A Knight's Wyrd: The Tales of Alyra Ashedown

[SwordSaintMusashi]

~Lionar~

The air coming off the creature seemed to pulse with light and color as her unit stood in awe of it. Admittedly, she had never seen one this close up before, however Lathander protected her this day from the terrible visions that soon started to plague her men. The beast, at least the size of three men, and twice that in girth, glared down at her over huge tusks, some in places one wouldn’t imagine teeth or bone even belonged. It raised a heavily taloned hand and smashed it down upon the one opponent who was not affected by its unholy aura: Alyra.

Raising her shield, the lion-headed sheet of metal animated, biting back at the hand even as the demon’s strength pushed her down to a knee, gritting her teeth to not falter. Eventually, it had had enough of her shield’s teeth and pulled back, instead throwing its other talon out in her direction as lightning flew down from the sky, barely missing her. This was her chance. Using the one foot not in a kneel, she pushed herself into a head-long run, sword out and behind her. As expected, the demon pushed against the shield, not wanting to once more feel the lion head’s bite upon its flesh. Alyra could not help but grin as she swung her blade around and it bit into its arm, the cold iron bursting into holy flames that only grew higher as the nalfeshnee howled in pain.

The two pulled away from one another, unsure of each other’s next moves. Her arm throbbed from its initial assault and its powerful blow, and she knew she could not dampen another blow with it, even as the Lion Shield’s magic still had some bite left to it. Her silent considerations were not unnoticed by the demon as its wings, far too small for its huge body, started to flap to lift the creature off the ground; and Alyra could not have it escaping.

A quick prayer and she felt her legs and arms surge with strength, rushing the demon once more. It was prepared for its get away, ready to take her shield again as lightning crackled over its fingers. However instead, flicking her thumb to undo the strap, she threw the shield at the nalfeshnee like a discus, the surprised demon loosing its lightning too soon to tear the shield to piece as the remains of the lion head fell upon its wing, gnawing and mangling it beyond repair. The creature fell back to the ground, the lion head’s magic fading from it, but it has opened up the opportunity Alyra had needed: sword in both hands, she gave a cry out to her god, and swung with all her might. Lathander answered, the holy flames once more igniting and tearing through flesh, bone, and all the other terrible things a demon is filled with until the beast was cleaved in two, Alyra going into a tumble from her forward rush and landing on her side.

Many things all seemed to happen at once then: the brilliant lights that had been dazzling her men all dissipated, leaving them stunned, but quickly gaining realization of their folly. One roused more quickly than the others, rushing over to the still-laying body of his captain.

“Lionar! Are you alright?!” He shouted, almost dropping his weapon before getting close.

Alyra shook her head as she pushed herself up to sit. Even beneath the purple dragon-emblazoned helmet, her soldier could see a grin on her face. Her arm now free of a shield, she unstrapped the helmet, pulling it off and letting it tumble to the ground, a cascade of chocolate-brown hair pouring out. The soldier sighed in relief, letting his hand be clasped as he pulled his captain to her feet.

“M’lady…what in the name of the King was that?”

“A parting gift from the cultists, I would imagine…” she started, looking about her to the slain bodies of the robed men who gave their lives to summon the thing, “They probably didn’t expect their two headed lord to send something that would betray them.”

The paladin approached the remains of the Lion Shield she had used to defeat the creature, leaning over to pick up the gold-inscribed lion’s head used as its focal point. At the very least, it would make an heirloom. She sheathed her holy blade finally, showing the men they could relax, as she walked back to retrieve her helmet, and motion them forward with a wave.

“Come now, men…there are still a few more of these vermin to clean out…and I will not have the Purple Dragon’s names be spoken as the ones who let them escape.”

The men, renewed in vigor, marched beside their Lady into the deeper catacombs of the ruins they had discovered. After seeing the Lionar defeat such a mighty foe, surely nothing below could be as bad! For her part, she could only smile at the deed that had been done today. One of Demogorgan’s minions sent howling back into the Abyss. She hoped that in whatever reincarnation it found, her name would stay with it and spread, so that others of its kind would either know to stay clear of her country and her king…or come seeking her so that they may be destroyed. Her men took her grin as a sign that they could cheer and press on, and surely she would not stop them; for Alyra Duskfallow’s Purple Dragons would press on to the last.

