Legend of Ransera

Posted: **Sat Sep 12, 2020 5:50 pm**

4th of Ash, 120th Year of the Age of Steel

Home.

Talon crossed his arms over his chest. He had one boot propped up on the rocky outcropping in front of him as he stared down at the Commons and Low-City of Kalzasi. He had been travelling abroad for the past few seasons. From the dusty savannah’s of Turoth to the desert sands of southern Ailizane. It had been a journey that had opened his eyes to just what was out there in the world and how different other places were. Atinaw, the largest and strongest human kingdom next to the Gelerian Imperium, had been a pleasant enough place. For all of his travelling over the past few seasons though, he was grateful to be home. He hadn’t seen everything he wanted to but something had called him back to Kalzasi. Now he stood amid the misty peaks of the Astralar Mountains regarding the city of his birth.

“There’s something in the air. Can you feel it?” Talon turned his head slightly as the voice of his friend and companion drifted over to him. Running a hand through his hair, Talon stirred his aether into motion, drawing it to the forefront of his vision. He left his gaze unfocused and reached out to the world around him touching only on large sources of aetheric energy. His attention was immediately drawn to a roiling bundle of ravenous instincts and clawing hunger. Talon recoiled from it slightly before focusing his attention on that spot.

“You are right.” Talon nodded his head in the direction of the spot where he could see the essence coiling and burrowing through the rock. He felt more than heard his companion draw his sword.

“Shouldn’t there be a patrol in this area?” The Novalys heir furrowed his brow. Aoren was right. The area around Kalzasi was heavily patrolled, if not by the Sky Guard then by the rangers of House Dahshida. He sent a silent prayer to the gods that more good soldiers had not been lost to the beasts that crawled up out of the Warrens. Incursions from below were controlled to the best of the city’s ability. It was not easy as even the most well laid traps to help funnel the creatures that clawed their way up from the deeps could go awry. The Sky Guard did all they could to keep the immediate area of the city as safe as possible, combined with the thrill-seeking hunters of the Slayer’s Keep guild and usually the area around the city was as safe as one could hope it could be.

“If there is, they are not here now.” Talon smirked as he heard Aoren give an exaggerated sigh.

“Here we go.” Just as Aoren finished speaking, the rock roughly a dozen or so feet away from them both caved in. Out of it, like a swarm of deformed spiders, crawled shinaegri from the First Deep. Talon recognized them from their fleshy appearance and the awkwardly bent limbs. Coupled with the smell that drifted on the winds, that of blood and diseased flesh, it was a clear giveaway. Talon drew his sword. He spread his wings and looked back at his companion.

Talon leapt upwards into the air catching the nearest current and letting it carry him toward the creatures. As he neared, a screeching hiss echoed into the air. Talon allowed his perception of auras dissipate. He focused instead on the aether flux, drawing upon the powers of kinetics. The flux rippled in front of him. He reached out across the threads of power that flowed before him and plucked at them sending ripples outward behind and to the side of a particularly large shambler directly in his path. The creatures beside his target were sent stumbling back as the unseen force pushed them away. Talon brought his blade forward and dove, tucking his wings in close so that he could pick up momentum. The creature spotted him and opened its maw wide letting out a screech. It raised its mangled limbs and leapt toward him just as he neared. With his blade before him, Talon thrust forward meeting the creature in mid-air. His sword pierced through the monstrosity’s skull, jutting out of the back.

Using his momentum to finish carrying himself forward through the air, Talon expanded his wings to slow his fall. He landed squarely on top of the gurgling creature as blood and gore spilled out around the edge of his sword. Talon grabbed a hold of the kinetic force that rippled through the aether flux caused by the impact of himself and the monster on the ground. He sent a push of his own power into the ripple sending out a shockwave that blasted through the first line of shamblers around him. The skull of the creature impaled on his sword was pulverized leaving it still. Talon dislodged his sword, rose to his full height and surveyed the creatures coming out of the cave-in.

Several screeches behind him were quickly silenced. Talon glanced behind him to see Aoren land nimbly on his feet just as he pulled both of his swords out of a pair of shamblers he’d impaled.

“Show off.” Talon smirked at his companion.

“Welcome home, my friend.”

Posted: **Sat Sep 12, 2020 10:58 pm**

A Welcome Home

Ash 4th, 120th Year, A.o.S.

Bolsterous cheers and groans were a shared ambience behind Rickter, as the barkeep himself lowly watched some of the rabble gathered within the Spinning Coin's lobby. There were always at least one or two shady folk the guy liked to keep a private eye on, but of course the regular gamblers were also apt to inform him of problems if they sprouted. The wolf himself kept to the bar with but a sole mug of ale, half emptied already, after a hearty meal he had already enjoyed just a short few minutes ago.

"Did you enjoy your meal?" One of the barmaids checked as she passed by, getting a firm nod from the wolf as he raised his mug to take another sip. That was when he felt the floor beneath him lowly rumble, as though something beneath the ground rattled the very foundations. Almost nobody seemed to react to it of course, distracted by their vices as men drank and either threw down cards or rolled their dice. It was an occurrence that briefly puzzled Rickter, as he furrowed his eyebrows in considerable thought after it happened. So far as he could tell nothing changed at all, leaving it to reasonably conceived imagination at best. Yet something didn't sit right with him, as floors were hardly prone to tremble on a simple whim no matter how faint.

Thus with one final swig from his mug the wolf gulped down as much as he could, ignoring the tingling sensation that slowly began to numb his sense of perception a bit, he left a few Aven coins on the counter to cover his bill when he started to leave. Before too long he would likely meet up with Telion, to see if she'd had any luck in finding work that the both of them could handle together. While the wolf wasn't entirely enthusiastic about having a partner, he did feel it necessary to help get her settled in since she was new to Kalzasi, so helping her out on jobs was one of the ways he contributed to that.

