The Slum Gate Massacre The clashing of metal and blue-steel could be heard from any corner of the city, as both Rebel, Violet, and Shield took arms. Children would cry, women would hold them dear to their chests. Was this it? Was the cities order in the balance between falling into chaos or being preserved? December 14th, 305 AC It was a normal day for Guardsman Benjamin Journey- He was just about to get off the clock to enjoy some of his favorite things in life. Drinks- Women- and singing in front of crowds at the Golden Willow Tavern. To Ben's horror- the day would provide no such luxuries. (Clank clank clank) He stood at post, awaiting his final hour of work at the Tower's Gate. A figure suddenly approached... (Foot steps) "Hault! Stop there and Identify yourse-!" Benjamin was cut off as he recognized the figure. It was Eske Ulfmaerran. He cursed, what did this man want from Ben? Couldn't he see that he was just about to turn his uniform in for the day? "Who's order was it to release Ichabod Ar'tea?!" Eske stated aggressively. What? Ichabod escaped? How? Or by who's order?! Benjamin's mind raced at every question which opened a new door to a series of additional questions. It was true, Benjamin feared the Demon Mage almost as much as the dragon. "Ehh..." Benjamin was at a loss for words. "Ichabod is roaming in the slums with an army of Rebels at his side!" bebuddled Eske. "I'm sure if Ichabod was released, it was with good intent by our Lord Commander-" Benjamin trailed off as he was a bit unsure of his response... He had no clue how Ichabod escaped... Dread would rise along his spine. NONSENSE! It cant be true! Surely this is just Eske playing a trick! Alas- as Eske rushed off, Benjamin hurried up the stairwell, to the cell where Ichabod was chained... Empty, the door was even left opened. Time to act! Run to the tavern, ask questions! You need to find out what has happened and how! Benjamin ran as fast as he could to the tavern, he ran into several Citizens including an elderly Yanar by the name of Asterion Fellmirr. Benjamin asked the question- It was like glass suddenly shattering in the Palace, breaking the silence. The crowd about him fell silent. "What do you mean to say about Ich- the one that shall not be named. Is he not in the tower?!" Benjamin refused to answer the question. He wanted the public to stay calm, he wanted the women and children to rest in peace tonight. It would all be in vain... To Battle! Hour's passed, Benjamin remained restless on patrol, suddenly shouting could be heard from the park. A large crowd had gathered a the slum gate. Benjamin cautiously approached, he knew the rule- Stay away from the slums. "A crowd? What sort of festival is th-" It was no festival- the crowd was an army, and they were gathered giving attention to the Demon Mage Ichabod. He was gathering an army of Rebels! Clank clank clank! Benjamin stumbled about as he turned at a sudden acceleration. He blew the whistle in the park. This was a matter that needed a captain, and a few extra guards. To Benjamin's relief, Kaya Sorenvik arrived, with several additional Violets at her side. Another set of figures who showed up were Eske, once again, and Urijah Jameson. Alec Dondario, a violet who looked surprisingly similar to Benjamin, green eyes, tone and stature. Wielded a tower shield and arming sword. Benjamin also wielded a tower shield and arming sword of similar detail. They followed Kaya, arriving at the gate of the slums. Rebel Army shown gathering "Violets! Shield wall!" Ordered Kaya. The violets instantly raised their tower shields with great discipline, creating a wall which cut off the entrance of the gate. "We are not here to battle, we are here to disperse this crowd," Benjamin quietly told himself. A large 'mob' if you would, was gathered. They all wielded weapons of crude detail. Half wooden bucklers, tower shields of rot, spears and poles of blunt, rusted swords, and stringless bows all faced the wall. Upon the marching of Violets, the army of rebels turned, facing the wall. "None of those bastards get through Violets!" Eske and Urijah arrived at the flank, creating more fodder to the wall of flesh and steel. Suddenly the crowd began to disperse. Relief could be heard from the breaths of the Violets. "They are regrouping!" Shouted Eske. It was true, in the distance the once dispersed crowd was getting organized. They were being led by a strangely familiar figure, his face remained helmeted, but his build was unique. Shields came as well as an additional Violet by the name of Harald Viktor von Drachenburg. Benjamin would soon come to thank Harald for foreshadowed events. Crunch, crunch, crunch. A army of peasants, carpenters, miners, and discharged soldiers marched there way at front of the Shield and Violet shield wall. At this point, Benjamin's hairs stood on end. There would be no singing, no women, and no drinks tonight. Only blood, mud, and shit. Silver Valentine, Ally Eikhreid, and Harald Drache all arrived suddenly, adding to the shield and violets numbers. Figures with crude bows lined up, they were led by the mysteriously familiar figure once again. A gap was made through the line as a large menacing figure, wielding an entire War hammer with a single hand, conjured forth. The figures face remained covered, his