RP:Shades of Arkhen
Part of the The Ice Plague Cometh Arc
Finally got around to editing my part. Eli had oocly sent me this on Jan 28th for us to co-write before he put it on the wiki, but I slacked. I am the worst. Here I am over a week later making good on promises. My part in italics, the typeface of shame and procrastination. --Josleen (talk) 20:08, 6 February 2014 (UTC)
Frostmaw
A cold blast of wind sends Eliason’s cloak billowing to the side. The paladin stands atop the wall watching the army of the enemy mass near the horizon. It seems that the moment is finally upon the frozen city and the man is calm against the rising tide of the enemy. He thinks back on the past few months and everything that has happened to him. It is a jumble of activity, bad choices, and tough consequences. But this… this coming battle makes sense. Fingers curl tightly around the hilt of his sword and he cannot help the grin that pulls at the edges of his lips. Soon there will be no room for thought. There will only be the sounds of battle, the cries of the wounded, and blood. With each decision he makes on the battlefield, he can either live or die. These are the decisions that he is wired for. Silently he reviews his plan, his sapphire gaze automatically searching for signs of spiritual forces. They will be there; the scouts have confirmed the presence of Vakmatharas’ death knights. These are his primary concern, the monks and others will not have the divine power of the death knights. It will be up to Eli to stop them. His face grows grave as he thinks on the ramifications of his plan. If he succeeds, the death knights will separate from the rest and come for him. Should he fail in this battle, they will rejoin the forces and devastate much of Frostmaw’s forces. He cannot fail, he must win. Offering a silent prayer to Arkhen, the man leaves the parapet and heads toward the gate.
Josleen has been shuffling between the fort's small medical wing and shaman's healing tent several times a day for the past week. She volunteered her skills in the medical unit of Frostmaw's army. Sadly, her healing skills were graded a 'D' for 'dismal'. When Josleen isn't changing old bandages or administering medicine, she serves the shamans as impromptu back-up courier tasked with overseeing the delivery of messages and supplies when the actual courier boy is already occupied. That's right, she isn't even good enough to be first-choice courier. Her slight size and lack of strength are unable to manage many giant-sized deliveries (literally of scale suited for giants). During this week she has familiarized herself with Eliason's unit*. It's an acrobatic espionage of sorts that requires her to simultaneously keep tabs on their movements while evading discovery by Collin himself.
Close to an hour later, the cry of the Eyrie erupts and the battle is finally met on the field. Eli takes a deep breath and pushes open the hidden door outside of the walls of the city. He is about five hundred paces north of the Exile troops as he emerges and forces the door shut behind him. He can hear the latch on the other side and the bar slide into place. There can be no turning back now. He steps heavily through the snow until he is visible then stops. Closing his eyes, the man’s mind sinks deep within itself. It doesn’t take him long to find the Divine Core within. It burns like a white fire in the center of his mind and he mentally immerses himself within it. Holy fire quickly erupts all through his mind and he is overtaken by Arkhen’s powers. Ripping his sword from its scabbard, he points it toward the sky as a cry of exultation lifts from his mouth, ringing out over the snow. White, holy fire erupts from the man’s armor and sword, the light lifting heavenward and emanating from him like a holy beacon to the enemy’s army.
Another battle begins. The fort erupts from the weary buzz of militant readiness to the virile, deafening roar of battle. Josleen weaves through the stampede of giant feet, humans, undead, and orcs alike. She'll leave Frostmaw with either improved healing skills and agility, or in a coffin. Swift feet follow an invisible track through the halls of the fort to Eliason's company. They galvanize their hatred for the enemy, enhancing their roars and spit with swords and axes; all four types of weapons, they fantasize, will mar the enemy's face! Normally the human paladin sticks out like a cowlick from the company of frost giants, but today her cowlick is nowhere to be seen. Intuitively Josleen knows this is cause for panic. Collin's never been cautious, and never been one to run from war - quite the opposite. She seeks out a parapet on the tail of a company of archers who ignore her presence - or more likely, don't notice it at all. She expects to find Eliason running alone across the field of snow, blood, and turned up earth towards the enemy line, but he's nowhere on that field. Violence bursts through the enemy's meniscus line and leads a funnel-shaped assault towards the fort. The archers on the parapet are ordered to slow the cone's advance. On the ground, Ezekiel's catapults fling ice and stone at the enemy troops. Action, reaction. Real arrows, real blood, real lives, just like in the fake stories. She imagines, from this bird's eye view, that this is exactly how boys' war toys would move in a game of pretend. Are these Aramoth's toys?
