The walking corpse, proud to say that it had the body of an Ur and the head of one of Aloria's horned horses, the Elasmo, had blood dripping from its gnarled teeth. A Mortdei sat, in pain, on the horn of the Elasmo. Hanging was likely a better term. Feet dangling below him, into a flowing river. Taking a moment to glare into the orbs that belonged to the Elasmo, our Mortdei then wrapped his hands around the horn that went through his gut, and pushed himself off with what force could be mustered by his tired arms.
He tumbled, off of the cliff, and fell into slumber as his body slammed into the water below. The Etosian waters carried his limp form on, into the night. With the moon fixating itself in the sky, as clouds blocked the light from both it and the stars. The night dragged on, he found himself awake, aware, and awkwardly sprawled on top of the sand and mud of some beach. A hand was planted firmly on the ground, then another. He used the leverage to pull himself to his knees.
Taking two fingers, he checked the severity of the wound in his gut. A sigh of relief overcame him. It could be repaired. It wouldn't be too difficult. It would take but a moment and some leather. Now, he rose to his feet with a gentle smirk. He looked up into the night with a squint, before orienting himself in the direction of the shadows of buildings, not too far from where he stood there.
The terrain was easy enough, and familiar, though his legs continued to be a thorough nuisance. You see, dear reader, they were shaped as an archer's bow. Perhaps an unstrung bow, but it would depend on the wood used to make the bow, and the carver's intent. Nonetheless, his legs were bent. The cause of such an issue could almost certainly be attributed to his love of horses and horse-mounted combat. The walk was a struggle. He would grow comfortable with it eventually, even if he could not run as well as others.
Some passage of time brought him to the small town, which seemed rather deserted. Perhaps empty, even. The lack of sounds both comforted him and urged him to mourn for the strangers of the village. Had they fled, or had they simply been slaughtered? Neither would be known, neither could be suggested by what remained.
He made his way carefully through the village, picking through what he would need to repair and hide the wound from the living. After a bit of time, a half hour perhaps, he had finally collected what he needed. A needle and thread. For now, the wound could be sewn closed. Later, he would patch it with leather and fabric.
Upon finishing that, he set out once more. He would need to find a settlement and ship to return.
Return to Regalia.
Memories of the past hours were wild and constant. He could not find himself forgetting them. Nor could he avoid repeating them over and over in his head. Biting his tongue gently, he considered telling the story to no one in particular. Like he would have told stories to his horse, Alexander. Now, he would tell himself stories.
He'd gone to Regalia to survey how they were handling these new undead beasts that were plaguing the country. Perhaps it was just an issue of Etosil. When he had learned of the situation in its truest, he'd once more returned to Etosil. A horse ride had gone spectacularly badly.
He hadn't brought his armor, which had been a mistake. Then, icing on the cake, he'd stayed out far too long for his own good. The night had obscured a particularly nasty horror, just an Orc's torso and arms and head, from him. The swift fighting ended with a decapitated Orc head and Joppa's horse dead.
Another bone horror had soon followed-- Head of an Elasmo, body of an Ur-- and slapped Joppa to the ground, before going to eat into the body of the horse. It wasn't long after that the beast had dangled Joppa over the edge of the cliff.
The boat docked, and the Mortdei coughed to himself. It was raspy-- False. Better people thinking he ill, than people suspecting he truly dead. He moved with the thin crowd, entering the city. He moved as fast as his bow-legs would carry him. He needed a place to hide.
As with most looking for a hiding place in the filthy city, he found his way to the undercity. It was a quick enough ordeal, locating it, but he knew a place of its sorts would be as far from safe as possible. And, no one would protect such a proud dead man.
His search for a weapon started and ended with a lowlife-- Some sewer dweller, an opium fiend perhaps. The man took twenty regals, the last of what Joppa had on hand, and lead him to the deeper section of the sewers. Our Mortdei didn't recognize the sewer man's panicked scurrying as the warning sign it was.
