Post by Justiciar Cadorius on Mar 2, 2008 1:51:45 GMT -5
He was standing at the top of a tower, a key vantage point in this battle. Any other time it would have been a majestic structure, several stories above those nearest- clearly belonging to some higher ranking mage; perhaps an influential politician or professor of the academy. They seemed to think that by physically placing themselves above others, it somehow made them superior. Thus it was that the city itself floated high above the ‘savages’ below and thus it was that the more powerful mages raised themselves above one another in whatever petty way they found possible. Yet, this nation, though built with all the raw power magic could afford at its beck and call, had so little thought put to it's own defense. After all, who could possibly reach those so far above everyone else? Who could strike them down from their lofty position looking down upon the rest of the world? So ironic it was, that their downfall was brought about by those who had quite literally been so recently buried beneath the ground itself, the lowest of the low.
“Fools.”
The lone knight stood within the shattered remains of what once was a grand plaza. A focal point for Aesir’s public, in a former life one would have seen dozens of vendors displayed, bedecked with a resplendent array of goods from nations near and far. There would be performers, eking out a living by entertaining the children of parents come to shop. Yet now all was still, all was silent. There had been no living beings within the city for many long months, it was a city of the dead. The tower the knight had seen himself within had long since fallen to ruin; collapsing in upon itself as the city made it’s final descent after generations of defiance for the very laws of nature. The ruins of the tower were barren, and several hours of search made it apparent that it was folly to continue scouring this location. The knight returned to the plaza.
As the knight gazed out upon the city, the sight that greeted him was one that pleased him. The flashes of light, which had been unceasing little more than an hour ago, now only flared up occasionally and at sporadic intervals. The fight had taken a turn for the worse for the foolish mages of Aesir. For all their might, their ‘unstoppable’ magic, it was amazing how quickly and easily the city had been taken. His gaze turned to the plaza below, to the fountain at it’s center…
He was striding past a fountain, which still steadily dripped water from the top from some lingering enchantment that would eternally cause it to flow. Yet, the enchantment in the basin which would prevent the water level from rising too high had been broken, as a stray spell from a chamber below the surface had torn a hole into the ground, taking out a large section of the fountain with it. He peered down the chasm, seeing little more than rubble and ruins, much the same as the rest of the city, save that down here it was partially flooded by the feeble fountain.
With a flash of light and a resounding explosion that tore apart a dozen or more minions, the knight saw a figure emerging. With torn, blood-stained robes and one arm cradled against his side in a manner that suggested it now was of little more use to him, he seemed a figure of little threat. Yet he clearly did not intend to live up to this assessment. With a few gestures, he had disposed of the few petty undead minions that were clutching at his robes in an attempt to drag him to the ground. A single gauntleted hand raised, pointing at the defiant mage. He could sense power coursing through his form, a strange experience for one who no longer had the capacity for feelings.
“Die.”
The knight looked up from the chasm, moved from his memories by the presence of one of his remaining minions. Before him was a skeletal figure, converted into the legions of undead warriors a short while before the fall of Aesir. This one still bore the tattered livery of some noble house and wore a short sword at it’s side, hanging loose now that the flesh had mostly decayed from it’s bones. Though it said nothing, nor even possessed the capacity for speech, the knight understood. It had been found.
As the mage crumpled, dead, to the ground, there was a deafening clap of thunder and a brilliant flash of light. The city had begun it’s decent. Yet there was chaos among the ranks of the dread army. Though they had, by all appearances, won the battle, there was still one new question: where was their leader? As chaos spread through the living and unliving ranks, the knight stood at the edge of a parapet. Drawing forth his cursed blade, he raised it high above his head and shouted out, issuing his challenge to the gods themselves. Then the world itself seemed to explode. Buildings collapsed or crumbled, minions were crushed or sent fleeing. The knight was thrown from his tower even as it began to collapse beneath him, his sword slipping from his grasp. Aesir had landed.
There it was, surrounded by a small group of his undead servants, protruding from a pile of rubble. The Dark Avenger- that cursed blade which had brought about his fall from grace and the ruin of his entire order. Drawing it forth from the broken stone which had been concealing it, he sheathed his weapon once more.
“Fools.”
The lone knight stood within the shattered remains of what once was a grand plaza. A focal point for Aesir’s public, in a former life one would have seen dozens of vendors displayed, bedecked with a resplendent array of goods from nations near and far. There would be performers, eking out a living by entertaining the children of parents come to shop. Yet now all was still, all was silent. There had been no living beings within the city for many long months, it was a city of the dead. The tower the knight had seen himself within had long since fallen to ruin; collapsing in upon itself as the city made it’s final descent after generations of defiance for the very laws of nature. The ruins of the tower were barren, and several hours of search made it apparent that it was folly to continue scouring this location. The knight returned to the plaza.
As the knight gazed out upon the city, the sight that greeted him was one that pleased him. The flashes of light, which had been unceasing little more than an hour ago, now only flared up occasionally and at sporadic intervals. The fight had taken a turn for the worse for the foolish mages of Aesir. For all their might, their ‘unstoppable’ magic, it was amazing how quickly and easily the city had been taken. His gaze turned to the plaza below, to the fountain at it’s center…
He was striding past a fountain, which still steadily dripped water from the top from some lingering enchantment that would eternally cause it to flow. Yet, the enchantment in the basin which would prevent the water level from rising too high had been broken, as a stray spell from a chamber below the surface had torn a hole into the ground, taking out a large section of the fountain with it. He peered down the chasm, seeing little more than rubble and ruins, much the same as the rest of the city, save that down here it was partially flooded by the feeble fountain.
With a flash of light and a resounding explosion that tore apart a dozen or more minions, the knight saw a figure emerging. With torn, blood-stained robes and one arm cradled against his side in a manner that suggested it now was of little more use to him, he seemed a figure of little threat. Yet he clearly did not intend to live up to this assessment. With a few gestures, he had disposed of the few petty undead minions that were clutching at his robes in an attempt to drag him to the ground. A single gauntleted hand raised, pointing at the defiant mage. He could sense power coursing through his form, a strange experience for one who no longer had the capacity for feelings.
“Die.”
The knight looked up from the chasm, moved from his memories by the presence of one of his remaining minions. Before him was a skeletal figure, converted into the legions of undead warriors a short while before the fall of Aesir. This one still bore the tattered livery of some noble house and wore a short sword at it’s side, hanging loose now that the flesh had mostly decayed from it’s bones. Though it said nothing, nor even possessed the capacity for speech, the knight understood. It had been found.
As the mage crumpled, dead, to the ground, there was a deafening clap of thunder and a brilliant flash of light. The city had begun it’s decent. Yet there was chaos among the ranks of the dread army. Though they had, by all appearances, won the battle, there was still one new question: where was their leader? As chaos spread through the living and unliving ranks, the knight stood at the edge of a parapet. Drawing forth his cursed blade, he raised it high above his head and shouted out, issuing his challenge to the gods themselves. Then the world itself seemed to explode. Buildings collapsed or crumbled, minions were crushed or sent fleeing. The knight was thrown from his tower even as it began to collapse beneath him, his sword slipping from his grasp. Aesir had landed.
There it was, surrounded by a small group of his undead servants, protruding from a pile of rubble. The Dark Avenger- that cursed blade which had brought about his fall from grace and the ruin of his entire order. Drawing it forth from the broken stone which had been concealing it, he sheathed his weapon once more.