Yet as the wolf slowly trudged his way outside the tavern's front door, he couldn't help but think more about that unusual moment he experienced earlier. It was after he'd walked several feet from Spinning Coin his ears caught wind of sound, noises from further up along the Astralar mountains nearby echoed down into the Low City. Noises that were enough to put some strollers into a panicked alert, as they started to point in the direction of where it's source came from. Somewhere along the lower ridges near the outskirts of town... It was difficult to focus now because of the buzz he felt, but Rickter's nose couldn't help but point to the air and sniff then. Something... Loomed within the mountain range, and from what he could trace within the air, the scent of marred and decaying flesh many came to know from the Warrens.

Had danger managed to break out within the mountain range?

That wasn't good... And if they were so close to the Low City, then that meant everyone here would be at risk. Rickter didn't like it but ideally he was going to head up there, to help whatever Sky Guards or rangers moved in to press onto the threat. Granted it'd be a bit chilly in his chainmail armor, he was outfitted enough to handle whatever threats loomed overhead. Thus without dwelling on it much longer, Rickter moved in a direction towards the Wildking's Forge, hopeful to make it in time as he moved past those who slowed or even stopped to gaze at the range above. It took a few minutes before he reached the outskirts near the city, but the sounds of combat above made it all the more clear, he was closing in on where the fighting was thickest.

Only now the slopes of the Astralar mountains stretched between him and the destination he sought to reach.

"Every side attacks you when you don't pick sides."

Posted: **Thu Sep 17, 2020 1:12 am**

Fifteen...

It could have been worse. The arrow roughly jammed into the hot, clammy, grotesquely pig-like skin, little hairs and all, could have been sticking out of his shoulder instead. The rough stone and crumbling dirt that beat against his face, threatening to force their way into his tightly shut eyes and firmly pressed lips, could have been suffocating instead of merely stifling. The uneven gait of the three-legged mess of flesh and fury that pressed ever onward and upward his legs were so tightly wrapped around could have chosen any moment to pause, turn, and claw, scratch, and tear at him until he was indistinguishable from any other lump of bloodied meat.

Fourteen...

It could have been worse, but it wasn't. So that left him with what was, and what was was something Tyr Heskin so commonly referred to as "a real shitshow". Patrols were never "simple", even if they sometimes found themselves bearing that particular title more often than not. Head out, look around, cut down anything moving that wasn't able to string together enough words to form something along the lines of "oh gods, please don't kill me", and move on to the next area - and so on and so on. There was always the unspoken fact not everyone came back from patrols, and, as he and his freakish mount scrabbled ever upward - or... was it downward? - Ludwig couldn't help but wonder if this was going to be the patrol in which he didn't come back.

Thirteen...

It really shouldn't have been as bad as it was. He'd had distance. He'd fired his shot. There wasn't anything else to do but nock another arrow, pierce another shoulder, chest, or thigh, and hope what little he could do would be enough to slow the horde down long enough for someone or thing far more capable to show up and take care of them. That would have been the logical thing to do. The correct thing to do. The thing - now, looking back as he grit his teeth and winced under the pain as a particularly large clod of hardened dirt bounced off of the side of his face with all the spring of a bar of lead - he should have done.

Twelve...

It was getting worse. He only had himself to blame - that sudden and near-uncontrollable urge towards the impetuous. The moment the arrow found its mark, he could see it: that point in time and space, singular and alluring. Where there were two, he made one; a single hair-raising, stomach flipping, butterfly fluttering sensation later, as his ether burst forth to knit what wasn't into what was, and he was wrapped around the creature, arrow in one hand, bow in the other, and absolutely no plan.

Eleven...

It was bad. Bad to worse. Not quite worst; not yet, anyway. He was still breathing - or, trying to breathe - and the added weight had slowed his unlikely steed to the point he could only hear the rest of herd's ragged breathing, clawing, scratching, and gouging ahead, no longer beside or behind. That should have been good, bad to better; only, the frantic, panicked "Lutz!" and "Hang on!" had faded to the point he could no longer make out even the echoed whisper of Tyr's voice. Being at the back of a horde of slavering, mindless, meat-heads was better than it could have been, but being alone with them in any way, shape, or form was much, much worse than safely stationed on the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking the horde's wild advance.

Ten...

It wasn't that bad, right?

Nine...

It definitely was.

Eight...

It was bad, worse, but as long as it didn't hit that absolute value of worst...

Seven...

Screams and screeches. Light, ruddy and bloody through the battered lids of his tightly squeezed eyes. A breach. They'd come that far? He knew he should have better expected it. Space and distance and location were supposedly his own personal cornerstones, but focus had been little more than wishful thinking. Now, at least, he knew which way was up: the way they, all of them, were heading. He also knew, no need for sight, his newfound and very unwanted compatriots were being summarily executed. What he didn't know was whether whatever was drawing out those gurgling, sputtering cries of rage against the inevitable tug of death had discernment enough to stay hand or tooth or claw when it came time for his neck to settle under that relentless guillotine's edge.

Six...

Outside, at last. The air was cooler, crisper, fresh and clear and so much a contrast the damp and dark and dank, he couldn't stifle the spluttering coughs that racked him, threatening to loosen his grip each time. His eyes blinked open, bleary, but crimson and the dull pinks and browns of blood and flesh were easy enough to make out. Death to his left. To his right. Certainly in front, if he'd taken the time to squint blindly in that direction. The arrow - his steadfast, bleeding handhold - at last broke free of skin and muscle and fat. His legs squeezed tighter, more frantic, reflexive - he wasn't sure where he'd fall and didn't want to find out.

