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Purging the Vermin; [GRP]
Topic Started: Thu Mar 24, 2011 12:58 pm (1,281 Views)
Asher Drake
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Running head first for the demon infested city. His blade in hand as the day became still. Night would be coming soon and more horrible creatures with it. He ran through a group of demons slicing through them with ease. He felt an uncontrollable pain within himself with every single demon he laid to rest, as if he was killing himself each time. He didn't understand what was happening whenever he glanced at his glistening armor he felt pain. As though he was actually evil.

Confused he ran frantically deeper into the dark city. His eyes went black and he fell forward into a puddle of mud. His mind drifted to an image. He saw himself as well as a man he had never before seen. He looked young, and wore claws of shadow. His eyes were green and he seemed to be shrouded within the shadows. He held out his hand to Asher and grinned. "Soon enough the time will come Asher, soon enough your life will be mine" He came to and a demon was staring him in the face. It reached out it's hands to him and tightly grabbed his neck. Raising him above his shoulders, Asher flailed in pain. Bringing his foot up against the demon's jaw hoping it's grip would fail. The demon became enraged and slammed him int a wall.

Grabbing a brick that had fallen on the impact he attempted to smash it against the demon's face. The demon grabbed his arm and pulled, dislocating it. Being thrown to the grownd his eyes went white. "I won't allow you to misuse this body any longer Asher! My patience grows thin." Balzoth took control. Thrusting his blade into the demons chest with his one good arm.

((OOC: Having a serious writer's block but I had to get in some kind of post for everyone to continue.))
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Wulfdor
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Wulfdor charged through the oncoming horde, carving his way through the shadowy, scaled beasts with all the ease of a veteran butcher slicing his way through the day's steaks. Black blood sprayed hither and covered the minotaur, coating his brown fur with the blackened goo. One of the small demons managed to evade the whirlwind of axe-swings and leap onto Wulfdor's back, grabbing his horns and yanking backwards. The minotaur let out a groan of pain as he was pulled backwards off-balance. Shaking his head in a desperate attempt to throw the invader off, Wulfdor inadvertently left himself open to a follow-up attack from another imp, this one armed with a small crossbow. With a screech, the imp let loose a bolt that buried itself in the minotaur's side - Wulfdor roared in pain and, almost on reflex, struck out and decapitated the offending demon. As the pain mixed with adrenaline, the bull swung his head to his left, and the imp on his horns lost its grip, sliding off to hit the dusty ground with a thud.

Wulfdor finished the job by bringing his heavy boot down on the imp's head, crushing it with a sickening squelch. Briefly spared from the constant stream of attacks that was falling down on the heads of the expedition, the minotaur reached down to where the crossbow bolt still protruded from his side and ripped it from the wound. It hurt like mad, naturally, but Wulfdor was going to be damned if such a small offence was going to halt him in his tracks. He had taken worse in his lifetime. With another battlecry, he held his axe high above his head and charged forward deeper into the city. More demons leapt out to attack the charging bull, but his sheer momentum allowed him to knock down any that crossed his path; one of the wolf-shaped demon beasts was even unfortunate to find itself impaled on the minotaur's horns.

"Raagh!" the bull roared as he ripped the carcass from his horns and hurled it in the direction of the next movement he detected.

Unfortunately for all involved, that next movement came from the bald tattooed warrior and his band of barbarians; Wulfdor was acting on instinct and hurled the wolf carcass at them before he even registered that they were meant to be his allies. As the body soared across towards them, the minotaur briefly realised that, coated in thick black blood and various guts as he was, he could almost certainly be mistaken for a demon himself...

...that could present a problem.
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Ahriman Lordimar
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The pirate felt battered, broken, and exhausted and the day of their attack had just barely begun. He was sure somewhere in his gut that the rest of the crew that had joined them weren't doing much better, but if he wanted to get out of this he'd need to grit his teeth and walk through the pain.
His first matter of business was helping his first mate out of the rubble he had been knocked into. The kid had seen many-a-better day then this one, and he seemed none to happy about being roused to his feet. He looked like he would be more fit in an aide tent then the front lines now, but they had a job to do and Ahriman would be damned if his crew started a reputation for not finishing jobs now.

"Let's go, lads. We have work to do."
The four of them moved into the streets, beyond the fires and most of the combat. Few of the mercenaries had made it into the city beyond where the brunt of the battles had been waged, and he could tell that few of the demons had truly moved from the shadows out onto the 'field' beyond. That made him wonder just how many of the beasts actually called these streets home.
He shook his head, ground his teeth hard, and pressed forward. The yeti seemed exhausted, but he knew she wouldn't stop now unless it was under the pain of death. The beast had that sort of loyalty, a respectable sort. Above, he could hear the victorious cries of Elnora. She had pressed past her own attackers and was preparing to strike down at the opponents again. He whistled up to her, telling her to scout out and assist the others. They'd need just as much as he would.