[johnlewismcleod]

Very fine read, SSM...thanks

[SwordSaintMusashi]

Alyra felt the blood rushing through her as she made her way to the back of the expedition. Everyone looked confused as the sudden shout of anguish had been heard, and as she found three of her group not with the rest, her quick march broke into a run. Elenaril, as if sensing the same thing as she, also followed her in step down the path they had just come. Nothing could prepare them for the scene they found when they arrived.

The ogres must have been laying in ambush. Over to the side of the road, partially hidden, were two bodies that they walked right past. The two lumbering giants stood over the body of her cousin in spirit, Geth, whose body looked almost torn asunder by the axes the beasts wielded. Over to another side was the body of the man calling himself Juston, his fine hat covering his head even in death. They had arrived just in time to witness sir Jonas of the Red Knight trying to hold the ogres off, only to also be cut down by blade.

A haze went over Alyra’s mind. How could all of them fallen so quickly? The ogres attention on her caused her to raise her blade and quickly move forward, Elenaril tumbling to the side with bow drawn, arrows launching into the air.

“Why did no one call out?!” Alyra found herself shouting as she raised her shield to deflect a blow from an ogre. One of the pair, already on the edge of death from his encounter with Geth, Juston and Jonas, raised his axe with a roar and launched into a suicidal attack on the paladin, the heavy blade catching her off-guard and cleaving through the metal, flesh and bone of her shoulder. Alyra cried out in anguish as she fell back against a tree, blood rushing from the wound as the ogres advanced. All the while, her head spun from the knowledge of her fallen allies, and that she would soon be joining them.

Then she heard the groan. It was low, but enough to catch Alyra’s attention as she looked to her side where Jonas lay. He was bleeding profusely…but he was alive. All at once, the haze shattered like glass, and the hesitation in Alyra’s step and posture disappeared. There was one still alive, and at least four more behind the ogres depending on her. The injured ogre, thinking he finally had worn the paladin down, raised its axe to strike again…and found a glowing hot sword thrust through its chin and out the top of its head as Alyra brought Lathander’s judgment upon it.

Elenaril expertly dodged the other ogre, loosing arrows where he could, and drawing the beast back. Without much time, a single prayer was uttered from Alyra, who touched the tip of her blade to Jonas’s chest and healing light poured through him. Not enough to bring him up to speed, perhaps, but enough to save him. She then turned her attention to the ogre Elenaril was handling, her blade glowing white hot again as she bore down into its back, tearing through muscle and spine. The ogre howled, turning to strike at its new foe, only to find an arrow in each of its eyes; a lesson to be learned for turning one’s attention from a Bladesinger of Corellon.

The beast’s body fell to the ground, and the battle fell silent. Leaning back against a tree, she let the ones who had come with them on this expedition to Settlestone rush forward to apply their magics and healing to the recovering Jonas. Geth and Juston, however, were too far gone. Elenaril approached her side, giving her a silent look of acknowledgement. They both knew they had barely survived this encounter.

“You did what you could.” He said plainly in elven, eyes locking to her own.

Alyra’s gaze faltered, glancing to the fallen body of Geth. Sheathing her sword, and walked over to kneel beside him, and place two fingers over his eyes and close them. In the same language, she replied:

“And yet…it wasn’t enough.”

[Blindhamsterman]

good read catches the general feeling of desperation perfectly

[SwordSaintMusashi]

((OOC Note - This story is only from Alyra's point of view during the incident. There were ALOT of heroes that night, but things were so frantic, I could not hope to write about them all.))


The pain was enough to overwhelm her senses. She had barely gotten a chance to see what slipped down from the trees to the ground. For a split second, she caught a brief glimpse of a huge bat, eyes shining with vile malevolence in the night. No sooner than that, she became aware of another form falling from the trees behind her. She got only the briefest glimpse of a stone-white form grinning at him with fangs before Alyra saw the woman’s arm raise. She knew what came next. She turned her head back forward just in time to feel scalding hot flames tear over her back, eliciting only a scream from her. Her own screams were cut-off, however, as the bat then lurched. She couldn’t turn to shield herself, so all she could do was raised her right gauntlet to her face to shield herself as the bat spewed forth acid over her front and face where she could not protect.