Five...

Another scream. Metal and flesh. Metal and bone... and voices. Calm. Experienced. ...entertained? Whatever else, they were intelligent, and that was all he needed. Sight was his once again, though his bow had, at some point, freed itself from his grip in spite of the fact his hand remained balled tightly into a fist as if it had never left. It was, however, disconnected from thought, so, when he spied to the two towering figures all dark wings and martial prowess, the very first thing that he shouted at the top of his lungs was next to, near, or even exactly just the last thing he would have preferred to say in that - or any given - situation. "Pigeons!"

Four...

Embarrassment was an odd sort of creature. No matter the place, the time, the circumstance... it reared its bright, garish head and indiscriminately sunk its sickly sweet fangs into whatever was foolish enough to provoke it. There were so many other things to feel: panic, fear, uncertainty, desperation... but it all fell away the moment the Low City's not-so-friendly slur left his lips with all the grace of a stone into a bucket of mud. Fortunately for his embarrassment - and unfortunately for the rest of him - the creature he still desperately clung to had opted to take notice of him at last.

Three...

It rounded on him, body twisting, arms shoving, claws reaching. With nothing but the bloodied arrow to keep the encroaching limbs at bay, he forced his attention on the task at hand: don't die. He'd never been much for roughhousing. Problems in his childhood had been better solved in ways that didn't leave marks people could see, but the Legion had done what it could to beat into him, one way or another, that dying was the least useful thing he could do in its service. So, while the beast clawed at his shoulder, he made certain to slam his forearm against an offending claw that sought to tear out his throat. Shoulder pain was hardly ideal, but it certainly trumped gagging to dead on his own blood.

Two...

Three of the things arms recoiled. Windows of opportunity, Tyr called them. Moments in time, these fleeting points, where fate found itself unbound. Some were more difficult to spot that others, especially those more closely linked to the social senses. In combat, however, fighting for one's own life, they had an odd habit of making themselves exceptionally apparent. Reflex, then, informed exactly what to do with his: stab, stab, and... stab.

One...

He might as well have been holding nothing at all. The wooden shaft of the arrow began to slip and slide through his white-knuckled grip as he continued to smash his closed fist against the creature's open-mouthed face. The light in its eyes had already begun to fade, legs buckling, arms flailing, but his fist continued to dig out flesh and skin wherever the arrowhead could find purchase. Slick, wet, warm... there was something indescribably comforting about the sensation of the stupid creature's life splattered across his face, dripping down the scraped and bruised skin of his own elbows, and sticking his fingers together with that viscous, sanguine kiss.

Zero...

Time. The world quieted, another window, only this one was self-made. Harnessed. Manufactured. He could feel that surge within him, that unspoken readiness, eagerness. Left, by the large boulder stained with the dark splatter of one of the many conquests of the winged pair - out of the way, but close enough he could still be of use. Two points but only one between them. Here and there but only one needed. His ether surged forward, knit and pulled and pressed and pushed... and he was stumbling to his feet on the edge of the fray, arrow sticky in his hand and heavy-hooded eyes staring intently at the mess and mass of ragged bodies before him.

Fifteen...

Posted: **Fri Sep 18, 2020 7:20 am**

㊋ 4th of Ash, Year 120, Age of Steel ㊋
Company: Two Avialae, Human male | Theme: Heat Haze Shadow| Thoughts: What are these things?| Mood: Curious

㊋ He was close, it wasnt that much farther now. The wind hummed against his face as he flew, warmed by the sun as he glided along the air currents, carrying him over the ridge and down into the valley. Landing into a skidding stop, Hyoga could see the city in front of him. It was far more beautiful than the stories his mother used to tell him about.

"So this is Kalzasi huh? Wonder what paths you have in store for me." he whispered, taking a moment to rest a bit. He had been flying for so long now he couldnt even remember when he had begun his travels to the free city.

Taking a moment he laid against the grass on the hill he had found himself on, the winds blowing through the grass and few trees around him, putting him at ease as he looked into the sky. Clouds danced by as he held a hand to cover his eyes from the sun, the ground under him softening slightly, humming to him just as the wind did as it kissed his skin with a breeze.

There was great serenity that came with being able to feel and commune with the elements around you. They looked out for you as you do for them. It was a wonderful relationship between mage and the natural world around them. He was relaxed after all that flying, but it seemed the elements were worried.

Sitting up, he looked around, his eyes casting their gaze across the horizon for signs of trouble. Then came a rumble, and crashing of boulders. It was east of him, near the city. The smell of dead flesh wafted onto the air, causing him to fight back the need to vomit.

He decided to get a closer look, getting a running start, he leaped into the air and caught the current gliding down towards the ruckus. His eyes widened as he saw them, shambling amalgamations of flesh and blood. It was grotesque and they seemed to have been the source of the rumbling and crash he heard, bursting from some cave.

It seemed others had caught wind of these abominations as well. He couldnt allow them to take all the fun, a smirk forming as he swooped down as more seemed to pour out of the cavernous opening. There were two avialae fighting the horde, and another group, humans it seemed, he couldnt really tell to be honest.

Whoever they were they could fight it seemed, which was commendable in Hyoga's eyes. With his hand out in front of him, he materialized his spear. Riding the momentum, he picked the first abomination he saw and drove his spear into it. Ripping it from the mass of flesh he spun around to catch another in the head, then hurled Shimo no Tsume at another, impaling it.