At the heart of the Exile army, the heads of every enemy Death Knight swivel as one toward the sudden show of holy power. Nervous chatter issues between them at the sight. They had prepared to fight followers of Aramoth. Never had they considered that another God would involve Himself in this battle. Knowing that they cannot leave this threat unanswered, the Death Knights turn their mounts and head in the direction of Arkhen’s beacon. A full score of enemy Death Knights move toward the solitary figure. As they approach, one of the knights points a long finger and a swarm of snowflake imps flurry about him and outward toward the paladin.
The heads of every Death Knight, a few of Frostmaw's own forces, and Josleen's all swivel towards that white beacon. She rushes to the empty line of the parapet and peers down at the solo holy attack. "COLLIN!" War drowns out her voice from her own ears. What can she do? A few archers on the parapets who see the holy light turn their arrows to Collin's aide, but few are relieved of their focus on the enemy line. It isn't a callous decision. The officers' main objective is to defend the fort, not any single life - and especially not a life so rashly thrown at the feet of death's knights. He needs more, Josleen panics to herself. An idea! Her latest delivery. She carries it as she runs down the parapet's steps towards the catapults.
Eliason stands as a lonely sentinel against the oncoming force. White flames surround the paladin as he points his sword toward them. The fastest of the imps reaches him within seconds going straight for the paladin’s sword hand. Eli deftly withdraws that hand, bringing his other hand about in an openhanded strike that sends the imp careening into a nearby boulder. With a sickly crunch, the imp hits the boulder and falls dead to the ground. By this time, the bulk of the Snowflake Imps reach the paladin. They buzz about him, trying to get ahold of him to strip him of his weapon, his armor, or both. Many of them find their hands singed by the white fire that burns about the man and flitter away, chittering angrily as they retreat to a safe distance. Closing his eyes, Eli allows the holy power within to fully take him and his hands begin moving with impossible speed. Several of the imps are cleaved in two by deft sword strokes, others meet the same fate as the first imp that had attacked. Finally the few that are left flutter out of harm’s way and regard the man warily, trying to figure out a way through his defenses.
Turning from the imps and opening his eyes, the paladin finds himself facing the score of Death Knights and their mounts. One of the knights spurs his Frostmare forward a step to address the paladin. “Name yourself, paladin! And the God that would face the mighty Vakmatharas…”
In response, Eli pulls himself to full height and grins through the holy flames flickering about him. “I am Collin Eliason, Hand of Arkhen!” A sharp intake of breath from several of the knights is quickly quieted by a sharp look from the one who had spoken. He turns back to Eli and regards him with cold eyes.
“Arkhen sends one paladin to face all of us,” he turns a gesture toward his companions. “You have no chance. We each bear the mark of Vakmatharas… He guides us to glorious battle, to the spilling of blood! You cannot stand!”
Just as the words leave the Death Knight’s mouth, a new burst of light erupts from the snow behind Eliason. The man dares not avert his attention, but a new presence forms behind him. There is no crunch of footsteps, but looking out of the corner of his eyes, he sees figures draw up next to him. Three of the Death Knight’s mounts rear up as if to throw their riders, but somehow they manage to keep their saddles. A new, deep voice issues out from Eli’s left. “Arkhen has not sent him to fight alone! Vakmatharas cannot defeat us..”
Eli risks a glance to find the source of that voice. Next to him stands a man that towers over the large paladin. So large is the figure that he holds a full broadsword before him like a rapier. “Lord Guerin…” Eli whispers in amazement, recognizing the man from his studies. Turning to his other side, he finds two more figures, one a younger, much shorter man with a cheesy grin on his face and a very familiar armored woman. “Aela…” the name slips from his lips as he regards his oldest friend.
“We’re with you, Eli, we’re always with you. Oh, this is Gylan by the way… You may not have heard of him,” the shade of Aela speaks, earning herself a wry look from the younger man. “Yeah, no one’s heard of me… Rub it in!”
Eli steels himself against the feelings that rise at the sight of these heroes at his side. Feeling a renewed sense of rightness, he turns to once again face the Death Knights. “We do not fear spirits,” the leader of the group exclaims, though his eyes flicker about, gauging the reaction of his fellow knights. Finally, one of them spurs his mount forward and strikes out. Before the strike can land home, the one that had lashed out falls backward out of his saddle. When he lands, the hilt of a glowing dagger can be seen protruding from his chest. Who had thrown that first dagger is a mystery to Eli, but he grins and with a loud battle cry, he leaps forward to engage the Death Knight leader.
