Post by kingsmill on Jul 8, 2012 17:23:28 GMT -5
((so this is the end?... pity but still it was fun for the little time i was on))
The winds sighed through the trees almost as though another soul had departed from Talarra. Gaunt barely noticed it this time. The hunger in his belly too much for him to notice anything else. He trudged through the now badly worn paths. The season of waning gave the entire forest a feeling of death. Gaunt could feel its foreboding presence almost as if it were standing on the hill, its bony finger beckoning. With a shudder Gaunt left the thought behind as he turn off the joke of a path and down a trodden trail to a small hut.
he came to the hut and casually walked in, struggling to keep his knees from folding. He was totally focused on one thing. The bread that was on the table. With mindless fury he devoured it not stopping to chew properly. Once it had gone he was finally aware of the hand that was on his back.
Looking up he saw it was the witch. The kind caring woman that fed and looked after him in exchange for goods.
"Would you like another?" she asked her eyes still burning brightly in her worn and sagged face.
Wordlessly Gaunt nodded. And so it was for the next half hour. The witch giving him food and he silently eating it. Eventually the offered food was declined and the witch guided the wary traveler to her bed. When he was fast asleep she carefully untied the knots in Gaunt's pack. With the last piece of twine falling through her long nailed fingers she pulled open the bag.
Inside was her payment: an assortment of leather, bones, string and spider eyes. The man had obviously been hard at work to get his meal and she smiled as she saw the sleeping man who had worked so hard for her.
Gaunt awoke with the familiar throb of pain that seemed to always course through his body. He got off the bed and peeled of the worn clothes he had on and looked at himself in a grimy mirror.
His hand traced over his body passing over the numerous scars and other dis figurations that were able to trace his years back through to when he was a boy. From the first scar on his arm where the axe he was using missed the wood up until an ugly welt where a goblin tried to bite through his leather suit yesterday. There were too many, covering his body until there wasn't a patch of smooth skin left. It was a testimony to the sacrifices he had made all through his life.
With a drawn out sigh he left the mirror and put on a fresh set of clothes that the witch had laid out. The thick boiled leather was a familiar feel to Gaunt and he wondered where he would be without it between the world and his skin.
He walked into the main room of the hut to find the witch not there. That was usual, she oft went out to collect herbs that blossomed in the pre-dawn. Not wanting to leave the breakfast lying on the table. Gaunt sat down and scoffed the lot, not leaving anything to waste.
Once he had finished he noticed something that was unusual. His pack lay at the door fully stocked and ready to go. Gaunt, now a bit worried walked over to it and was surprised to find a note on top that had his name written over the top in the witch's flowing handwriting, opening it he read:
"Talarra is dying Gaunt. The creatures of the night ever more encroach upon our land and the heroes we rely on are ever more scarce. The owners of these lands are not paying it it's due attention and more cracks are showing each day. We can try to face the enemy but where do we look when the enemy is ourselves. I am not as strong as I look and I am soon to leave this world. But I do not fear for myself because in the end i was but a pawn. You Gaunt, however are more important. You were meant for great things but the world has conspired against you. That you may never fulfill your goal is what scares me the most and you must promise to continue your struggle no matter where it takes you.
I will not be here when you leave, I have packed your supplies and i wish you the very best in you continuing fight.
-The Witch"
By the end of the letter Gaunt felt like his name, the hollowness inside him ate him up as he realized the full importance of the words on the sheet. He sat down to await the return of the witch that had taken such good care of him for so many years. But even as he took to the hard wooden chair he knew she would never return. He waited and waited but after a timeless while later Gaunt gave up.
With a sigh of regret he picked up his pack and trudged out the door as melancholy leaving as hungry he was entering.
He knew where he must go. The witch said he was destined for great things and he was to continue onward but he knew the answer lay not ahead, but behind.
After a day of traveling and brooding Gaunt came to a bridge. The bridge was familiar the broken and twisted timbers exactly the same as Gaunt left them all those years ago. This was the bridge to Granvik his true home. It may have been that he had only spent four weeks there but it was his home all the same and there was no other place he could see himself.
Quickly he jumped down the steep embankment and onto the skittery ice carefully walking along the frozen river that the bridge was meant to have crossed. As he came to the end of the river he looked at the sky to see the sun dipping below the horizon leaving this world for another day.
