Rise of the Xindhi:-In Character

Out of Character/Storylines/Discussions

Somewhere in the harsh Spine Break Mountains-

Chilled winds raced up the ravine, cresting over the craggy outcrop only to howl ominously as they descended to the valley below. The fetid smell of rotting flesh carried on the tumult, there had been a battle recently. Astride the black warhorse Skallagrim focused on the scattered bodies strewn over the crimson stained earth. The Paladins had come upon this small settlement of farmers and shepherds seeking to avoid the death and blood shed of the war, yet here they lay. Butchered like the animals they once tended. Women, children, men. Urging his mount forward the Cughtagh peered at the forms, the amethyst flickered and flared, the anger rising inside as he spotted a boy, not more than five or six, clinging to his mothers bosom, both had been lanced, the offending weapon still plunged through them and into the unforgiving earth.

Slipping off his steed, Skallagrim knelt next to the sight, as he did so he muttered a prayer to Rhydderch for the safe keeping of the child and mother. Jaw grimly set, the warrior slowly made his way through the massacre. There was nothing, no one had been spared. The tents and carts that carried the last of these peoples possessions smoldering from the fires set to raze them.

A slurping sound caused him to pause as he allowed the Aesr to flow around him, seeking anything that would be here. A moment later he found it, a large cat had drug a body away from the others and was busy consuming it. Inhaling deeply Skallagrim turned away, the body had been bisected by a blow. The animal was not the killer, merely the recipient of a meal it had not to fight for.

"Let it be, it has done nothing to warrant our wrath."

Moving along the Cughtagh stopped a moment, the aesr flared around him casting a deep glow. In a quick leap he was near a body, a cruel smile on his face. It was a Paladin, and he was dead. A pitchfork in his groin, his helm and skull crushed. Just beyond him lay the remains of a Talisan, still in his golem form. “You didn't get away clean did you bastards? No you suffered wounds for this.” murmured Skallagrim as he stood and glanced around, a half-dozen Paladins had fallen to the Talisan before he finally succumbed to them.

Casting his gaze down the valley he frowned a moment, they would be heading there. It was a raiding group, sent to harass, kill and frighten the local population. A warning to those who would support the Dreaming Queen. Mounting the black warhorse, Skallagrim gently urged the beast down the trail and into the shadow covered valley below. Above him the moons were rising, casting pale light upon the crag. Little did those who committed this atrocity know that death was stalking them.

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Below, the riders moved in a single file, each silent, their eyes ahead. They had blood on them, fresh from the death dealing behind them. A dozen hardened men, their armor dented and streaked, their weapons notched and worn. The leader, a wiry man in heavy black robes, a Gothi, was shaken. His mind racing as he thought of the Talisan who had surprised them, had come at them, had come at him. Had not the Paladins who followed him intervened he was sure he would have died. That caused an involuntary shudder to wrack his lithe frame. A cruel snarl crossed his lips, the power of the Gothi was fading, people no longer feared them, no longer feared him. The bitch queen and her minions had given the worthless peasants hope.

A cruel and petty man, Harnolf hated the fact that out there, somewhere a woman was giving hope to the rabble. Hope to defy him, to thwart his will and desires. No, no more, these people would learn that to support the Queen would result in their deaths. He had lost six-men, it didn't matter he had more than enough to burn the small village to the ground. He would take slaves here, and the young girls he would keep for himself. He would enjoy extracting his fears upon their bodies.

The thought of it gave him hope, a sour chuckle escaped his lips as he glanced back at his men, “We will camp above them tonight. In the morning we shall gather slaves and booty for our troubles.” Several of the men grinned as they nodded in agreement. They were as cruel and unforgiving as their leader.

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Skallagrim glanced at his companions, the Aesr glimmered then flared as he nodded slowly, “As much as I want to kill them all, we have to capture the Gothi. There is a reason the Paladins have moved this far north, and we need to know what it is.” With that he began riding down the steep trail, the hunt had begun.

It was always cold in the northern-most regions of the world, as if constantly doomed to remain a frozen wonderland. It was amazing that the Xindi could farm so well despite the temperature, but perhaps this was because plants had long since adapted to this harsh world. Unlike people, of course.

Following behind the soldiers and fairly far from the leader of this band, the famed "Skallagrim", was a singular ghost-like individual. Leather armor painted skillfully into the colors of the land, she seemed to blend in and out occasionally. If it were not for her colored hair of red or off colored tanned skin, she would have remained perfectly invisible.