With the ones in his immediate vicinity slain, he reaches out for his weapon, using Return to call it back into his hands, brandishing it with a twirl as more seemed to come pouring out. ㊋

"Common Speech"
"Synskrit Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

Posted: **Sat Sep 19, 2020 6:15 pm**

Talon brought up a wing that he wrapped partially around himself. He swung it outward meeting a loud monstrosity that had lunged for him from the side. The malformed shambler was sent sprawling back into a line of its fellow shinaegri. The creatures were not dissuaded as they scrambled over their thrown to claw their way out of the dust, dirt and rock. In front of him, he slashed with his sword catching another creature in the gut sending its innards spilling across the ground. Talon did not let up on his assault. The shinaegri were not very intelligent but that made them no less dangerous. Enough soldiers of the Sky Guard and the Dead Legion had perished in the fight against them that he knew his lesson. The act of surviving his Warren March was clear as day for him and had instilled in him a healthy respect for the creatures of that dark but vital pit that was so central to life in Kalzasi.

Talon brought up his hand calling upon his aether. The aether flux swelled within his vision and for a moment he could see the discordant echo of something more woven into the seams that gathered around the broken shamblers. It tugged at his attention for a brief second, making him question exactly what happened to these creatures and what made them. That brief moment of distraction was all it took for two shamblers to leap upon him. Talon dropped his hold on his aether and quickly leaped into the skies. He spread his wings as best he was able and rolled into the air, bringing up his arm to protect his face as the creatures clung and clawed. He cried out in pain as jagged nails scraped through the leather armor and cut at his flesh. He rolled to the side and just barely managed to shake off the two creatures clinging to him. Talon landed a short distance away from the main swell of shinaegri that were clambering up out of the cave-in.

“Talon!” The young Novalys turned his head just in time to see three more of the beasts leaping for him. They were startlingly close. Before he could defend himself however, there was a crackling in the air as three burning swords hurtled through the air catching each of the shamblers in their chests and pinning them to the ground. Aoren dropped down in front of Talon, the warrior brought both of his blades down, slicing through the shamblers with merciless precision. Not wasting his opportunity, Talon pulled himself to his senses and drew his aether back to the forefront of his control. The aether flux once again swelled around him. He saw a point in its weave perfect for what he had in mind. A group of the creatures, there had to be at least ten of them, were loping toward them. Bringing up a hand he wade a crushing motion with his fist. The force applied to the flux made a crack appear in the weave. The rippling effect saw a pulse barrel out from that point. Keeping a tight hold of the tendrils of power flowing in the aether flux within his vision, Talon redirected that force with a grunt of effort.

He reached out and physically grabbed a hold of Aoren, yanking him back before his companion could be caught up in the drag created by implosion that was about to take place.

“Get back!” Aoren didn’t waste any time. He jumped away and Talon released his hold on the aether flux. A pulse went through the air, flattening the grass and sending the air rushing past Talon. The world went silent for a moment before everything came rushing back inward upon itself. The ten shamblers were dragged to the central point that had imploded upon itself as the world rushed to fill the space created by the vacuum. Talon dropped to a knee and shoved his sword into the earth, using it to anchor himself. The shamblers ahead of him screeched and flailed before several of them were crushed under the weight of the implosion. Bones cracked and snapped, flesh was flattened, blood and bits formed a puddle of grotesque mush. Those not completely crushed by the force of the implosion were still clawing their way, limply, forward.

“By the gods, Talon. When did you learn to do that?” Aoren came up behind him and helped him to his feet.

“Just...just now.” Talon gave his friend a shaky smile. Aoren blinked at him.

“You’re insane. You know that, right?” The two of them shared a chuckle before turning their attention back to the task at hand. They wasted no time in killing off the remaining shamblers that hadn’t been killed by Talon’s implosion. When that was done, they turned their attention to the rest that was crawling out of the cave-in.

“They keep coming.” Aoren wiped his brow, managing to catch a bit of sweat but also smear some blood on the side of his face.

“I can see that.” It was as both of them were catching their breath that a shout drew Talon’s attention.

“Pigeons!”

Talon watched as one particularly twisted looking shinaegri broke away from the group climbing up out of the dirt and rock. On its back was something, or rather, someone whom Talon immediately recognized as not a monster.

“Did he just call us…?” Aoren’s voice was a bit incredulous as the Low-City slur registered in Talon’s mind.

“Pay it no mind, my friend. Let us--” He was interrupted as the sound of the creatures screeching in pain and wailing in death made Talon’s head snap in the opposite direction. What he saw filled him, at first, with relief. But then he saw the wings at the man’s back and he was given pause.

“Kathar.” Talon glanced at Aoren. His friend’s jaw was tight. There was tension in his body and Talon could feel the turmoil of emotion coiling in his companion. Across their bond, Talon sent a sliver of calm. The tension eased in his companion’s form.

“We will deal with it later, my friend. The shamblers.” Talon nodded to the horde still clawing out of the dirt. Aoren merely nodded and took to the skies. He dove into battle, joining the bat winged Kathar. He only hoped that past grudges and prejudices would not blind his friend. There was tension between the avian winged Synnekar and the bat winged Kathar of the Avialae. Tension and old grudges that ran deep for some but were a point to be healed for others. Talon turned to the human who had called out from before. The human had dispatched the creature he had been clinging to. Between one breath and another, he was not far from Talon and then...he was standing a short distance away. Talon immediately recognized it as the act of blinking. He was not a practitioner of Transposition himself but Talon had seen the battlemages of Kalzasi use the magic to great effect in his time. Spreading his wings, Talon took flight and glided the short distance between himself and the human.

“Are you alright?” He called out as he landed squarely on his feet.