body armored heavily by rusted steel. He slowly limped forth. One could smell his stench, the reek of death and rot. If Orchids grew nearby- they would have died from the awful smell. *Woosh* the figure swung his hammer overhead. The shield wall watched in horror as it approached. What was this creature which held a war hammer with a single arm? Stomp, stomp, stomp, it approached directly towards Kaya. As it neared five feet before them, she strategically side stepped the figure, drawing it's attention away from the shield wall. *Woosh* In a blink of an eye, splinters flied through the air, bouncing off the Violets shields. *Woosh* Kaya was sent flying to the wall, limp as could be. Suddenly, in the confusion of combat, Eske charged forth, following was Urijah. "Hoorah!" The Violet wall shouted in unison as they began to follow stepping forward, shields pushing forth. *Woosh* ... And just like that, the wall was broken. Blood splattered through the air, screams were heard from men who cried like children. Blood curdling, such that should never be heard by a fellow guardsman. Bang! Crack, Ching! Steel on steel, shield on shield, hammer on now crushed Violet armor. Once the shield wall was broken, Benjamin stepped forth with Alec before the large Gargantuan Necrothor wielding the war hammer. He raised his shield ill prepared by the swing that came towards his direction. *Crack!* the shield fell into a million different splinters. He then was slammed into the wall before a armed warrior by the name of Asad. He limped forth, distancing himself from the Gargantuan Necrothor as the Shield charter busied themselves in combat against the bone splitting hammer. "Release!" Called the mysterious figure who took a position of leadership with the Rebel Army. I know that voice... It is Bastien Celyreos, now known as Bastien the Bastard of Gray was the figure who Benjamin thought to recognize. A man with a dangerous set of skills- was now in the midst of leading an entire Rebel archer regiment. *Woosh* dozens of arrows flew through the air as they stuck into one guard after another. Benjamin remained behind Alec for cover as he was shield-less, but arming sword in hand. Suddenly, and explosion blinded the Violets and Shields. Their ears rang, their vision whitened. This bought the Rebel army enough time to reach for their quivers. "Release!" Ordered Bastien, Bastard of the Gray. *Woosh* another volley flew through the air... This time it would hit it's mark, digging straight into the blinded Benjamin's shoulder, and sticking right out his back. What arrow could pierce Violet armor so easily? He stumbled backward from the blow, his hand releasing from Alec's shoulder. As he did so, he suddenly fell at the feet of the Gargantuan Necrothor. It slowly began to face him, lifelessly ignoring the stabs of several shields, almost as if it were not being struck several times at all. The large deathling slowly raised it's hammer above head, bringing it down towards Benjamin. ... So this is it... This is where my story ends... Have I lived a life that I can look back upon and say- "This is how I want it to be, I can die now in peace." The seconds at which the hammer came down dragged into hours, then to days, then to years. Benjamin's entire life was flashing before his eye's. He wanted to say goodbye to all his friends, to see tavern friends such as Maloria or Imanshi, he wanted to sing one last time for the Golden Willow Tavern, to taste Honey Mead once more... ... But no. Life is not so merciful... *Bang!* A figured flung his shield out front, absorbing the blow. It was none other than Harald Viktor von Drachenburg, a Violet Crown Protectrate! He had successfully deflected the blow, though his shield splintered and his arm fell limp. Ben began to rise to his feet, groping at the arrow which protruded from his shoulder. Suddenly, a thwack from the Necrothor’s hammer struck him by surprise. It was too fast to let Benjamin regroup. Retreat! "Retreat! Retreat you bastards!" A Violet Captain ordered. Though it could not be recognized in the choas of battle. Bodies were dragged out of the gate as the fight continued. Some lifeless, some injured beyond repair. The Rebel army continued to send volleys towards the Guardsman Army. Every now and then, an arrow would harmlessly stick into the Gargantuan's flesh. It remained unchanged, continuing to combat Shields such as Valentius Decimar, or Ania Howlester. At this point, Benjamin's consciousness began to fade. In a concussed daze, he looked once more at the archway of the slum gate. It just looked like a red pile of bodies, some screamed out for help, while others remained still. The gargantuan finally seemed to be stepping back, several unbleeding wounds in it's skin as it did so. To Ben's surprise, the old Yanar, Asterion Fellmirr, somehow had avoided each volley as well as each strike. He remained untouched in the midst of battle. Ben surprisingly raised a brow- And then- Black...
@NathanPlayzMC_14 @skullpanda90 @MugKing@HeyoBiggums@Wumpatron@NZ_Phoenix@JarrettdaCarrot@J@DeltaInsomniaennaLikesCoffee @Pallaeon @Legoclub22@AlphaInsomnia@LumosJared MantaReyElderShrubChalapasIGutTheMidasTuch MortisianPellaeon @Magivore I tagged anyone included in this story, feel free to tag anyone I have forgotten to mention.