In the darkness he headed to the city, the ruined and broken city that he had adopted to be his own. Turning the corner he saw his town still the heap of rubble it was when he was forced to leave all those years ago. Nothing had changed. It was almost as if the entire area had held its breath waiting for him to arrive to start breathing again.
All through the night Gaunt dreamed of a new Granvik, a clean safe haven for those who sought refuge.
In the morning Gaunt woke to a cold hard day with the sun shining brightly but doing little to heat the day. Gaunt set about his work with vigour, it would take him a few years but he would make Granvik great again.
By the end of the day he had already cleared the rubble. The stuff he could use was piled in the middle of the village while the smaller stuff he had swept into holes dotted around the place. As dusk fell Gaunt retreated to a small cave which he had dug out to stay from the elements. With a clear sky overhead he fell asleep.
Blood. Fire. Goblins. They had found him. Remembering previous atrocities Gaunt had committed against their miserable race the vile creatures of the night struck with such a force. The mob was starting to behave like a co-ordinated army. Gaunt fled from his cave in blind desperation as the horde ransacked what was left of the town.
Gaunt got his breath back. There were many but they were weak and he was not about to abandon his home again. With a savage cry he leapt down the embankment to the monsters. Immediately he was in a swirling meleé set upon by a dozen brutes at once. Only he was much better at killing goblins than they were at killing him.
With a downward thrust he dispatched one foe before twirling round with his sword outstretched to spill the guts of another. He heard a grunt behind him and stabbed backwards only to hear the satisfying sound of blade piercing flesh. As hear pirouetted he saw a goblin fall as his comrade accidentally shot him with a bow. rushing forward Gaunt quickly decapitated the offending goblin before any other shots were fired. Gaunt quickly darted out of the combat to get his breath back but was only allowed a few moments before the goblins came after him.
Yelling he jumped back in hacking an slashing felling at least a dozen. It was a desperate fight and one that he was hopelessly outmatched for but he had a reason to fight, to protect his home. This made them fight all the harder and it was this that carried him through. Towards the end the sword broke at the hilt and Gaunt was forced to continue with his bare hands. Pummeling the last few until they fell unconscious to the floor.
Doubling over Gaunt looked at his bloody hands and then at the heap of goblin corpses strewn across the town. He was too tired to think of what he had done and he said to himself he would only stay as long as to find a decent sword from one of the dead.
It was whilst he was picking at the corpses he heard the heavy boots crunch the ground and he looked up at who was.
It was a man as far as he could tell, dressed from head to toes in black embossed armour with a long naked blade firmly gripped in his right hand. His eyes glowed a dull, ruddy red from the eye slits in his helm and his breathing sounded like a low growl.
He stood in front of me twice as high and said:
"I see you have taken out a few of my war band, you must be quite the warrior to best so many of mine."
Gaunt stood there no willing himself to speak lest his words be his last. The menacing figure leveled a stare at him that seemed to last for an eternity. At last Gaunt plucked the courage to ask
"Who... Who are you?"
"I. I am the Warlord and these," he gestured at the growing mob of goblins. "Are my army. You have become a nuisance by killing so many. However," he said, his low voice sounded like the rumble of thunder. " The real challenge is if you can beat me."
With that a whooping roar came from behind him. Gaunt took his eyes of the dark warrior for a second to see dozens, no hundreds of goblins forming a huge circle around Gaunt and the mysterious foreboding man.
"I...I do not have a weapon." I said shakily.
"Here," the man said. As he did he motion with his hand and one of the goblins threw a long iron sword at my feet.
"What about armour? It isn't a fair fight if you are clad in full with that brilliantly black armour" I said, more confident with a weapon in hand.
The man motioned again and a banded iron breastplate was thrown from the crowd. As Gaunt strapped it on he thought about his predicament. He was hopelessly outmatched. The man was physically better as well as better equipped. He had no hope if they went toe-to-toe. And with that thought he started formulating a plan.
With the armour strapped on Gaunt faced his opponent. He looked even more imposing now as he straightened to his full height. Gaunt brought his sword to his face and saluted as a sign he was ready.
With a throaty roar that was somewhere between volcanic eruption and tidal wave. The huge man charged. So did Gaunt and the onlookers were stunned to silence as both combatants raced towards each other with deadly speed.