They moved into the shadowed streets, the light finding it hard to press in here. It was an oppressive feeling that seemed to be reflected off of the buildings, pressing in on any would-be invader that wanted to take these streets back. He could feel the eyes pressing in on him, hear the whispers that told them they were doomed.
"Keep in formation, lads. This could get a bit ugly."
Luka simply nodded, the two following close behind already deducing that themselves. The lad had seen better days and Ahriman had already figured that he would be a burden rather then assistance in the fighting ahead.

As they entered the square they first wanted the entirety of the landing party to reach together, they could hear hoots and cries of happiness. The fountain in the center of the square was broken and shattered in many places, the dirt of the road kicked and dug up in many places around it. Mora roared angrily as the first of the beasts came from the buildings nearby, coming at the group. An icy fist was all the imp would meet, shattering it's small bones and sending it into the nearby building. The yeti was in a foul mood and was about to get more then enough targets to take that aggression out.
Arrows came in from an alley nearby, as well, pounding into the stone of the ground near them. Bandits that had taken a residence with the demons had apparently not taken a liking to this army of mercenaries barging into their home. Ahriman simply smiled, holding up his blade and waiting. As the first wave of the enemies came in, he fought with all his might.
A rhyme came to mind, and he couldn't help laugh.
"To the grave then, lads! Let the battle be a glorious one! Let our enemies never run dry!"
He had to be thankful, at least if he fell here he'd fall with the smell of sea air in the wind. An end every sailor on his ship would dream for.
Edited by Ahriman Lordimar, Mon Apr 4, 2011 1:29 am.
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Marissa Skeates
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Night came at last. Marissa had searched every part of the giant black serpent's mouth, but had found no method by which to open it. She had even tried prying it open, but it was as well-sealed as the onyx from which the snake and tower were crafted was solid. There was no way to get back down through there. The scales of a snake were not upon this smooth body except in etched pattern, and that etching was not deep enough even for the hands and feet of a hobbit; neither would it hold the points of a small grappling hook. She could attempt to slide down the thing, but it was impossible to see exactly where she'd need to drop from here and likely too far a drop not to be lethal anyway; besides that, the snakes head was almost impossible to climb up.

Then there was the wall. Like the rest of the tower, it was completely smooth. What had at first appeared to be a dagger-like tip was actually an optical illusion set up to deter people from think that there were tower-top defenses. None stood here, but it was a perfect place from which to strike out with magic or bow or crossbow should the need arise. Only from above would it be clear that the tower was opened like the turret of a castle.

Despite its size, the rope firmly tied to the grappling hook was actually quite long. But even wrapping it around the wall and climbing down had proved fruitless, for the archer's window was still too far below her for the halfling to safely leap and she would have been leaving her grappling hook behind if she had foolishly leapt. Marissa thus made her slow way back up the wall and finally climbed atop the tower once more. She unwound the grappling hook from the wall, shoved it back into her packet of thieves' tools, and put the kit away.

Marissa found herself sighing in frustration. That bird of the pirate captain's was engrossed in battle; while birds typically had incredible hearing and eyesight, Marissa sincerely doubted the bird would figure out she was there or try to help if it did and the thief wasn't about to scream out at the top of her lungs. Who knew what that bring after her?

Marissa was not a stupid halfling, but she was quickly running out of ideas as to how to get off of this flaming tower. In anger, she punched the wall - but that only made her hand hurt. She shook it, angry at herself now for several reasons as she flexed her fingers and knuckles. She was most definitely not a happy little rogue. Her only other option at this point was to reveal her tattoo and hope its light could show her some secret valve or lever - which meant she'd be searching every inch of the top of this tower.

Oh, how fun.
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Godfrey
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Godfrey was too immersed in the thick of battle to realize the hulking minotaur's toss of the wolf creature, but two of his allies took the brunt of the attack. The demon carcass knocked both of the men down, and they were quickly dispatched by the wall of demons they had crashed into. Godfrey's deadly whirlwind attack subsided, and he found himself standing around several butchered carcasses and injured demons. Many were mortally wounded, and lay there in agony. He would not grant them a quick death. They would suffer until they bled out. As Godfrey kept fighting, his rage kept growing. Obviously these imps had never fought with an individual that harbored as much raw hatred as the pale warrior.