Her tom-boyish features wrinkled with obvious disgust at the scene before her, and she was thankful she had long since gotten used to the smell of death, and all of its visual horrors. The small thin mouth frowning and giving her a look of displeasure that would relate to someone calling her a name. Her wide, innocent looking, azure eyes seemed to glimmer in the flames, partially beautiful and unnerving at the same time, its nature out of place, like group of night-stars, suddenly appearing with the sun at its fullest.

She shifted uncomfortably, the great bladed sword creaking ever so slightly against the heavy leather straps, the weight of this action causing her to sink into the snow slightly, despite the well-made leather marching shoes that helped keep her feet dry. Despite this tool, snow had fallen inside of them and she cursed, quickly taking it off and standing almost foolishly on one foot as she shook the snow out before it melted, clumsily shoving it back on her foot and sighing.

There were better jobs than this, someplace warmer and perhaps not so critical. Usually the life of a mercenary was fun and adventurous in its own way. See the world on the hard earned coin of anouther, get a few good meals, usually slight march and have some fighting. Simple enough. This trip had been hell, following and tracking wayward Paladins through the sub-zero feeling terrain.

"Paladins" she muttered to herself, throwing in anouther curse. "Im not even that egotistical or that..." she looked around at the mess, feeling a slight ping of guilt for not really respecting the dead. It wasn't her fault though, she was more than miserable and the sooner she did her job, the sooner she could rest from this nightmare. "Hypocritical." she ended, still chattering with herself, now getting far behind the group as she hurried to catch up.

Surprisingly, for her light appearance she trudged through the snow with a very hearty endurance, quickly making it to the back part of the ranks. Everyone there was so quiet, and she had to remember that almost everyone here was loyal to the Queen, and this needless blood-shed was a insult, or perhaps some kind of revenge-worthy cause.

Still it made little sense to get worked up over one village. It was sad, yes, but ultimately ineffective. She was alive, and they weren't. That is the end of the tale. It is not that she did not feel sympathy, on the contrary there felt to be a weight in her chest, but rather that she needed to keep her mind together.

As she followed, she watched the large feline-like creature tear into anouther corpse, before dragging it away. In the distance, she could see much smaller versions of the creature... kittens perhaps? Life would renew itself, long after this war. It was a beautiful and comforting thought, but she dared not share it, for fear of offending someone. The Leader of the band had been right, it had done nothing to warrant their time. For that, she had to at least give him a bit of respect, though she didn't pay much attention. It was unlikely they would ever cross again. It seemed to be a fluke why she was here at all, but due to the war, numbers were starting to become stretched. The mercenary bands have been filling slots everywhere.. and this moment was no different.

Her heavy foot steps continued, not really listening to Skallagrim talking to various others that were with them, but rather her mind was elsewhere, mostly focusing on staying dry. She would get herself a horse, she swore, or some other way to get around. Perhaps servants to lift her over the snow?

Korar perched lightly on the back of his mount, a massive wolf like creature known as a Calopus. The animal growled softly in displeasure at the corpses, and the carrion eaters, rumbling louder, and angrily, at the sight of the Paladdins below. "Shhhhh." Korar whispered, scratching under the massive beast's chin, "You'll taste their blood soon enough Riro." Edging Riro up to a slight trot, Korar moved to the front of the group, directly to Skallagrim's right.

"So what exactly is my purpose in this mission Cughtagh?" Korar asked, using the honarific as a sign of respect. While both he and Skallagrim held the title, Skallagrim was the first, the mightiest, and the clear favorite of the Queen. Korar, on the other hand, was made a champion only recently, and he was used more for assassination, theft, and information than combat usually, his skills lying less in overt battle, and more in the hunt of a predator stalking its prey.

Korar enjoyed that, the hunt. Knowing his prey was doomed, when it did not yet. He felt the same tremor of excitement now, almost as if he could smell the Paladinns. They were close now, he felt it. This excitement was far greater than usual though. Ordinarily, while Korar enjoyed the hunt, and the act of asassination, he took no great pleasure in ending any life. However, these Paladdins were no better than rabid dogs, and they were begging to be put down. A sharp grin crosses Korar's face at the thought, as he awaited Skallagrim's orders.