Posted: **Sun Sep 20, 2020 2:26 pm**

A Welcome Home

Ash 4th, 120th Year, A.o.S.

Gravel and the stone ground beneath the pressure of his boots as Rickter ran, the steady incline soon winding upward along the lower slopes of the mountains. From the sound of it he didn't have too far to tread, but in order to get there, Rickter had to make sure he didn't misstep let alone slip on the way up. There came a point where the path on the slope narrowed, however, requiring a bit of consideration for him to move across in a delicate manner. From the looks of it the path had worn away here, but there were still parts of the path jutting out for him to cross.

Thus with a carefully done hop, Rickter hit the first 'stepping stone' of the path with one foot, swinging the other leg forward as he moved to take the next step in quick succession. Finally, with one final push, the wolf hopped from the second stopping point, and landed onto the path once more with a firm pause to ensure he maintained balance. Good. He was close now, close enough to see a couple of shamblers running down his way, had they started to break away from the main group? Rickter hoped these two were just stragglers, and that the rest were still being contained, but at that moment those two specific shinaegri were his main concern. Thus the wolf eased into a forward slouch with bent knees, and called upon his aether as he flicked his right arm back from his body, a flourish of teal particles flowing to his hand as he opened it to grip not at air.

But the hilt of the bastard sword he manifested with his Reaving rune, as the blade materialized pointing downward behind the wolf. The Shamblers roared to him as the first of the two stampeded its way toward him, hurdling itself towards Rickter as the wolf narrowed his eyes on it instinctively. It didn't take but a few seconds for it to close in on him, to which Rickter's reflexes kicked in response for him to move. The wolf pulled back just a foot or two, as he still lingered close to the path's edge, before pulling his sword arm into a swing. Rickter brought the bastard sword into a broad cut from his right, slamming it into the mangled left arm of the creature the moment it reached close proximity.

The shambler teetered with a pained roar as it nearly toppled off the edge, still close to Rickter as the second drew nearer behind the first. With his weapon still held toward his left Rickter moved in for another blow, bringing the sword into a wide slash that would barely hit the first Shambler in question, while gaining enough momentum to slam into the bodily core of the second that assailed him. Rickter's ears were nothing but a constant ringing now as both Shamblers were writhing, the first almost but not quite staggered by his second attack, just enough to challenge the creature's balance as the Wolf himself raised his sword arm and took the hilt with two hands.

Rickter would've hopped but with such minimal ground to work with, he simply leaped into the attack as he brought the bastard sword down. Smashing it into the first Shambler while the second still writhed on the ground, with a hefty blow made at the shoulder of the first Shambler, Rickter's landing allowed for him to bend his knees more; giving him ample opportunity to raise a leg up and kick the creature square in the torso region. Between grasping at the maimed shoulder from his blow, and wildly clutching at the air between it and Rickter, the first of the two shinaegri finally toppled over towards the ground below; with a wail reaching a crescendo before finally wavering into the air before dying out. That left one more...

Just as he turned Rickter barely had time to react, for the second Shambler drew upon him with arms reaching out. The mangled creature grasped at him with nasty claws, the vice-like grip of the creature difficult for the Wolf to shake now that his left arm was constrained. Rickter's first and immediate reaction was to do another broad slash, causing the Shambler to teeter to his left as it attempted to resist the pull the wolf made. Rickter's sword, however, still carried out its intended path, and slammed hard into the neck of the creature that the blade practically became embedded. The Shambler's grip tightened for a moment which sparked pain, all throughout Rickter's left bicep, before it finally released him and clutched for the blade in it the side of its neck.

Blood came gurgling forward as Rickter took the hilt once more, with both hands, and performed one more area sweep in a clockwise fashion; to maximize the momentum of force when his blade sailed into the creature once more. This time a clean cut went through the other side of the Shambler's neck, lopping its head clean off now as the body lingered for a moment. Just as soon as its head hit the ground, the body proceeded to topple down also, writhing in spasms before finally slowing to a halt. Rickter finally allowed himself the chance to breathe slower now, his sharp eyes quick to assess any damage done to his left arm. From the looks of it his chainmail protected him, had it failed, however, he would've likely bled from those claws puncturing his skin.

"Was never in doubt." The wolf muttered to himself over the small victory, feeling air rush past him off the slope above him. Then just as it did that current of air shifted, and suddenly something strong tugged within the area above. "The hell?" Something loud was happening now, the shinaegri up there were all bellowing and crying out, before being muted by ripping, contorting, and bone-snapping noises echoing within the area. As if the smell up here wasn't bad enough, the stench in Rickter's nose made him almost feel nauseous a bit, now that rotten corpse seemed to multiply by the dozen so suddenly. The wolf even had to buckle down and remain low behind the slope, as whatever took place strongly tugged even his heavy ass.

After the extreme innate 'pull' Rickter felt in his body died down, the wolf finally eased up with sword still in hand, quick to resume his run up the slope to meet with the others found there. There were Avialae already controlling the main horde, along with a couple of other humans up here also. Rickter wasn't sure what exactly transpired just before he'd gotten here, but from the looks of it, the shinaegri was trying to climb out of a hole. "More comin'!" The wolf called out as he shifted his stance, pointing his left boot forward towards the hole, with the bastard sword held low as the blade was angled towards his target with both hands. Or targets rather... even within that bloodied putrid mess of a hole, there still stirred quite a number of those wretched abominations.

"Every side attacks you when you don't pick sides."