Since I was mentioned a few times, and wanted to do this either way, hopefully you don't mind if I post my own character's perspective of these events? Might shine some inkling of an idea on how on Aloria he is still alive. Plus add more cool lore stories to this wonderful and seemingly spontaneous development. Spoiler: Nightmares of Necrothors and Nu'ssaja Nightmares of Necrothors and Nu'ssaja Sleep eluded him like, as if whisked away in the howling storm of his mind. Asterion’s body lay tired and weary after the long day. Again, it seemed another restless night as the quiet howling of the wind and the barking of dogs carried through the Regalian streets. Yet the old Yanar’s mind was distant. Replaying that same scene throughout. A false alarm seemed a forlorn hope now. He stood under the gatehouse, its towering stonework lacking the careful craftsmanship of the cathedrals, but walls as strong as the Black Tower itself. There was a terrible dawning as the grouping, the army, coalesced from the crowd. This would not be a simple fight. A quiet sun. No, tonight a red moon would rise. Where once stood simple folk, staying one careful step ahead of famine, now a trained army. These were no thugs, they were led by those as accomplished as they are ruthless. Behind him offered little salvation either. He had stepped forward through guardsmen ranks to try and calm what troubles where passing in the crowd ahead. To send aid to the wounded and learn what had passed. Yet now the formed and readied ranks of Regalian armour offered no mercy. Their shields locked, he could see glints of steel through the cracks. Their commander, Kaya Sorenvik, holding steadfast. It was this way that the elderly Yanar came to stand between two forces, the young Cielother Sehaeri by his side. It would have been near comical, an elderly withered old plant on the battlefield, if it had not been so dire. A panic rose in his chest, the air grew tense in the calm moments before the storm. And that creature stepped forward. He knew what it was, he had faced those enslaved to dark masters before. Yet it held no less than a grotesque display of a half-man. The Necrothor, for that was its name, was twisted and vile. Towering above other men. It was crudely armoured. The metal plates trying to spare the dozen or so spikes of rusted metal protruding from oozing holes on its body. But what was worse was the stench. It was as if it had been dead for weeks, but it was still moving. That putrid smell of decay that awakens some inborn disgust in all men. Jagged steps fell as it lumbered forward. Asterion was silently thankful that the guardsman did not know that within this abomination of flesh, lay a tortured soul. Trapped. Perhaps never again to see the light of the sun behind that faceless helmet. They had tried to keep it back, but who dared step in front of such a being? It had near approached unimpeded. And as it raised its warhammer, so it began. “Get back from the hammer!” There was a crack as the beast tore the first shield it could find apart. The bold commander Kaya who had tried to flank the foe. The splintering of wood echoing. And in that moment Asterion was no longer the quiet and peaceful Yanar. No, he was back in the time of last winter leading the faithful against the servants of demons. The cold winds beating against his back as screams of dying men and rage rang through the air. A time he had done so much to forget. If he could hear himself he would near not recognize his own words. “To arms! To arms! They bleed as any other!” The creature he knew was near indomitable, yet he must try. Flushing out the world as he focused his attention on that all too familiar expanse of endless white. Now was the time to call upon his skill with the arcane. “Ehti—“ There was a bang and a flash His mind snapped back to the world as light and sound flooded his senses. Like an anchor keeping him from rising. He staggered for a moment. But when the world returned, the fight had already begun. The crash of steel against steel. The shrieks of pain and fear. The screaming of arrows passing overhead. The splintering of shields under the Necrothor warhammer. Chaos ruled. Their foes had descended upon them. Their lines had broken. Still he struggled to control his arcane power amid the chaos. Drawing on the essence of light and of the Exist he began anew. The flickering orb of light was gentle in his palm. The Necrothor was shattering shields with each strike, sending soldiers flying. Each crack the doom of a man. He was thankful his willowy frame was too small a threat besides the armoured forces of the guardsmen. The familiar drow, Valentius stood ahead of the others. His shield trying to aid those who had advanced too far into a retreat. “Ehtima!” He cried, stepping forward towards the undefeated beast. The lumbering half man. Throwing his palm forward towards the creature the orb cracked and sparkled into a million shards. Flying forward with a shower of light. The Necrothor raised its arm to shield its eyes. And the strangest thing happened. The deformed beast rose a few feet from the ground, as if as light as a feather under this willowy old Yanar’s influence. And it was at that moment that the thick black smoke erupted over the scene. The sparks of lights still flew, struggling against the choking smoke. The Yanar hacked and coughed, but the cast had already begun. His palms outstretched catching all under the shower of light. Arrows came to a halt, leaves and debris suspended within the swirling dark cloud. And then a shockwave. Radiating out with force. The heavy body of the Necrothor was thrown backwards. Tossed towards the crowd from whence it came. Struggling against the smoke and the bodies, the Yanar stumbled backwards. Retreat. Safety. And yet that demonic force still rested behind him. It was not defeated, only slowed. It’s darkness straining against the walls of the slums. Stretching out like tendrils, ready to pluck at the heart of all. The Nu'ssaja would not rest. These demons who had tormented his dreams. Sleep would eventually come for the Yanar. A tormented sleep of burning trees and melting seedlings. A sleep of demons and nightmares that he had long wished to forget. But they were just nightmares, weren’t they? Trials of a long-forgotten past? They could not return? And yet, neither could this old Yanar forget. No matter how much he wished it, of that pain, he had not forgotten.
That would be awesome! It was hard for me to get everyone’s perspective- as I got rushed away shortly after my character went unconscious.
This writing was genuinely really-really-REALLY immersive to me! >3< If it we're a full on story, you'd have me hooked.. So, *hint hint* Get producing! *cough*