She had not felt burns like this since Occidian, and if she did not relish them then, she certainly did not now. She felt, through the powerful enchantment she had laid onto Berendil,that he had been struck as well. She pulled pain onto herself, more scorching hot fire covering her, but perhaps saving her elven friend. Then as quickly as it came, the fires and acid stopped. The fight was still going – she heard that much – but she stumbled back slightly, dazed. The vampiric woman stood beside her, clawing into one of her friends. She could not tell who though; one eye had been burned shut, the other blurry. She draw the looped silver hammer from her belt, giving it a swing to smash it into the creature’s face, but it was not good enough. The creature only smiled with the hammer smooshing its cheek, and let loose another gout of fire onto Alyra.

Time slowed for a moment, as it seemed to do in moments of such great crisis: Alyra saw some of her allies rushing backward, Berendil hot on their tail shouting something. What he was shouting she did not know, but she imagined it was a retreat, considering she saw Tahir’s lifeless form being dragged away by him. What had they walked into? She was ready to follow Berendil and the others back, giving a quick glance back to check for stragglers, when her heart caught in her throat: Flanked by the creatures was Garlus, Duma in hand, and looking worse than she had ever seen him as he sliced and fought at the beasts. She tried to call out to him, but even though she could not hear it, she knew her voice only came out as a garbled mess of blood and hoarseness. When the vampire woman struck the final blow, and she saw that stout dwarven form crumple to the ground, she exploded.

She saw Berendil shouting at her. Likely telling her to just run, which would be the smart thing to do. She could apologize to him later. She strode forward as fast as she could in her layers of plate, trying to reach the Talhund Ironbeard. The vampiric woman, seeming satisfied, dissolved into mist, and the bat took to the sky, likely to pick off stragglers. Alyra looped her axe haphazardly and slung her shield, pulling two potions from her bag. Pulling the corks with her teeth, she forced one’s healing liquid down Garlus’s throat, while the other she quaffed herself. It wasn’t much, in her state, but it was enough to keep going. Grabbing the dwarf by his armor, she started to drag with all her might, pulling away from the scene.

The bat returned. It swooped down, claws digging into Garlus’s chest as the dwarf let out a cry of pain, then passed out. Alyra shouted something, though to this moment she could not recall what, the strength of Lathander filling her limbs as she tried to punch it away. The fist connected, a burst of divine light startling the bat off him. It took a quick bite at her, fangs sinking through the flesh of her exposed hand and almost tearing it off, before taking to the skies again. That hand now became the arm under Garlus’s own: the hand was useless, but at least the arm could drag. Her other reached for another potion, cork pulled, liquid force-fed to the dwindling life force of the Talhund. She continued to drag. To her left, she saw the form of the other elven in her group: to her horror in that moment, she realized she had not even learned his name. He was gasping for breath, still clutching his weapon like a true elven warrior. She went to reach to her scroll case, to fumble around for anything, but by then it was too late. The light left the elf’s eyes suddenly, and his form lay at rest.

She fought back tears: sorrow, pain, anger, all of them mixed together. She dragged, and dragged, and dragged, and probably would have kept going without a thought until she felt Berendil’s firm hand on her back, stopping her. She looked about suddenly: no bat in the sky, no enemies around them. But how could they relax, still in these woods? Her hearing had slightly returned from the potion she drank earlier, enough to hear herself say: “We need to retreat…to Quearvar…”. She knelt, pulling Garlus’ unconscious form onto her back and standing, albeit with a slouch, as she carried him alongside the others on the walk back to the burned town.