Posted: **Sun Sep 20, 2020 9:16 pm**

Birds and bats and humanoid rats... there was a bit more going on than Ludwig was used to working with. That, and he wasn't much for frontline shenanigans. Impluse and pride-driven instinct had squarely landed him right into the middle of a formidle lake, and he wasn't the strongest swimmer. He was meant to stand back, provide support, observe and, if possible, inform the movements and tactics of those who could better put such things to use. He was not meant to play the role of a meaty backpack carried gods only knew how far through the earth only to narrowly escape evisercation through an admitedly lucky lack of awareness on his wearer's part.

His fingers clumsily reached for the feathery fletching that should have been stored in the quiver at his side. From the feel of things, he'd lost most of the arrows along the way - a veritable trail of breadcrumbs no doubt scattered along the uneven and rocky path he'd been ferried over just moments before. Most but not all.

Transposition was just shy enough of commonplace when he'd been inducted into the Legion, he'd been handed a bow, some arrows, and a vague statement of: "Try not to die." Of course, training did follow immediately afterward, with the greatest piece of instruction being: "Aim for wherever there're enough bodies you'll hit something even if you miss." As it turned out, while he certainly couldn't knock an apple off of anyone's head, he could puncture holes into flesh just fine - as long as said flesh was numerous enough in numbers. The bow kept him out of immediate danger, usually; protection of an asset - as much protection as the Legion could feasibly supply its members and as much of an asset as anyone in the Legion could really be.

The fact of the matter was, whether his magic was common or not, there would be a body to replace him should he fall. A bit chilling but something he, typically, tried to avoid dwelling on.

Arrow knocked, bowstring drawn, he loosed his shot just moments before he was joined by one of the two birds: exceptionally pale skin, dark hair, wings the color of silver, a glowing rune offsetting a couple of scars that cast those chilly grey eyes of his into all the more unnerving of lights... not anyone Ludwig would have chosen to fraternize with outside of the realm of necessity - a realm he was now inescapably a part of for the time being. The bird, like most birds, was massive, towering over him like some pillar of martial might, reminiscent of those unfortunate Skyguards tasked with overseeing the Legion - and Ludwig by extension.

Unsure whether he did so out of apprehension, habit, or a mix of both, he paused in drawing another arrow to flash his bracers towards the stranger in an unspoken "believe it or not, but I am exactly where I'm supposed to be, more or less". It wasn't the question he'd been asked, but it seemed like a good answer to give regardless.

Was he alright? There were plenty of answers he could have given and a plethora of remarks to be made, but he opted for the easiest route his tongue could take: simple truth.

"No."

The word was clean, calm, and clear. "Alright" was for a scraped knee or a short stumble down the stairs. "Alright" was for when feelings were hurt but no action against the aggressor was needed or called for. "Alright" was for polite conversation surrounded by pleasant nothings and nobodies. He was not, in any way, "alright", but he wasn't dead yet, which, considering the situation, was about as close to "alright" as he was going to get.

His shoulder was torn and bleeding, the Legion's leather armor enough to have prevented anything too deep or concerning, though it didn't help much with the sting. His forearms hadn't fared much better, scratched and torn and ruddy with red that may or may not have belonged to him. Fortunately, his heartbeat so firmly against his chest it was difficult to focus on the pain that was, no doubt, going to hit him in full force the moment danger gave way to reprieve. He certainly looked worse for wear, but his heavy hooded eyes bore little else than that spark of defiance that so often glimmered in the faces of those met with the prospect of their own mortality.

Another arrow knocked, a wince as his bow was drawn, a pebble into a churning sea. He wasn't useless, but he was a far cry from useful.

"I will be after this mess is sorted though," he continued, a raised brow in the bird's direction and more than enough implication that talking to him in the middle of everything wasn't going to do much for either of them. Another voice called out, somewhere nearby, the very clear and very unwanted fact they were far from finished. He didn't bother searching out the new voice's owner. There were still five or six arrows left in his quicker, and he figured he might as well lodge them into some screeching bodies where they might do at least a little good. There was plenty of time for him to waste after he was left with no other real options to contribute.

"On your left," he nodded to the grey-eyed bird as he snatched another arrow from his quiver and hopped back and away from the several oncoming shamblers who'd taken notice. He definitely preferred having someone to keep between himself and trashing, slashing death. It was easier to get a steady shot off as well, though he didn't bother trying to hit anything too close to his unlikely companion - the chances of him shooting the bird in the back were about as high as hitting the things he was aiming for. Instead, he fired off another shot into the writhing mass of bodies emerging from the ground. Another shout, another hit, but certainly not another kill. Unfortunate, but something was, generally, better than nothing.

Posted: **Mon Sep 21, 2020 10:55 pm**

㊋ 4th of Ash, Year 120, Age of Steel ㊋
Company: Two Avialae, Human male, Rathari male | Theme: Heat Haze Shadow| Thoughts: What are these things?| Mood: Curious

㊋ The symphony of battle filled the space around them all. Be it the screams of the creatures, the sound of his weapon slicing through corrupted flesh, or the slight hum from his lips as he enjoyed being in combat once again, it all sounded marvelous to Hyoga. He was truly in his element, the thick of it all as he cut down one abomination after the next.

He was somewhat disappointed, as these creatures were easily dispatched, lackluster in the challenge he thought he would gain from this. He had to admit however this was quite the welcome to his new home. He wondered if this was a regular occurrence for them, having to fend off attacks from these subterranean demons.

Taking flight, he flew closer to the opening of the cave, focusing his efforts on containing the surge of monsters. His spear, wreathed in its fiery aura of black, blue, and grey, cleaved through the horde as he soared to the opening of the cave. He had a plan in mind, but in order to fulfill it, he would have to clear the way first.