Blood, it was something Jahara was long since used to seeing, but this particular sight, this massacred mountain village, made her blood boil and her thoughts stew. Paladin bastards, no wonder villages all over this region were hiring mercenaries as protection. Fat lot of good t seemed to do them though she thought grimly, looking down at the form of a fallen golem. She did not recognize the warrior, it was a rather difficult thing to do while he was in this form, but she recognized the armor. A fellow mercenary, as she’d presumed, and he was from the Jahnsan region. Probably used to protecting merchants’ cargo in the desert from bandits, not whole villages in the mountains from small armies. One mercenary, even a skilled one, was not match for an army. Fight gallantly you might, but the enemy would overwhelm you with numbers eventually. It was a lesson she was already painfully aware of.

“Go in peace to Rhydderch.” Jahara said glumly over the body of the fallen Talisan, and gave the Paladin body next to him a good kick for measure. She would not allow such scum close to the fallen warrior, or her prayer. Her examination done, Jahara remounted her steed, and continued to follow Skallagrim and his army. She was not officially part of his army, but she gathered by now he understood she was not their enemy, for he had not challenged her, or tried to run her off. She was here on job to kill Otik the plague, as she took to calling him, though perhaps calling this a job was pushing it a little, more like excuse. Her “employer” had been little more than a boy, angry and bitter over Otik and his army killing his parents, and destroying his village while he was away fishing, and brandishing a pathetic amount of coin that would not buy a bag of gain at market. It was all he’d had. She’d told him he was too young to be having blood on his hands, an ironic statement from a woman who had killed with a sword for the first time when she was twelve, so it would be for his village. Her price was that he return to his village and rebuild, bring in neighbors and start anew. She told him to find a woman and marry then and have many children. Her price was hope for a future.

Jahara took this sorry excuse of a job because she was tired of the slaughter of innocents, and tired of the fear she saw etched in people’s faces at market. She would kill Otik, and his forces would scatter like roaches, and he would plague these lands no more. Her father was not pleased with this plan, as far as he was concerned, Otik’s rampage was good for business. He might have even tried to stop her, if not for the fact her father’s home village on the border with Xindhi had been attacked. Her father and twelve brothers had personally annulated that small unit, and Jahara had left with reluctant acceptance from her father.

And so she shadowed Skallagrim’s army, waiting for him to lead her to Otik’s army and battle. A lone mercenary might have no chance to kill Otik as he hid in his forces, but in the confusion of battle between equal sized armies, the task became far more plausible.

A rocky ledge, a perch for the Paladins to huddle until the sky pinked, until they would ride down to a slowly stirring village to plunder. Harnolf shrugged his cloak around his form, the dim orange aesr flickered in his eyes.

“Mi'lord....mi'lord.” came a subdued voice behind the Gothi. Wheeling around Harnolf grunted to the paladin before him. A long pause then, 'Mi'lord we found something you may be interested in.”
Snorting, Harnolf exhaled condensation, then waved the man to lead him. Trudging slowly they made their way across the ledge, past the horses and towards the rocky cliff face, where in the fading moonlight he spotted it. Pulling up Harnolf wrinkled his nose, his mind racing. Before him stood a massive door, built into the wall, cleverly constructed as to be hidden from any view except right in front of it.

Glancing at the gathered men he cleared his throat, “Nicely done.” Without another word he moved closer and began an examination of the door. Runes and symbols etched into the rock, tracing them he shook his head, these were nothing like he had seen before in any of the Gothi records. Stepping away again he gaped as he took in the enormity of the door. It was nearly seven feet wide and twenty feet tall, split in the center. The hinges hidden, a single indent on either side of the center split, indicating the doors swung outward.

They had been sent here to cause fear among the population, to bend them to the will of the Gothi, but this, this was different. This was now the most important thing for this was a door into the Spine break mountains. Turning towards the men who were staring curiously at him.

“Do you remember those tales when you where children? Those myths and fables of a lost crystal city in the mountains? A city built by Rhydderch for the gods?” Harnolf asked quietly. A shifting of armor, a rustling of cloaks as the men exchanged glances.

“Mi'lord...you aren't suggesting that this may be the entrance to the City of the Gods?” asked the unit commander.

Harnolf grinned, “No, no I am not. However those tales of hidden cities in the mountains have been proven true so far. Does not the bitch queen reside in the dreaming city? By dumb luck her followers found that city, lost for unknown ages in the mountains. What if this is an entrance to another such city? Imagine what bounty may be found within.”