A few hours of searching found him a rusted iron dagger. It'd shatter, it was useless. He tossed i t aside and searched again. He needed something worthy of his use. There was no way he would leave without a weapon. When he did find an iron longsword, in good condition, he didn't hesitate. He took it up and felt its weight in his hands. It wasn't exactly an axe, because it was a sword, but it was weighted comfortably.
Joppa paused for a moment, considering something. Why would someone leave a sword in the sewers, this deep, if it were in good condition, and safe? They likely wouldn't. He turned, seeing the shadow shrouded shape of a bathogg, with an Ailor's torso attached to its side. The beast squealed.
Joppa, had he not the experience of fighting horrors already, would have likely been petrified. He swung the blade clumsily, wide. The beast plowed into him, ripping away a large amount of the flesh away from under his arm. His ribs were exposed, though his ten years dry blood did not flow. He was tossed to the ground, rolling. He did his best to use the momentum to slash at the creature, though its strong hide seemed to deflect the metal blade.
He stood, quickly sprinting as fast as he could manage towards the way he had come. The bathogg creature began charging, and as it came upon Joppa, he turned. The blade in hand, he swung down over his head, slicing through the flesh of the bathogg, nearly all the way through.
Turning, ripping the blade free, and moving quickly up the stairs from where he had come from beforehand. As he slowed, reaching the top of the steps, he fell forward. He clamped his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, and passing out.
As his eyes opened, blinking for a moment, he was surprised to see several sewer healers looking over him. Tending to his wounds. Binding him. A surprise, on his part. They couldn't do much, ultimately, as magical healing did nothing to his long dead flesh.
After a few days of recuperation, Joppa returned. His blade in hand. He knew the way to go, and he knew what he wanted. Revenge. He wanted the bathogg creature to squirm. The next several hours, a mix of wandering around and following the bathogg's blood trail, finally became fruitful.
It had an Orc from the waist up hanging on the side. There was a mace in his hand.
Joppa took several steps, charging forward and swinging his blade down. The Ailor torso of the bathogg was severed, though the orc of the bathogg swung its mace. Joppa stumbled as his left shoulder blade was broken, though he turned. With his right hand and the blade, he sliced the arms away from the orc. The bathogg cried out, shoving Joppa's stomach along one of the beasts tusks, though Joppa simply hunched over and sliced its two front legs away, out from under it.
He slid off of the tusk, eyeing the the mess of gore. He chuckled, holding his blade high above his head, and swung it down like an executioner, separating its head from its body. Laughing, he fell to the ground. He placed his left hand on his face, yawning and laughing as the bathogg's head squealed and rolled about. It wasn't dead, but it was gonna need a few weeks to pick itself up. He'd come back, and he'd kill it again.
He needed supplies. It was at the point now where his shoulder was being obnoxious, and he wanted to be ready for more wounds. Slices, stabs, those were easy enough to deal with if he could get his hands on a thread and needle.
It was simple enough to ask around for the needle and thread, but the lack of results had him a little more than angry. Nothing came from his search, and it became quickly clear that thievery would be the required method of gain.
He began picking through, taking from the more well off sewer dwellers. His journey for a needle and thread was fruitless, though thick bandages were found. They would prove useful in the future as well.
Joppa soon encountered something rather surprising: A sewer dweller willing to fight back for what little they had. The Shendar man had a longsword, identical to Joppa's own, and barked a few savage threats at him in the archaic tongue that is Elvish.
Joppa laughed, drawing his own blade and stepping towards the Shendar. Smirking, the Elf attempted to stab Joppa through the gut. When he didn't die, the Shendar was caught off guard, eyes going wide as he pleaded for his life with a quick and worried mouth.
Our Mortdei was not feeling very merciful, especially for the living, and took his own blade into the elven stomach. He sliced it open, letting the intestines of the Elf fall out to the side, before removing his blade from the gut of the now dead man. He smirked, drawing the sword from his stomach and holding it up to the light. He had two blades now.