He knew the risks of heading into the thick of it all, but with risk come rewards, and his reward would be ensuring no more of these things could escape. Landing he drove Shimo no Tsume into the beast, watching as it wailed and clawed at him till he twisted the spearhead into the beast, causing its flailing to cease.

Whipping his head around two more came at him, and using some aether he coaxed the wind into his hand and sent a gust of it toward them, knock them back, turning to one that lunged at him. With a swipe of his spear, he bisected the beast in two, and in that same momentum cleaved the heads from the two he had knocked back. Though there were other warriors here fighting he couldnt focus on aiding them at the time, hearing a voice call out that more was coming.

They were right, Hyoga greeting the new wave with a smirk. Just as before he began to manifest the ambient wind around his wings, using his aether as a fuel source. He was waiting for the right moment to unleash it, too soon and it would do no good and if he waited too long he would be overrun.

Once the horde was several feet from him, he leaped into the air, the charged winds being forced down onto the abominations blowing them back. it was a mass of screeching flesh and claws as Hyoga hovered above the scene. His spear came flying back into his hands, a heavy breath leaving his lips as he watched.

It seemed he wouldn't be able to enact his plan till the flow of creatures was contained it seemed. ㊋

"Common Speech"
"Synskrit Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

Posted: **Sat Sep 26, 2020 6:46 pm**

The young man in front of him was worse for wear. Everywhere that Talon looked he saw something that was bleeding. Leather armor that was torn at one shoulder exposing a dirt caked and muddy wound. Forearms that, while covered, were in no better condition. It was as the man flashed his forearms or more accurately the bracers covering them, that recognition and understanding set in. The skull bracers of the Dead Legion were well known to all who lived in Kalzasi. That answered one of the earlier questions that had been posed by his companion. Talon was looking at the patrol for this area or perhaps what was left of it. The young man responded as he would have expected a Legionnaire to in this situation. Frank, straightforward and with that hard edge worn by those who had seen too many horrors for one lifetime.

Another voice called out from nearby signaling that the horde swelling up from the deeps was only getting worse. That did not bode well. It drew Talon’s thoughts back to not more than a few seasons past. One of the worst incursions he’d ever seen had belched forth from the depths of the Warrens, scrambling out of the Yawning Chasm with a ferocity that hadn’t been witnessed in at least a generation or more. Talon himself had nearly been killed in the onslaught that had overtaken the city. He didn’t have long to ponder any semblance of connection to the event and what was transpiring in front of him as the Legionnaire drew him back to the present moment. On his left there was a group of shamblers screeching their way toward the two of them. Just beyond them there was another swell of the creatures clambering their way out of the dirt. Talon glanced at the Legionnaire in front of him. He knew neither whether he was a conscript or a volunteer at that moment but it did not matter. A life was a life in his eyes.

“Do not move.” Reaching into himself, Talon stirred his aether into motion. With his kinetics he sent a wave of force out in front of him, halting the advancement of the shamblers for the time being. He then drew upon the Rune of Negation, constructing a node the side of a walnut. Extending his hand he touched the surface of one of those skull bracers leaving the node in place. Around it he quickly built a simple shield that seemed made of blue swirling glass. He gave it only a simple instruction, to block physical blunt force. His simple wall of force was quickly crumbling as the shamblers railed against it.

“If they get past me or if I fall, it will last for perhaps a hit or two.” With that, Talon raised his blade, dropped his thin wall of force and sprinted forward into the oncoming shamblers. He caught his first attacker under a malformed arm and proceeded to lop it off, his blade cutting through flesh and bone as it slammed into the creature. Talon brought his wings in close, using them as a makeshift shield to protect the core of his body. He felt the creatures rake their claws against them and he grit his teeth before expanding his wings forcefully and sending those that had jumped upon him sprawling back. Talon ducked, rolling out of the way of an oncoming series of swipes that would have cuffed him on the side of the head. The monstrosity responsible did not relent. It followed after him, jumping forward with a reckless series of swings bent on rending flesh from Talon’s bones. The young Novalys spun, bringing his sword up to catch the blows. It saved him from getting gutted and succeeded in mangling the creatures claws. Pushing forward, Talon used the edge of his blade to slice through the meat of the shambler’s arms. He kept pushing until with a vicious jerk, Talon cut through the upper half of the monster’s torso. He did not get all the way through, but enough to see it drop lifeless.

The other shamblers cast aside by his wings were quickly regaining their feet. Extending a hand, Talon cast out a net of force around the skull of one of the shamblers. Reaching out with his kinetics, Talon pulled the weight of the aether flux around the skull. The monster shrieked before its head caved in with a sickening crunch as Talon clenched his fist.

That was two down. How many more were left? He didn’t know. But he needed to figure something out fast or somehow get a signal to the Sky Guard for assistance.

---

Aoren had to hand it to whomever this Kathar was. The man was impressive and had not hesitated to jump into the fray of battle as soon as he’d reached the edge of the skirmish. He only hoped that this man could be trusted. He wasn’t like Talon, he did not possess the powers of Semblance and had no way of gleaning insight into the character of a man outside of their actions. His experience with the Kathar however, cast a pall upon this warrior but he would withhold his judgement until it was safer to do so.

“Look sharp, Kathar!” Aoren cast a varnish of fire upon his pact swords. The blade sang with the heat of battle and Aoren knew he would feel every bit of it once it was over. Bounding into the air, Aoren spun himself swiftly as he brought his swords out in an arc around him. The flames varnishing his blades caught the limbs of shrieking shinaegri who reared back from the fire. Aoren did not let up. As soon as his boots were firmly on the ground, he sprung into action crossing his swords in front of him before sharply flourishing them, rending the nearest shamblers to bits. He kept at it, throwing himself into the fray, hacking at each creature that got into his path. His blades never faltered and the edges remained sharp. The varnish of fire helped burn through flesh, fat and ward off some of the creatures. When Aoren had hacked away at enough of them to catch a moment’s reprieve he could still see more swarming out of the cave-in. He let out a heavy breath.