Now larger demons were coming into the fold. True soldiers. Adversaries worthy of meeting the demon hunter in battle. One of the beasts lurched forward, carrying a massive obsidian two handed sword. It's chest was covered in blackened chainmail, and it looked as though its helmet had been nailed into its skull. It had no skin on its face, just exposed muscle and a vicious row of razor sharp teeth. A macabre sight indeed, but no matter. This was no terrified civilian, this was an experienced demon hunter, and an accomplished dragon slayer.

It let out a beastly roar and charged towards Godfrey. He too charged, and met the creature's first strike with both of his blades held up in the shape of an X. He shoved the weapon away and kicked in its unprotected knee, then spun around to its side with a blade raised, bringing it down on the brute's shoulder. The serrated edge dug into the mail, catching the charred skin underneath. The demon howled and dropped it's sword, then let it's arm flail towards the warrior, only to howl even louder as the arm ended up on the ground in a pool of black blood. Godfrey's other knife had made short work of the demon's arm, and the arcane runes etched on it burned brightly on the surface of its masterwork steel blade. He kicked the demon in the side, then lifted the knife into the demon's throat, spewing even more black ichor. before it hit the ground more demons rushed in, only to meet the fury of the demon slayer's wrath.

Another much like its predecessor lifted a jagged scimitar into the air, only to have a blade stuck in its gut. Godfrey ripped out his weapon and slashed its head, cleaving its malformed skull in half and sending brain matter splattering onto another. The smaller demons started scattering, seeing that their larger, more powerful allies were being led to a slaughter. Godfrey stuck his weapon into one of the fleeing monster's backs and lifted it up, then slammed it into the ground and decapitated it. As he rose from his most recent victim, he let out a berserk warcry and his vision went red. More and more demons challenged him, only to end up in a pile of their own blood... Until a massive, hulking ogre of a demon stood before him.

In one hand it carried a massive mace, the weight being made of a human skull. Sharpened clavicles jutted out of the sides, and were still covered with bits of muscle and tendons. In the other, an enormous blackened steel axe. It was covered head to toe in bloodstained plate armor, and wore a massive pair of spaulders decorated with lengths of rope that held heads of its last opponents. It was a gruesome sight to behold, much worse than that of the soldier demons he had encountered thusfar. Godfrey took a step back, staring the demon down. He stared in awe at the mass of the creature, and nervously gripped the hilts of his blades as hard as he could.

A large circle formed, and the demon stepped forward. Throughout all of the chaos that surrounded them, everything within the pit was still. The demon let out the most godawful, inhuman mix of a scream and a roar the man had ever heard, then lifted the massive mace and swung it downward in an attempt to crush Godfrey with one fell swoop.

He rolled out of the way and the mace slammed into the ground, kicking up a huge plume of dirt. It turned and gave the man a cold stare, then let out a roar and barreled towards him, this time striking with the axe. Godfrey parried the blow. Any normal weapon would have shattered by the sheer force of the attack, but instead, his blades flung out of his hand.

One sinking into the chest of an onlooking demon, the other hitting the ground and sliding in front of another's feet. It cocked its head to the side, and bent down to pick it up. As its hand wrapped around the pommel, the runes flashed. The demon's hand sizzled and it yelped, then dropped the potent blade.

Godfrey drew his trusty dagger and backed away from the hulking monster, then rushed towards the knife sheathed in the imp's chest. He ripped it out and turned to see the massive demon charging towards him. He jumped out of the way and watched as it steamrolled through a group of its own kind, then focused back on him. He quickly ran, jumped and slid towards the other blade, then picked it up and regained his footing. Again, the massive beast was charging head on towards him, and instead of jumping to the side, he leaped and rolled through its legs, then jumped on its back and began viciously stabbing it wherever he could find a soft spot in its armor.

To no avail...

The demon easily threw him off its back and let out an angered roar. It seemed all he had done was piss it off, and that wasn't good. It swung its massive axe towards him again and narrowly missed as he rolled away. It swung again, this time with its mace, this time grazing Godfrey's muscular arm. He cursed and stumbled over, but quickly regained himself. He had to finish this soon, before things got out of hand. He just needed to find a weakness. The only open spot seemed to be the T shaped opening in its helmet. If he could jam his blade into that slot, it would mean imminent doom for the nightmarish monster.