Joppa picked at the corpse, taking what clothing wasn't covered in blood, and smiling broadly as he found himself a needle and a spool of thread. Perfect.
Our Mortdei smiled, clasping his hands and muttering to himself in joy.
He tumbled, off of the cliff, and fell into slumber as his body slammed into the water below. The Etosian waters carried his limp form on, into the night. With the moon fixating itself in the sky, as clouds blocked the light from both it and the stars. The night dragged on, he found himself awake, aware, and awkwardly sprawled on top of the sand and mud of some beach. A hand was planted firmly on the ground, then another. He used the leverage to pull himself to his knees.
Taking two fingers, he checked the severity of the wound in his gut. A sigh of relief overcame him. It could be repaired. It wouldn't be too difficult. It would take but a moment and some leather. Now, he rose to his feet with a gentle smirk. He looked up into the night with a squint, before orienting himself in the direction of the shadows of buildings, not too far from where he stood there.
The terrain was easy enough, and familiar, though his legs continued to be a thorough nuisance. You see, dear reader, they were shaped as an archer's bow. Perhaps an unstrung bow, but it would depend on the wood used to make the bow, and the carver's intent. Nonetheless, his legs were bent. The cause of such an issue could almost certainly be attributed to his love of horses and horse-mounted combat. The walk was a struggle. He would grow comfortable with it eventually, even if he could not run as well as others.
Some passage of time brought him to the small town, which seemed rather deserted. Perhaps empty, even. The lack of sounds both comforted him and urged him to mourn for the strangers of the village. Had they fled, or had they simply been slaughtered? Neither would be known, neither could be suggested by what remained.
He made his way carefully through the village, picking through what he would need to repair and hide the wound from the living. After a bit of time, a half hour perhaps, he had finally collected what he needed. A needle and thread. For now, the wound could be sewn closed. Later, he would patch it with leather and fabric.
Upon finishing that, he set out once more. He would need to find a settlement and ship to return.
Return to Regalia.
Memories of the past hours were wild and constant. He could not find himself forgetting them. Nor could he avoid repeating them over and over in his head. Biting his tongue gently, he considered telling the story to no one in particular. Like he would have told stories to his horse, Alexander. Now, he would tell himself stories.
He'd gone to Regalia to survey how they were handling these new undead beasts that were plaguing the country. Perhaps it was just an issue of Etosil. When he had learned of the situation in its truest, he'd once more returned to Etosil. A horse ride had gone spectacularly badly.
He hadn't brought his armor, which had been a mistake. Then, icing on the cake, he'd stayed out far too long for his own good. The night had obscured a particularly nasty horror, just an Orc's torso and arms and head, from him. The swift fighting ended with a decapitated Orc head and Joppa's horse dead.
Another bone horror had soon followed-- Head of an Elasmo, body of an Ur-- and slapped Joppa to the ground, before going to eat into the body of the horse. It wasn't long after that the beast had dangled Joppa over the edge of the cliff.
The boat docked, and the Mortdei coughed to himself. It was raspy-- False. Better people thinking he ill, than people suspecting he truly dead. He moved with the thin crowd, entering the city. He moved as fast as his bow-legs would carry him. He needed a place to hide.
As with most looking for a hiding place in the filthy city, he found his way to the undercity. It was a quick enough ordeal, locating it, but he knew a place of its sorts would be as far from safe as possible. And, no one would protect such a proud dead man.
His search for a weapon started and ended with a lowlife-- Some sewer dweller, an opium fiend perhaps. The man took twenty regals, the last of what Joppa had on hand, and lead him to the deeper section of the sewers. Our Mortdei didn't recognize the sewer man's panicked scurrying as the warning sign it was.
A few hours of searching found him a rusted iron dagger. It'd shatter, it was useless. He tossed i t aside and searched again. He needed something worthy of his use. There was no way he would leave without a weapon. When he did find an iron longsword, in good condition, he didn't hesitate. He took it up and felt its weight in his hands. It wasn't exactly an axe, because it was a sword, but it was weighted comfortably.