At the last second the Warlord lowered his blade, pointing it square at gaunt's chest. Gaunt however, curled himself into a ball and let gravity do the rest.
They went speeding past each other, the Warlord at a complete loss as to why Gaunt was skewered on his sword like a shish kebab. Gaunt was bouncing his way along until he crashed into the ring of goblins. Quickly he unfurled himself and started hacking at the onlooking goblins. He was fast and soon had himself a bow and a full quiver of arrows. This meant that he did not have to engage the Warlord in close combat.
Rising Gaunt nocked an arrow and let it fly into the Warlord. The arrow sticking in his leg, the barb catching on several tendons. The Warlord enraged dropped his sword and lifted his arm at Gaunt.
Gaunt smiled as he thought the warlord was asking him to stop. Too late did he realise that the Warlord was not only a fighter but a wizard too. A gout of fire leapt from his hand an bathed Gaunt from tip to toe. No one should have survived it.
Gaunt watched as the fire engulfed him. He let the armour take the full brunt of it and he curled up to protect the exposed parts of him. When the fire relented he stood. The armour had sloughed off him and the bow burnt to a cinder, he was black head to feet but he was still alive. Reaching for his sword Gaunt charged. His feet hitting the ground lightly as he raced for the warlord who even now was grappling on the floor for his sword. Gaunt's world narrowed, it was just him and the Warlord. Each footfall became a rhythm in his head.
The two came together with such force it shook the ground when they landed. As the warlord stood up Gaunt ran up a dead goblin's back and jumped off, sailing through the air spinning as to add to the final impact. The sword outstretched and clenched in both hands.
They both fell. The Warlord lay still while Gaunt stood. But only for a moment. The warlord picked himself off the ground and took his sword from Gaunt's midriff. The slick slimy sound of the sword being drawn through living flesh was the last thing Gaunt ever heard.
Even before he hit the floor the goblins were upon him. Tearing his limbs for food and scavenging his belongings. The warlord looked at the poor broken thing and smiled. As he walked off though one couldn't help but notice his limp, nor the way he clutched a bloody hand across his chest.
Maybe Gaunt's death wasn't in vain.
((an end of sorts for my character, I didn't really think the server was dead but hey I always went on when other weren't so I can see why I didn't notice ))
The winds sighed through the trees almost as though another soul had departed from Talarra. Gaunt barely noticed it this time. The hunger in his belly too much for him to notice anything else. He trudged through the now badly worn paths. The season of waning gave the entire forest a feeling of death. Gaunt could feel its foreboding presence almost as if it were standing on the hill, its bony finger beckoning. With a shudder Gaunt left the thought behind as he turn off the joke of a path and down a trodden trail to a small hut.
he came to the hut and casually walked in, struggling to keep his knees from folding. He was totally focused on one thing. The bread that was on the table. With mindless fury he devoured it not stopping to chew properly. Once it had gone he was finally aware of the hand that was on his back.
Looking up he saw it was the witch. The kind caring woman that fed and looked after him in exchange for goods.
"Would you like another?" she asked her eyes still burning brightly in her worn and sagged face.
Wordlessly Gaunt nodded. And so it was for the next half hour. The witch giving him food and he silently eating it. Eventually the offered food was declined and the witch guided the wary traveler to her bed. When he was fast asleep she carefully untied the knots in Gaunt's pack. With the last piece of twine falling through her long nailed fingers she pulled open the bag.
Inside was her payment: an assortment of leather, bones, string and spider eyes. The man had obviously been hard at work to get his meal and she smiled as she saw the sleeping man who had worked so hard for her.
Gaunt awoke with the familiar throb of pain that seemed to always course through his body. He got off the bed and peeled of the worn clothes he had on and looked at himself in a grimy mirror.
His hand traced over his body passing over the numerous scars and other dis figurations that were able to trace his years back through to when he was a boy. From the first scar on his arm where the axe he was using missed the wood up until an ugly welt where a goblin tried to bite through his leather suit yesterday. There were too many, covering his body until there wasn't a patch of smooth skin left. It was a testimony to the sacrifices he had made all through his life.
With a drawn out sigh he left the mirror and put on a fresh set of clothes that the witch had laid out. The thick boiled leather was a familiar feel to Gaunt and he wondered where he would be without it between the world and his skin.
