Post by Alric, son of Harland on Mar 3, 2005 23:05:56 GMT -5
In a month, men from all over the Land Between the Lands will be arriving in Mittelmarch. Dhugal will bring his woman and babe, Bishop will bring the Dragoons able to make the trip, and Oron and Aidyn will be bringing members of their lands through the portals that connect them to The Land. Messengers have been sent in every direction, but they will stay with whomever they find until it is time to return to Mittelmarch.
Isen and the men of the woods have been spending a lot of time in the settlement proper, helping prepare bed space and the tournament fields. Theodoric was busy at the forge, and Alric was preparing prizes and the Trophy.
A fortnight from now, Bishop, Dhugal, and Alric will meet one last time before the Olympics.
Post by Leovigild, son of Eurander on Mar 16, 2005 1:38:27 GMT -5
As Leovigild leaves the forest and reaches the cusp of the Mittelmarch settlement, he's greeted with the sights and smells of home. It's approaching supper-time, and smoke rises from a small group of huts that stand as the frontier between the capital and the forest to the north.
"Mmmm...nothing smells quite like fresh meat over a fire," thought the visigoth as his stomach began to growl.
Fifty paces directly in front of him stands a large watchtower, manned by a pair of warriors. Stationary defenses such as this were not common by any means in the old world, but things were much different since the discovery of the mist. Facing constant attacks from all sides, Alric and his band of warriors had consolidated their power into a defensible location: A clearing in the forest. Now, watchtowers and forts lined the perimeter of the clearing. While not a defensive system worthy of song, it served its purpose of alerting the men of Mittelmarch to impending attacks.
Leovigild acknowleged the men in the tower, and continued his march towards home. It had been nearly a year since he had been on this land. The man was a barbarian in every sense of the word while on the field of battle, but he was also quite intellectual. At times, his friends chided him for his quest for knowledge, but Leovigild knew that the only way to improve his life was through discovery. That's why he had left for the Northern Steppes.
But alas, the Olympics were nearly at hand! It was time to return home, albeit for a short time. The Olympics were the one time of the year in which the people of Mittelmarch, and the Land Between the Lands, could come together to celebrate and compete.
Leovigild was thrown out of his revelry by a scream to his rear. He turned around in time to see one of the sentries fall nearly 20 cubits from the watchtower, an axe implanted in his skull. Seconds later, the other sentry was nearly beheaded by another throwing axe. His head still attached to his body by only a thin strand of flesh, he crumpled to the floor of the tower.
Leovigild dove for nearby shrubbery to conceal himself and allow for an assesment of the situation. Three large orcs, each weighing at least 20 stone, emerged from the forest. What strength and precision it must have taken to throw an axe more than 50 paces and score two consecutive headshots! The visigoth planned his ambush as the orcs went to retrieve their throwing axes from the bodies of the fallen Mittelmarch Warriors........
I was making mental notes and preparations for my journey ahead of me at the end of the week. The council was to meet one last time before the Portals opened and men and women entered from all over to partake in the Olympics. Chills ran down my side as I thought of the excitement that would ensue as men put down their normal sharp blades to take up blunted swords to test their mettle in a friendly way, or race each other, or prove their other battlefield skills.
I was also going to be meeting up with some possible new recruits to add to the ranks of my Legion. But the messenger that I ran down to the recruits in Mittlemarch, never returned with word. This did not sit well with me, something wasn't right in the capital city. And in my injured state, things were not looking good as excited as I was...
Post by Alric, son of Harland on Mar 21, 2005 20:31:14 GMT -5
Alric led Dhugal and Bishop to a thinking spot not far from the settlement's edge. The three were discussing The Olympics when he heard the shouting of orcs. He pulled the twin broadswords from his back and looked to the others. He saw Bishop pick up his bow, which confused Alric until he remembered Bishop's injured knee. Bishop fired rapidly into the orcs, and Dhugal threw two javelins before drawing his sword. A handful of orcs dropped without reaching the trio, but there were scores behind them. Dhugal slashed with his sword and bashed with his shield, and Alric took a defensive stance near Bishop, but the orcs were too many.
When Alric came to, he was tied to a tree. He realized the battlecries of men from Mittelmarch had awoken him, and he watched as they fought back the orcs. One of the men cut his bonds, and Alric was pleased to find that the orcs had been stupid enough to leave his weapons by his side. Bishop was also freed, and the Mittelmarchers gathered around, waiting for orders. They formed a tight group, with Dragoon shields in front, and advanced on the orcs. When the men got close enough, the orcs charged, and in the confusion of the battle, Taos Levanon's swift elven feet carried him to Dhugal's side, where he freed the Celt. When the orcs saw that all of their prisoners had escaped, they fled toward the Iron Mountains.
The men gave chase, but could not catch the orcs before they reached the mountains and the caves within. Bishop fired into the cave mouth, and many javelins preceded the men's charge. A hundred orcs and more fell at the feet of The Land's warriors, but still they came. Alric, worried for the lives of his men, ordered a retreat, and the orcs gave chase.
Once they reached flatter land, the men turned to face their enemies. The orcs poured out of the cave, but did not charge. Instead, they waited, watching the cave mouth. Alric grew nervous, and his fears were soon confirmed when out of the cave stepped the dark, ominous figure of Cyrus Black-Cloak.
"Attack, my minions!" Black-Cloak's voice thundered across the rocky landscape.
What magic is this? Alric thought as the necromancer's voiced echoed in his ears.
The men fought valiantly, but the orcs kept coming. As the battle continued, Alric noticed that some of the orcs were shuffling toward him with wounds that should have been mortal.
What magic is this? he thought again, but this time, he got an answer.
"ZOMBIES!" Dhugal cried. "Kill the wizard!"
Alric tried to look for the necromancer, but was soon surrounded by orc zombies. They're tougher when they're dead. A grim smile found its way to Alric's face as he hacked through the orcs a second time. His arms tired, and his strokes came more slowly. Finally, his defense faltered, and an orc blade got through to score a hit against his left shoulder, rendering the arm all but useless. He looked over his shoulder, picking his way through the rocks as he fought the undead orcs off with his good arm. His swordwork was purely defensive now, and he was ready to turn and run when the zombies stopped fighting. Alric's eyebrows furrowed with confusion, but then the zombies fell over and he saw Dhugal standing with his sword through the necromancer's middle.
"Well this sucks. Arrows suck!" As I bent down and plucked another arrow out of a corpse. "But on the other hand, Im not nearly as tired."
"well if I had shieldman to stand behind while i stood around and shot arrows, I wouldn't be tired other" Dhugal replied in his normal sarcastic tone. ( ) as he wiped his sword clean on the tattered remnants of the necros body.
"Yeah but if I had my sword, you would've had nobody to kill...and that is no fun for anybody" I said back. "Good job on the kill, stupid wind kept altering the flight of my arrows."
"no you just can't aim"
"alright so about that meeting boys, who wants some food?"