The warrior narrowed his eyes, and sheathed one of his blades, then waited for the beast's next strike. It reared its mace into the air again, and slammed it down. This time Godfrey merely stepped to the side, and stared the beast in the eyes. He hatefully grimaced, and grabbed a hold of the enormous mace by its shaft. As the demon lifted the weapon into the air to shake him off he flung himself towards its head and screamed as loud as his lungs would allow him. He lifted the dagger, aiming it straight for the T slot in the behemoth's helmet...
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Marissa Skeates
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The battle had quieted somewhat as time had passed. She could no longer hear nearly as much as she had been able to just a half-hour before. Then again, for that duration, she had focused her attention solely on the edge of this tower. The light from her hand shone blue upon the ancient black stone, which seemed smooth only upon initial inspection. This tower had suffered much damage over the years, all of it repaired by hand; she could see the pits and cracks in the stone that had been repaired over the years - perhaps over the decades or centuries - but she saw nothing that would help her get out of the situation she was in. No symbols were carved into the stone here, no levers or wheels or anything else of that sort made themselves known to the halfling. Oddly, her feet kicked up no dust as she shuffled about, yet this tower had clearly not seen regular use for a very long time. Perhaps the same magic that had kept it standing all this time had also kept it dust-free, and perhaps it was magic that had repaired it? Marissa was no mage, no witch or sorceress, and so she could not be certain; but mostly, she was presently concerned only with escape.

It was Grim that saved her, ironically; the little thing was cute, but that and its humorous displays of periodic rage were the only reasons Marissa had kept him until now. He started dancing about in her shirt rather irritatingly, screeching about something Marissa had yet to notice; she tried to quiet him, but then saw what had the squirrel so agitated: one of the pieces of stone that ringed the top of the tower was moving. It was shedding pieces of rubble only to stretch large wings, wings on which it seemed to hover as though it were merely testing their strength. Then it noticed her. She’d heard about gargoyles, but she’d never actually met one before - and now, she realized, several other gargoyles were starting to wake up. Her keen mind was coming up with a plan in the face of such danger, though it was not a plan she liked. She stuffed Grim down and swallowed hard. This was going to hurt a bit.

Her, not the gargoyle.

She started off at a trot, covering the light on her hand. Then she picked up speed until she was at a flat-out sprint. The gargoyle noticed her too late and lost its balance, just as Marissa had hoped. She grunted as she struggled to hold onto it. Wind rushed about the pair like a hurricane that only they could feel, and it was several long moments - the ground rushing up at her faster than she liked, the sounds of distant battle growing not-so-distant, the gargoyle snarling and snapping - before the stone-turned-flesh creature was able to properly right itself and open its wings. It was several moments more before it was able to take in enough air without hurting itself to glide just twenty feet from the ground. Still half-panicking, Marissa couldn’t believe her luck; but she wasn’t out of the thick of it yet, a fact she was all too clearly aware of. As she crossed over a pile of bodies, she grimaced and let herself go. It wouldn’t hurt nearly as much (she hoped) as hitting a broken cobblestone street while traveling through the air as fast as an arrow could fly.

Sure enough, she grunted again - much louder this time - as she hit the ground. By the time she stopped moving, she looked like rather haphazard. But she managed to shakily sit up just in time to see a very angry gargoyle coming around for an attack; far above, gargoyles were starting to swarm around the top of the tower and some of them began diving toward the ground. War cries were issued, and even the demons began to take notice as dozens of the things began to look hungrily at the demonic flesh moving about below them. Marissa wasn’t taking any chances. She got to her feet as quickly as she could, checked herself over to make sure she still had all her gear, popped her neck, and glanced about; yep, three of them were coming after her.

How in the Abyss do you get yourself into these situations?! she cursed herself silently, her feet already hopping and leaping over rubble and corpses.

She made it just in time, darting into a small alcove created by a fallen building - some kind of shop, by the look of the debris within. She ducked and weaved her way through the debris only to come out the other side. It was a long journey for a halfling to undertake in such a short time, a good fifty feet of darkness and worry that it all might collapse just to spite her. But she made it out, peeked around, and climbed safely to the ground. She straightened her clothes and equipment up a bit before venturing a glance around the corner. Gargoyles were dive-bombing the demons as hawks diving for their dinner. Some were carried away; the larger ones were attacked by two or three at a time in some instances, only once particularly fierce gargoyle in others. What had been chaos to begin with was now little more than outright madness. Ironically, the very thing that had tried to kill her had not only saved her life, but was also winning this fight.

The halfing was tired of this game. There was nothing here for her, or so she believed. She started picking her way swiftly, silently, toward the ship. When she was near there, she found a deserted patch of fallen demons to loot. She did just that, glancing around hastily in case she was spotted and attacked. She picked up gold and small trinkets, a bit of jewelry here and there, the occasional small weapon - mostly things she knew she would sell. Finally, she made her way back to the ship and took a boat. When she got there, she demanded entry and had to argue with one of the crew to get him to raise her up; when he finally did, he nearly lost his knees to the halfling’s irritation. She dashed to her quarters and pulled out some supplies from the provided cabinet. There, she started writing a letter to her temporary employer - and not a very nice letter. But, payment had been promised and it would soon be time to collect.

She couldn’t wait to get away from this flaming pile of puke.
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