Once arrived, she placed the dwarf down by the Legion tower, more potions, more corks, more making the old dwarf drink. He was barely breathing. She has never seen him like this. He was her rock, her solid stone in these crazy realms they wandered. Beyond her, she made out the sound of crying: Ashlee inside the tower, the briefest glimpse of her collapsed over the form of Tahir. He was…Alyra fought back the urge to vomit. Was Garlus soon to follow? She felt tears streaming down her cheeks, and all she could do was weep from it all, pulling the dwarf’s head to her lap and leaning over him, embracing as much as she could.

Then it happened. His whiskers twitched. Before Alyra could reach for another potion, she felt the dwarf’s hand clench around her throat. Herself choking, the dwarf sat up in shock, eyes wide. All he could say in the dwarven tongue was: “I saw him….Dumathoin…!”. Perhaps her gasp of air snapped him to it, but he released Alyra’s throat, staring at her in bewilderment before that hand went to her shoulder. She looked to him, astonished. All she could think to choke out:

“I’m…I’m sorry, Samman….I’m sorry I took you from him…I am selfish! I am not ready to lose you yet…”
“Well…” Garlus mumbles, coughing up a bit of blood, but despite it all, grinning in that fashion he always did, “He was not ready…to have me yet.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Alyra awoke with a start. Where was she? Looking around she saw stone walls…cots set up hastily to bed her friends…her armor and armaments laid on the floor beside her, and a Legionnaire tending to one of the wounded. She was still in Quearvar, likely the Legion tower. She sighed in relief, then winced in pain. Her body ached, and especially so, her hand. Raising it, she found it partially bandaged: hiding that most of the flesh had been torn away, the bones of her pinky and ring finger exposed painfully to the air. The hand that had blocked the acid from her face and had been mauled by the bat. She once more fought back the urge to vomit; nothing prepares you for seeing your own hand torn asunder so, she would imagine. She pushed herself to sit up, grabbing a staff from the wall for support, and with her good arm, weighted herself against it to stumble outside. It was coming dawn over the town, which meant her own divine energies were hopefully restored. She stumbled down to the river, letting herself fall to her knees to gaze down into the waters.

Her face was burned and bloody, only two clean streaks down her cheeks from her eyes where tears had flowed. Her hair remained; a testament to the magic of her ring and the gift of her heritage to protect her from fire and acid. She murmured in Celestial, clapping her hands slightly – and causing a whole new round of pain to echo through her hand – and then crossed her hands over her chest for a moment. She felt Lathander’s embrace, if only for the briefest of moments, and in the watery reflection, she saw the burns start to give way to healthy, tanned flesh. She looked to her hand, witnessing the muscles and skin start to reform over the fingers and palms. She had to look away. It was one thing to witness this process on an ally, and another to stomach watching yourself mend.

She heard the clank of metal behind her, and saw in the water as her shield brother sat beside her, silent, but comforting in his presence. She had already wept like a babe this day. She allowed herself to show another rare sign of weakness as she leaned against him and said not a word, just staring at their reflections in the flow of the river.

[oldgrayrogue]

Well captured. For another perspective:

http://www.alandfaraway.org/forums/view ... =6&t=44521

[SwordSaintMusashi]

Alyra reminded herself to thank Olaf come morning for his diligence in instructing the Spellguard in proper mountain fighting tactics on the way to the Citadell. One of the Spellguard had come to her hours before Lathander's light had filled the valley to inform her his Alarm spell had been tripped only minutes before. It did not take long for him to awaken the seven Knights that made up her squad and have everyone armored and ready.

Their position for the evening patrol had been fortuitous: a small cave overlooking a neglected part of the pass that the dwarves were certain their enemy had been using to bypass the Sundabar road and attack Felbarr's flanks. One of the Knight-Errants, wearing a light suit of chainshirt that better suited his scouting specialization, crawled along the snow-filled ground to peer over the cliff. A nod, and his hand went up to them, showing five wiggly fingers, and then four fingers making a harsh motion.

"An illithid and four giants..." Alyra said under her breath to the others, who all nodded in acknowledgment. Already they could feel the ground tremble as their quarry approached. How could she have not felt it before she knew they were coming, she wondered? A query for another day. She and her men all got into a crouched position - as if looking to pounce at any moment. The trembling grew louder, and the sound of giant-speak filled the small cave. She watched her scout, waiting...her breath abated...until he made a quick motion with his hand.