He walked into the main room of the hut to find the witch not there. That was usual, she oft went out to collect herbs that blossomed in the pre-dawn. Not wanting to leave the breakfast lying on the table. Gaunt sat down and scoffed the lot, not leaving anything to waste.
Once he had finished he noticed something that was unusual. His pack lay at the door fully stocked and ready to go. Gaunt, now a bit worried walked over to it and was surprised to find a note on top that had his name written over the top in the witch's flowing handwriting, opening it he read:
"Talarra is dying Gaunt. The creatures of the night ever more encroach upon our land and the heroes we rely on are ever more scarce. The owners of these lands are not paying it it's due attention and more cracks are showing each day. We can try to face the enemy but where do we look when the enemy is ourselves. I am not as strong as I look and I am soon to leave this world. But I do not fear for myself because in the end i was but a pawn. You Gaunt, however are more important. You were meant for great things but the world has conspired against you. That you may never fulfill your goal is what scares me the most and you must promise to continue your struggle no matter where it takes you.
I will not be here when you leave, I have packed your supplies and i wish you the very best in you continuing fight.
-The Witch"
By the end of the letter Gaunt felt like his name, the hollowness inside him ate him up as he realized the full importance of the words on the sheet. He sat down to await the return of the witch that had taken such good care of him for so many years. But even as he took to the hard wooden chair he knew she would never return. He waited and waited but after a timeless while later Gaunt gave up.
With a sigh of regret he picked up his pack and trudged out the door as melancholy leaving as hungry he was entering.
He knew where he must go. The witch said he was destined for great things and he was to continue onward but he knew the answer lay not ahead, but behind.
After a day of traveling and brooding Gaunt came to a bridge. The bridge was familiar the broken and twisted timbers exactly the same as Gaunt left them all those years ago. This was the bridge to Granvik his true home. It may have been that he had only spent four weeks there but it was his home all the same and there was no other place he could see himself.
Quickly he jumped down the steep embankment and onto the skittery ice carefully walking along the frozen river that the bridge was meant to have crossed. As he came to the end of the river he looked at the sky to see the sun dipping below the horizon leaving this world for another day.
In the darkness he headed to the city, the ruined and broken city that he had adopted to be his own. Turning the corner he saw his town still the heap of rubble it was when he was forced to leave all those years ago. Nothing had changed. It was almost as if the entire area had held its breath waiting for him to arrive to start breathing again.
All through the night Gaunt dreamed of a new Granvik, a clean safe haven for those who sought refuge.
In the morning Gaunt woke to a cold hard day with the sun shining brightly but doing little to heat the day. Gaunt set about his work with vigour, it would take him a few years but he would make Granvik great again.
By the end of the day he had already cleared the rubble. The stuff he could use was piled in the middle of the village while the smaller stuff he had swept into holes dotted around the place. As dusk fell Gaunt retreated to a small cave which he had dug out to stay from the elements. With a clear sky overhead he fell asleep.
Blood. Fire. Goblins. They had found him. Remembering previous atrocities Gaunt had committed against their miserable race the vile creatures of the night struck with such a force. The mob was starting to behave like a co-ordinated army. Gaunt fled from his cave in blind desperation as the horde ransacked what was left of the town.
Gaunt got his breath back. There were many but they were weak and he was not about to abandon his home again. With a savage cry he leapt down the embankment to the monsters. Immediately he was in a swirling meleé set upon by a dozen brutes at once. Only he was much better at killing goblins than they were at killing him.
With a downward thrust he dispatched one foe before twirling round with his sword outstretched to spill the guts of another. He heard a grunt behind him and stabbed backwards only to hear the satisfying sound of blade piercing flesh. As hear pirouetted he saw a goblin fall as his comrade accidentally shot him with a bow. rushing forward Gaunt quickly decapitated the offending goblin before any other shots were fired. Gaunt quickly darted out of the combat to get his breath back but was only allowed a few moments before the goblins came after him.
Yelling he jumped back in hacking an slashing felling at least a dozen. It was a desperate fight and one that he was hopelessly outmatched for but he had a reason to fight, to protect his home. This made them fight all the harder and it was this that carried him through. Towards the end the sword broke at the hilt and Gaunt was forced to continue with his bare hands. Pummeling the last few until they fell unconscious to the floor.