Again a murmur swept through the men. Harnolf inhaled the cold air before speaking again, “Commander we must find a way through this door.” A smile crossed his lips as he turned to the men, “We shall have a great prize to proffer Otik if we can provide him a lost city rather than a small village of frightened serfs.”

Striding away, Harnolf's mind raced at the prospect of having this prize, of having perhaps a seat at the council of Gothi, yes, this would be worth so much more than a village of groveling peasants.

The commander began shouting orders and soon a hollow ringing sound filled the valley, resounding off the walls, a hollow tink tink tink as the paladins began excavating the door. Working to find entrance into the mountian.
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Far below in the small village, a woman woke up as the first faint sounds reached her ears. Rising the old woman hobbled to the door and opened it, allowing a gust of cold air into her room, as she did she listened intently, her ears straining to pin point the strange sound. A growing apprehension filled her as she realized that someone had found the doors, someone was trying to open them.

Rushing to draw heavier clothes around her, the old woman hastily gathered a bag of odd things and her walking stave. “Bless and protect me O' lighted one, as I try to keep the doors closed.” The woman murmured as she closed the door behind her, her eyes focused on the long, dangerous trek ahead of her.
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Skallagrim heard the sound as well, pausing he turned in the saddle, an odd expression on his face. Glancing at the men he had, a handful of Sluagh, a few mercenaries and a young Cughtagh, adequate for a skirmish but not enough to siege fortifications. Waving for the young champion Korar, he spoke softly to him when he came close, “Gather a few stray mercenaries." Turning he spotted Tynav and Jahara, pointing to them he continued, "Tell them the Queen shall pay them a months wages. Go and make your way down the trail. Find out what they are doing. They are not sheltering, they are working, and that worries me.” Glancing at the Cughtagh, he said solemnly “Don't betray our presence.”

Tynav could see the finger being pointed at her and grinned, her tattooed face causing her to look like some kind of crazed feline for a moment, her wide azure eyes reflecting the snow and the skeletal men conversing for a moment. She caught a few words, and her grin widened, so much that it was frightening on how toothy her face could actually get, much like some beast, before her features returned the normal and she walked closer, leaving heavy footprints in the snow.

Standing there, she threw a mock salute to the other who had been pointed out, some random merc following them, probably out for revenge or hired at some point. She was tough by the looks of it, awfully familiar as well. Maybe they worked some odd job together? Nah... but her features were recognizable.

Shrugging as she couldn't put a finger on it, she turned, knowing she would be spoken to in due time. She hated this formality order garbage. Everything was so "official" and all of that "duty' got in the way of "getting things done quick and easy". As far as Tynav was concerned, it was about time they would get some action and she would earn her pay. All she could hope is that they would find someone to fight below. Nothing like a little bit of bloodshed to warm you right up. Heck if some of it got on you it was often warm, comforting comparing the cold. Even snow gave off a rise of steam after a fresh kill.

It wasn't pretty, but damn fun in its own way, much like breaking a glass jar of paint against the city walls. "Heh, fun times." she said aloud, her relatively innocent sounded voice rang out a bit louder than she anticipated, as some looked at her in amusement and horror.

Koror nodded sharply, more of a slight bow than a nod, bending at the hip as he did so. Turning, he spotted the mercenaries that Skallagrim pointed him towards, and with a slight kick of his heel, his massive mount trotted off towards them, Korar bent low over his thick neck. "You two." He said in a low but audible rumble that wouldn't carry down the mountain slopes. "Come with me. The great Cughtagh Skallagrim himself has asked me to lead you two down to the camp belowing and gain information. This will be stealth reconaissance, not combat, so stay quiet, and stay close."

Hopping off of Riro, and landing softly and silently on the snowy ground, Korar patted Riro once on the head, and told him to stay. Glancing behind him to see if the mercenaries were coming, he set off down the slope, moving swiftly, but silently, and sticking to shade and cover, areas that could not be seen from the pass below.

He stopped on a rocky outcropping about fifteen feet above, and crawled out along it, his slight weight perched on the thin spire, and his dark clothing blending perfectly in to the stone, his face just another patch of snow. He motioned back to the others to continue on their way down. He could hear from here though, and he would have the advantage of suprise and the high land on his advantage if it came to battle.