Joppa paused for a moment, considering something. Why would someone leave a sword in the sewers, this deep, if it were in good condition, and safe? They likely wouldn't. He turned, seeing the shadow shrouded shape of a bathogg, with an Ailor's torso attached to its side. The beast squealed.
Joppa, had he not the experience of fighting horrors already, would have likely been petrified. He swung the blade clumsily, wide. The beast plowed into him, ripping away a large amount of the flesh away from under his arm. His ribs were exposed, though his ten years dry blood did not flow. He was tossed to the ground, rolling. He did his best to use the momentum to slash at the creature, though its strong hide seemed to deflect the metal blade.
He stood, quickly sprinting as fast as he could manage towards the way he had come. The bathogg creature began charging, and as it came upon Joppa, he turned. The blade in hand, he swung down over his head, slicing through the flesh of the bathogg, nearly all the way through.
Turning, ripping the blade free, and moving quickly up the stairs from where he had come from beforehand. As he slowed, reaching the top of the steps, he fell forward. He clamped his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, and passing out.
As his eyes opened, blinking for a moment, he was surprised to see several sewer healers looking over him. Tending to his wounds. Binding him. A surprise, on his part. They couldn't do much, ultimately, as magical healing did nothing to his long dead flesh.
After a few days of recuperation, Joppa returned. His blade in hand. He knew the way to go, and he knew what he wanted. Revenge. He wanted the bathogg creature to squirm. The next several hours, a mix of wandering around and following the bathogg's blood trail, finally became fruitful.
It had an Orc from the waist up hanging on the side. There was a mace in his hand.
Joppa took several steps, charging forward and swinging his blade down. The Ailor torso of the bathogg was severed, though the orc of the bathogg swung its mace. Joppa stumbled as his left shoulder blade was broken, though he turned. With his right hand and the blade, he sliced the arms away from the orc. The bathogg cried out, shoving Joppa's stomach along one of the beasts tusks, though Joppa simply hunched over and sliced its two front legs away, out from under it.
He slid off of the tusk, eyeing the the mess of gore. He chuckled, holding his blade high above his head, and swung it down like an executioner, separating its head from its body. Laughing, he fell to the ground. He placed his left hand on his face, yawning and laughing as the bathogg's head squealed and rolled about. It wasn't dead, but it was gonna need a few weeks to pick itself up. He'd come back, and he'd kill it again.
He needed supplies. It was at the point now where his shoulder was being obnoxious, and he wanted to be ready for more wounds. Slices, stabs, those were easy enough to deal with if he could get his hands on a thread and needle.
It was simple enough to ask around for the needle and thread, but the lack of results had him a little more than angry. Nothing came from his search, and it became quickly clear that thievery would be the required method of gain.
He began picking through, taking from the more well off sewer dwellers. His journey for a needle and thread was fruitless, though thick bandages were found. They would prove useful in the future as well.
Joppa soon encountered something rather surprising: A sewer dweller willing to fight back for what little they had. The Shendar man had a longsword, identical to Joppa's own, and barked a few savage threats at him in the archaic tongue that is Elvish.
Joppa laughed, drawing his own blade and stepping towards the Shendar. Smirking, the Elf attempted to stab Joppa through the gut. When he didn't die, the Shendar was caught off guard, eyes going wide as he pleaded for his life with a quick and worried mouth.
Our Mortdei was not feeling very merciful, especially for the living, and took his own blade into the elven stomach. He sliced it open, letting the intestines of the Elf fall out to the side, before removing his blade from the gut of the now dead man. He smirked, drawing the sword from his stomach and holding it up to the light. He had two blades now.
Joppa picked at the corpse, taking what clothing wasn't covered in blood, and smiling broadly as he found himself a needle and a spool of thread. Perfect.
Our Mortdei smiled, clasping his hands and muttering to himself in joy.