The Knights and Spellguard all moved as one, running around the scout and leaping off the cliff-edge the cave was poised upon, only one other scout remaining with his prone partner. The Spellguard's words were the first thing that alerted their enemy below: looking up, the illithid had just enough time to watch the Silverymoon mage cast Feather Fall . Its tentacles flared out from its mouth as a frost giant soon found five Knights in Silver and Alyra herself falling upon his head, knocking it to the ground where a few quick stabs subdued the creature.

The rest would not be so easy.

Immediately, the three other giants turned to their assailants: frost giants, the lot of them. The Spellguard, still hovering mid-air instead of falling with the others, was quick to weave another spell, webs spewing from his fingertips and onto the feet and legs of the huge men, eliciting roars of anguish. The illithid threw its mottled purple head back, and instantly Alyra felt a wave of nausea hit her and just as quickly pass. Three of the men beside her looked the same, but the last two fell back, their eyes vacant from the mind blast that had assaulted their senses. Soon after, the illithid too rose off the ground to pursue the flying mage.

With what men she had, Alyra charged the nearest frost giant, the Kingblade's fire engulfing her arm in excitement of the fight. Her blade found its mark in the knee of the giant, biting through flesh and bone, fire searing the wound. It roared its frustration and raised an axe, slicing down at the little woman that dared go toe to toe with it. She raised her shield, and felt the axe hit it - and bite through it - and hit her adamantine armor - and bite through it to her flesh. It hurt, there was no denying it, but layers of magical and armored protection reduced it to a minor wound as she held fast with blade int he creature. The Knights quickly surrounded it, their swords drawn and gleaming as they slashed at it. With its one moment of distraction, Alyra was able to draw her blade out and slice a precise wound up its thigh. The blood sprayed, and she knew she hit an artery as the giant's eyes rolled back and it collapsed.

From their cliffside roost, the two scouts peppered the remaining two giants with arrows from their crossbows. They were not as effective perhaps as spells or blade, but it kept the brutes occupied from smashing the Knights around them, at least for a time. The illithid and the Spellguard met mid-air with a clash of magical and psionic energy. Perhaps the illithid's mind blast would subdue the Knights, but this was a Mage of Silverymoon. A motion of his hand and the wards surrounding the abberation faded, and with yet another motion as fast as the blink of an eye, a swarm of magical missles bombarded it, forcing it to the ground with a sickly "crunch" of a creature falling many feet without its fly spell.

A third giant fell to the Knights, but the fourth did not seem to want to follow its comrades. It threw itself into a murderous rage, two handing its axe, it caught a Knight in an upward swing that nearly severed him in two, the man flying back between his two stunned compatriots.

"Get him!" Alyra shouted, motioning to the fallen. One Knight nodded and swiftly broke off while Alyra and the remaining surrounding the frost man once more, and put a swift end to the creature's rage.

Breathing heavily, she looked back. The knight she had sent back had quickly laid his hands upon his fallen comrade, the worst of the injury healing up, though much blood still remained. Her two men that fell under the sway of the illithid slowly regained their senses as they pushed themselves up, sheepishly wiping snow from their backs. The two scouts started to make their way down the old fashioned way, and the Spellguard landed, a slew of spells and detections quickly employed over the body of the illithid.

For her part, Alyra swiftly made to the giants, cutting lose their tell-tale bags from their belts and opening them. She frowned as she found no less than five corpses - three dwarves and two humans, frozen and likely kept for another meal. The dwarves still clutched their axes, and their armor was pinned with the symbol of the gates of Felbarr. Frowning deeply, she collected the axes and badges.

"Set up a bonfire, swiftly. We will not have our enemy drawing strength from our fallen comrades."

The Knights all nodded, all but the injured and the one tending him arranging the bodies swiftly in the most respectful manner they could manage. The Spellguard looked over from his work, sighing as he knew his magical fire would be needed, and soon came to aid. Alyra watched as the flames leapt up and took the bodies of her shield brothers and kinsmen from this world. She could only hope they could keep up this pace, and that the other squadrons were doing well.