Josleen finds the giants who man the catapults. Hidden behind a stone corner, she practices Hildegarde's authoritative voice low in her throat. Hildegarde has only used this voice in Josleen's presence a handful of times, but that's all it takes for a voice to imprint on Josleen's mockingbird brain. Impersonation is one of the few gifts bestowed upon the bard, and one perhaps not intuitively understood to be useful in battle, but here she corrects that false impression. She quickly learns the system employed by the catapult unit's officer when issuing commands and overrides his command in Hildegarde's voice. "Catapult Three to 3 o'clock at two leagues from North Wing!" The officer searches for Hildegarde and doesn't spy her in the hubbub of soldiers and supply boys. That doesn't seem out of the ordinary. The knight is tall by non-giant standards, but easily hidden by a swarm of giants. Should he confirm this order? What are the chances some thing within the fort has the ability or will to imitate the knight? The fort is still theirs, after all. "NOW, CATAPULT THREE!!" Josleen/Hildegarde's voice insists with a rancor that dares the officer to doubt again. "You heard the Lady!" He barks at his men. At that distance, Eliason should be safe from the shower of ice and stone. The more important service the rapid-fire catapult provides is its ability to keep any reinforcements to the death knights at bay. If only Josleen had been quicker, perhaps the catapult could have struck some knights, but alas, chaos begets missed opportunities, especially for the ill-trained. She flees the site of her fraud towards the gate Eliason used as a portal between life and death, for surely that is what awaits him on that field.
As good as the paladin force is, there are still twenty to four odds that they are dealing with. The sounds of steel upon steel followed by curses and grunts erupt as the combatants come together. Several of the Death Knight’s swords erupt in black flames acting as a counterpoint to the holy flames wielded by the paladins. Each time white flame meets black a clap of concussive power issues across the battle field. Eli finally manages to elude the hooves of the leader’s mount long enough to sever the beasts head from its body. The mount crumples to the ground, its rider rolling to the side and standing to face the paladin.
All around the pair, Arkhen’s shades pick apart the defenses of those that they face. Some are quick and easy to dispatch, others are more adept and require the full extent of the paladin’s focus and power. At the heart of it, the skill of Eli and the power of Arkhen meet the power of the knight of Vakmatharas. The swirling of godly power about them rises high into the sky, black flames and white wrestling as their embodiments move about each other in a deadly dance of battle. Both are visibly weakening with each strike, but it is the Death Knight that makes the first fatal move. His knee buckles, giving Eli the split second that he needs to side step and drive his sword forward through the split in the knight’s armor where breastplate meets shoulder armor. Giddy with excitement at his victory, Eli fails to see his mistake. The knight had purposefully given himself up, a ruse to open Eli’s defenses. It takes a moment for the reality of the pain in his side to set in, but Eli looks down after a moment, once the knight has taken his last gurgling breath to find a knife buried to the hilt in his stomach. He had lifted his arm for his final blow and the armor had lifted with it, leaving his abdomen exposed.
He had read so many stories about great heroes. Stories where the hero was pierced by dozens of arrows yet fought on. Stories where heroes had pulled swords from their chests and continued the fight. Alas, this is not a story, Eli is not those heroes. He cannot help it as he sinks to his knees, hand holding the hilt of the knife. The flames about him flicker once then die as his sword slips from his hand. He has enough energy to look about him, finding that the knights have been defeated and the shades of Arkhen have gone. As always, he is alone. Trying to take a shuddering breath, he ends up coughing, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth as he does. He won… He thought he would feel better about it. Had he done enough to earn forgiveness for his past? With this question on his mind, he is engulfed by darkness and falls to the side unconscious.
Josleen arrives at the gate just as the paladin and his enemies simultaneously fall into what is surely a Pyrrhic victory for Frostmaw. Through a security slot in the door she witnesses his fall as a curtain of rock and stone fall theatrically behind him. Why do the be-grieved shout the name of loved ones? It does nothing. He doesn't move. He isn't brought back to waking life. Josleen remembers one of the few special stretches in Frostmaw's possession. They are of Elerium make, large, light to maneuver even when loaded, and levitate over minor obstacles such as door jambs and rocks. Originally these stretchers ferried massive bullions of gold in Frostmaw Bank's vaults, but during wartime, everything is re-purposed. Their use is tightly controlled by the medical ward to ensure best use. It's dubious whether or not this single life, if indeed it even still beats on, meets the requirements for 'best use,' but Josleen doesn't plan on asking. She steals into the medical ward taking advantage of the trust she's build with the shamans during her volunteership. "Eleenin said so," is all the explanation this back-up courier offers. The lie is so casually tossed it can be mistaken for truth. Illicitly-acquired Elerium stretcher in hand, she rushes out to the field with the courage of a true military medic to retrieve the fallen paladin. It's a struggle to get him on the stretcher under the force of her own strength, but even in his unconscious state Eliason lends her some of his, as he always has, whether he realizes it or not.
- ooc: LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL. You know what I mean.