He couldn’t keep this up forever.

He cast a glance back at the city. They had to find a way to signal the Sky Guard. To call for reinforcement and cull this infestation. He glanced to Talon. His companion was fairing well enough even though it made him uneasy to be away from the young Novalys’ side. Calling up to the Kathar, Aoren eyed the man.

“You got a plan, Kathar?” The sound of more screeching and the crunch of bones and slaughter drew his attention immediately setting the warrior on edge. He felt a little bit of relief at the sight of another joining them. A man, who proceeded to point out yet another swell of the horde. From the way the man handled a weapon, he would at least be useful in a fight.

“Zedros is smiling on us. Come!” Aoren raised a sword in salute, signaling for the man to join them on the main field where the bulk of the horde was beginning to gather. He hoped that small bit of thanks to the Dragon God of Luck would see their fortunes further improve.

Posted: **Sat Sep 26, 2020 11:34 pm**

A Welcome Home

Ash 4th, 120th Year, A.o.S.

From what little glimpses he did give to those present, there were approximately three Avialae within the area total, alongside two other humans who were caught up in the skirmish. As far as the wolf could tell these were combined forces, either from the Sky Guard themselves or simple mercenaries, combined with the Dead Legion as well if he were a betting man. Not that he had time to really think much less bet on them, as the more pressing matter at hand was what demanded all their attention right now.

Shamblers crawled out from the depths of their pit still, and everyone here had to work together to quell their numbers. For Rickter that meant applying his sword skills to good use, and with the Pact bastard sword held in two hands now, he would certainly see to it these creatures felt the might of his will. Already one spurned forth with a snarling growl with one of its arms extended, intent to either grab or even jab at Rickter in its lunge toward him. The half-breed stood his ground however with a furrowed brow, calm, and collected fury in his gaze as he brought his blade over to the right; and then proceeded to lunge in for the first series of attacks.

While certainly not efficiently practiced Rickter's arms pointed the sword away from him, as he drew in to close the gap between him and the first putrid flesh horror before him, and swung from his right side to slash into the forearm of the creature. The Shambler's reaction was slow as expected, and even the reception to being hacked at by a sword seemed to take a second. Yet the creature stumbled back with it's arm withdrawn, just as the wolf had hoped, which left its guard wide open for the warrior to strike again. Thus as Rickter's blade finished it's trajectory to the left, he redirected its course so that he performed another hefty swing from left to right. The Shambler saw this and, even with slow reflexes, raised its arms up defensively to protect itself.

It was a pointless gambit, however, for Rickter's sword slashed right through its forearms, cleaving them in half as the warrior finished his secondary swing with another step forward. The Shambler writhed and began to flail in a panic now, with a deep crimson red spouting from its limbs as it bellowed in pain. Rickter's advance did not halt however, as the third slash he made repeated the same travel pattern as the first one did, splitting flesh apart across the torso region as the warrior continued to turn. Ricky pivoted so that when he kicked off from the ground, he performed a small leap that allowed him to revolve into one final blow to end the creature. With a hefty smite from above Rickter brought down his weapon onto the shambler, splitting its skull in two as the shambler tumbled down from the force of the blow.

One down... too many more to count. Rickter released the breath of air he withheld now that he'd finished, his fierce eyes upon the next set of Shamblers that came his way. Two more backed by several more were on their way now, suddenly making his chances of living feel a bit slimmer now that he'd laid eyes upon them. However he wasn't going to back down now, not whenever he was just getting started to say the least. Thus with his sword held low once again the blade remained pointed toward his enemies, the drumming within his chest all but ignored when he shifted his right foot further behind his left. The first two shamblers that were closing in reached a point, right where he wanted them to, and in turn, Rickter shifted to rotate on the heel of his left foot. With both hands still clutched on his sword, the warrior performed a somewhat slow but hefty swing with his blade.

With the force of rotation, he gained combined with the force of his own strength, Rickter's blade smashed directly into both shamblers, one right after the other, to cause them to greatly stagger back into their brethren' entourage behind them. "Teh!" The wolf muttered under his breath scornfully as the lot of them scrambled, seeking to recover their ground as the two injured Shamblers writhed in pain. "Quellin' their numbers won't work," He called out to everyone around him, "there's too many! We need to close off their exit!" Although how exactly they'd go about doing that was unknown, from what action Rickter picked up on in seeing the others, one of the Avialae was good with a different kind of magic. While he hadn't really seen it used in action much, the warrior had heard of Kinetic users within The Circle.

Yet he hadn't any time to formulate an idea or strategy, as already those he'd attacked plus a couple of new ones, began to swarm and close in on him. Now Rickter was beginning to worry, as he hadn't any idea how he'd fight off an entire horde of these creatures. Nevertheless, he couldn't let fear still his hands nor his feet, thus the warrior shirked from a sweeping strike of one of the creature's claws, pulling himself into another hefty rotation as he slammed as many as he could with his blade, only to find that they dampened the force of his attack by staying huddled together. Damn it!! Were the words that crossed his mind as he went in for another hefty slash, this time just to cleave his way through shamblers with wide sweeps from left to right.

It was all he could do to try and push them back, to keep them at bay while something could be done to stop them altogether.

"Every side attacks you when you don't pick sides."

Legend of Ransera

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