Doubling over Gaunt looked at his bloody hands and then at the heap of goblin corpses strewn across the town. He was too tired to think of what he had done and he said to himself he would only stay as long as to find a decent sword from one of the dead.
It was whilst he was picking at the corpses he heard the heavy boots crunch the ground and he looked up at who was.
It was a man as far as he could tell, dressed from head to toes in black embossed armour with a long naked blade firmly gripped in his right hand. His eyes glowed a dull, ruddy red from the eye slits in his helm and his breathing sounded like a low growl.
He stood in front of me twice as high and said:
"I see you have taken out a few of my war band, you must be quite the warrior to best so many of mine."
Gaunt stood there no willing himself to speak lest his words be his last. The menacing figure leveled a stare at him that seemed to last for an eternity. At last Gaunt plucked the courage to ask
"Who... Who are you?"
"I. I am the Warlord and these," he gestured at the growing mob of goblins. "Are my army. You have become a nuisance by killing so many. However," he said, his low voice sounded like the rumble of thunder. " The real challenge is if you can beat me."
With that a whooping roar came from behind him. Gaunt took his eyes of the dark warrior for a second to see dozens, no hundreds of goblins forming a huge circle around Gaunt and the mysterious foreboding man.
"I...I do not have a weapon." I said shakily.
"Here," the man said. As he did he motion with his hand and one of the goblins threw a long iron sword at my feet.
"What about armour? It isn't a fair fight if you are clad in full with that brilliantly black armour" I said, more confident with a weapon in hand.
The man motioned again and a banded iron breastplate was thrown from the crowd. As Gaunt strapped it on he thought about his predicament. He was hopelessly outmatched. The man was physically better as well as better equipped. He had no hope if they went toe-to-toe. And with that thought he started formulating a plan.
With the armour strapped on Gaunt faced his opponent. He looked even more imposing now as he straightened to his full height. Gaunt brought his sword to his face and saluted as a sign he was ready.
With a throaty roar that was somewhere between volcanic eruption and tidal wave. The huge man charged. So did Gaunt and the onlookers were stunned to silence as both combatants raced towards each other with deadly speed.
At the last second the Warlord lowered his blade, pointing it square at gaunt's chest. Gaunt however, curled himself into a ball and let gravity do the rest.
They went speeding past each other, the Warlord at a complete loss as to why Gaunt was skewered on his sword like a shish kebab. Gaunt was bouncing his way along until he crashed into the ring of goblins. Quickly he unfurled himself and started hacking at the onlooking goblins. He was fast and soon had himself a bow and a full quiver of arrows. This meant that he did not have to engage the Warlord in close combat.
Rising Gaunt nocked an arrow and let it fly into the Warlord. The arrow sticking in his leg, the barb catching on several tendons. The Warlord enraged dropped his sword and lifted his arm at Gaunt.
Gaunt smiled as he thought the warlord was asking him to stop. Too late did he realise that the Warlord was not only a fighter but a wizard too. A gout of fire leapt from his hand an bathed Gaunt from tip to toe. No one should have survived it.
Gaunt watched as the fire engulfed him. He let the armour take the full brunt of it and he curled up to protect the exposed parts of him. When the fire relented he stood. The armour had sloughed off him and the bow burnt to a cinder, he was black head to feet but he was still alive. Reaching for his sword Gaunt charged. His feet hitting the ground lightly as he raced for the warlord who even now was grappling on the floor for his sword. Gaunt's world narrowed, it was just him and the Warlord. Each footfall became a rhythm in his head.
The two came together with such force it shook the ground when they landed. As the warlord stood up Gaunt ran up a dead goblin's back and jumped off, sailing through the air spinning as to add to the final impact. The sword outstretched and clenched in both hands.
They both fell. The Warlord lay still while Gaunt stood. But only for a moment. The warlord picked himself off the ground and took his sword from Gaunt's midriff. The slick slimy sound of the sword being drawn through living flesh was the last thing Gaunt ever heard.
Even before he hit the floor the goblins were upon him. Tearing his limbs for food and scavenging his belongings. The warlord looked at the poor broken thing and smiled. As he walked off though one couldn't help but notice his limp, nor the way he clutched a bloody hand across his chest.
Maybe Gaunt's death wasn't in vain.
((an end of sorts for my character, I didn't really think the server was dead but hey I always went on when other weren't so I can see why I didn't notice ))