[viigas]

wonderful !

[danielmn]

[SwordSaintMusashi]

They weren’t sure when the echoing stopped. Up until this point, every word, every whisper, indeed every breath echoed off the walls of ancient Delzoun, sending eerie bastardizations of their own conversations bouncing off every ruined pillar and humming crystal. Yet here, all sound seemed to stop. Everything was suppressed by the labored breathing of the bloated deity they saw before them.

Hovering over the ritual circle was the decrepit avatar of Deep Duerra herself. Malevolent red eyes burned with hatred and lust as she stared down upon the five heroes who stood merely a bridge away from her. She was taller than a mage tower in and of herself, and the evil that radiated off her with each heavy gasp nearly knocked them from their feet. Below her, gathered around the ritual circle which they could only assume was used to summon her, were two illithid, their tentacles and faces studded with glittering gems of power, and between them stood the object of their ire: the duergar mage himself.

Perhaps once, there would have been a time to capture this mage and question him. Indeed, the gathered were not above showing mercy to their enemies where mercy was due and information was needed. And indeed, it would likely have been a boon to know how this mage pulled an avatar of his dark dwarf goddess into the Material Plane. But the day for mercy was not this day. Not after the war that claimed so many lives. Not after the sacrifices of the people of the united Marches. Not after the loss of the Eye of Warcrown. No, this day was for only one purpose: Retribution. And as they readied their weapons, they knew Hoar would have his due.

Finellen was the first to charge forth across the bridge. There was little surprise amongst the gathered at this, as this was what the Kaxanar had been born to do. Alyra followed behind her, shouting a battle cry to rally her allies just as much as hide her own trepidation of being confronted with an evil deity. Blades met flesh as the illithids were the first to confront them, barring the way across the bridge to the ritual beyond. As psionic energy rippled across them, the two doing their best to keep their balance and not fall into the endless depths of the Underdark, Garlus Ironbeard strode in-between and cleaved his mighty axe from one illithid skull to another.

Behind them stood Olaf the gnome and Glaustigan the dwarf, readying to provide their allies support. A well-placed crossbow bolt from Glaus ended an illithid, as a few words of power and arcane gestures generated a swarm of missiles that pelted the other into bloody pulp. This left just the duergar mage. His own arcane power was immense, and he released small, pea-sized dots of light towards that group, that exploded into fiery hell, scorching and searing the already weary team. However, this would not be his day. Olaf was a Spellguard of Silverymoon, and he would not be out-done by some thrice-damned grey dwarf. A single utterance of power, and gouts of fire hotter than any would feel flew from his finger tips, twisting and avoiding his allies and engulfing the duergar mage. A swing from Alyra’s blade, and the puppet master that had caused so much suffering fell beneath the searing edge of a holy sword.

The group advanced across the bridge. Somehow, the slaying of the mage has disrupted whatever foul plan that had been concocted, as the avatar of Duerra shuddered and stuttered, looking enraged. Below her, her form seemed to emanate from some profane sacrifice upon a dark altar. The Kaxanar needed not to hear any words to rush up kicking the body from it, causing it to tumble down into the depths. Duerra snarled, looking down at the heroes who had thwarted whatever dark design she had for the ruins of Delzoun. She was done here, but not before leaving a parting gift. He hands extended to either side of the group, the terrible spider demons from the Abyss crawled forth as if from some portal, flanking the heroes.

The five warriors quickly circled, standing back to back with one another. Their feelings were wordless. Come what may, they had succeeded. And under the quickly dissipating eyes of Duerra herself, they raised their weapons and let out one final battle cry together. Let the demons of the Abyss come. Let them be followed by the duergar, the illithid, the unseen horrors and the unspeakable terrors. Today, they had saved a land. And no creature could strip them of their victory.

[Mizbiz]

Wow, great stuff!

[Brokenbone]

Good story!

[danielmn]

Bangin 7 gram rock, that's how we roll.

[NESchampion]

((Winning, duh.))

[Ithildur]

(Nicely done!)