negated by the powerful thrusts of the wyvern's wings, which extend forth so that it may take flight, just as Duke hurls the spear in its direction. One of those highly trained mercs becomes a tasty meal for the Warlord's mount, the beast rearing over just as it's feet leaves the ground, and bites one rogue clean in half, leaving his legs dangling in the dust. Knarl, using the reigns to steer his mount about, calls out to Vaduuk. " And you're showing why all speak of you as a coward, who hides behind words." As he says this, the seven orcs with bows, aim towards the rogues protecting Duke, and unleash a volley from several different directions, one of those men falling to the ground, impaled by three arrows. The five orcs with spears focus upon keeping Duke's men from flanking the warriors on the ground. One thug, who thought himself clever to sneak behind an orc who was fighting a man close to the tavern, finds himself impaled by a spear, the last few moments of life spent wondering why he was even here, when his life was in Cenril. Now, high up in the sky upon his mount, Knarl looks on and pinpoints Vaduuk. Pointing out the target to his loyal wyvern, the orc urges the beast on, causing it to drop into a dive, its claws extended outward, ready to render flesh from bone and feast upon Duke's innards. The warriors on the ground, now numbering eight, as another falls to the blades of the thugs, they flank out, and surround the rogues, trapping them in and creating an area where the orc bowmen and spearmen can pick and chose a target at will.
Just what the hells happened there? Dust? Dust that was burning? Whatever had happened, the combatants on the ground are saved from it by Knarl's wyvern. But three of his men fell anyways. Duke growls, cursing the day that wolf had ever stepped foot on Cenril's shore. Yes, he knows who sent Knarl. There's only one man who wants im dead. He's twisting and weaving as arrows and spears fly into their midsts again, and now that their numbers, including him, are nothing more than four, dodging them is going to be a mite more tricky. Or it would have been. But throwing knives are streaking out, first as Duke comes up from a crouch until he's standing. Two knives each, fourteen spent, but plenty left over on his body. He's an impecable aim, the orcs finding those throwing blades sinking into their chests and throats, but good aim or not there's a wyvern coming for him. Again he's dodging, but this time he goes forward, twisting around as the wyvern goes over his body. Up goes his sword, its tip sinking into the wyvern's underbelly and pulled back towards the Wyvern's tail even as it continues on. Gutted, there's not much the wyvern will be able to do. It might get a few feet off the ground, but not far before death claims it. "Stop being a hypocrite and get on the ground where you can die with your men," he snarls. Twang! Oh good, his crossbowman is still alive and shooting at a spearman.
A yearling hunter, a pup really, cannot contain himself much longer. Eager to prove his quality as a mate, probably to some bitch born near the same time, he darts forward daringly to snag a fallen body. Whether or not it is still alive, the young pack member snarls and growls while he tugs and pulls, ripping at flesh. That's all it takes and the rest of the wolves bound forward. Uncaring who or what they attack, furry bodies fly through the air in leaps ment to clamp their powerful jaws around throats or into tender bellies to rip and spill intestines and other guts. Mahri is the lone wolf who watches the carnage unfold. There is only so much she can to do to control a whole pack of natural wolves. It was the scent of blood and fresh meat that broke it. Unfortunately all are prey for them.
Knarl wastes no time leaving the now dying wyvern, leaping from it as it nears the ground as if to answer Vaduuk's challenge. The bowmen, having been picking off Duke's men one by one, focus on the crossbowmen, and in a matter of seconds, the fool is dead. Another of Duke's men finds himself impaled by two orcish blade, a sword to the gut and an axe removing his head. Seems its only Vaduuk and one of his men left now. Knarl stalks towards the man, emotionless about his own losses, to include the wyvern. All could be replaced in time, and such was the costs of being a warlord. Rolling his right arm about, loosening up those bulging muscles, Knarl instructs his men to surround the area, creating a semi circle about the half-breed and thier leader. The last chap at Vaduuk's command finds himself made into an arrow pincushion, as he falls to the ground, littered with arrows. Now its just Knarl and Duke. Oh my. " Seems you've no choice but to face this 'whelp', unless you feel like running." Knarl turns, and points to the east. " Go on, back to your city with your tail between your legs like the bitch you are, unless you plan on facing me in combat, to the death."
Mahri will leave the wolves to clean up. They are good for that after all. As for herself, the larger-than-average black wolf gets up from her observation point and trots towards Cenril, for all the world as though she just had not witnessed a slaughter.
One of those wolves just so happened to break through the ranks and get to Knarl and Duke. It's Duke's misfortune that he is focused on the fullblood, because it's his neck the wolf goes for. Powerful jaws clamp down on his throat, not nearly as thick as a full-blooded orc's, fangs cutting deep into his flesh. So taken by surprise is he that his body reflexively twists to try to dislodge the beast, but all that does is ensure those fangs cut through vital arteries and veins. It doesn't take long for a quickly dieing half orc to fall to the ground, backsword clanging loudly against the cobbles. So falls another leader of Cenril's gangs.