The Demon wrapped around both heroes, trying to take them with him in his inevitable demise. He started to fall, but as he did, he stopped suddenly, almost wrenching a shadow arm off. He looked to see the tendrils saving thew people he was holding, and the Demon smiled, a toothless empty smile which revealed nothing but more darkness. Using the tendrils as an anchor, he pulled himself up, still clenching the heroes in his hands. When he was balanced again, he moved forward and drove his shoulder into the tendrils, he roared in pain as he tried to cut it, but smoke just raised form his shoulder, causing him to collapse. He still clenched the heroes, as the tendrils were wrapped around him and them at the same time, he dug his fingers in, trying to take a few lives with him.
Tamu struggled against the tendrils, her enhanced strength, making barely any progress. "Help us," she shouted, pulling with all her might. She thrashed against the ropes and pushed hard, opening a slight gap. She grunted and strained, trying to free herself.
"Ramba, get Tamu to safety, a fall won't kill me but I'm almost positive that Tamu won't survive this fall." Strife called out, striking the demon to draw his attention away from Tamu so that she could get out alive. Not for the safety of Tamu, but to earn the trust of Ramba and any of the others that doubted him.
If he was able to gain their trust, then he could manipulate them to do whatever he pleased which would come in useful if he wanted to achieve his goal.
Ramba could not hear Strife's words, at least not in the obvious sense. He was still barely conscious, but the tendrils began to act according to Strife's commands, working harder to pry the Demon's grip from Tamu, doing their best to burn every inch of its skin. A few tendrils still suspended Strife even as this tangle occurred, to prevent him from falling before the Demon had been finished off.
The Demon kept its grip as tight as it could. But it was unable to hold on to Tamu as she thrashed and the tendrils pulled harder. She slipped out of his claws, leaving a large gash across her stomach. He then reached across to grab both hands onto strife, but only the few tendrils could not hold him up anymore, he began to fall back out of the gap again, still clenching strife as tight as he could, the demon fell towards the ground.
When the light hit him, he became more transparent, but still clawed into Strife as he fell, aiming to land on top of him. The Beast hissed at him, acknowledging his death, and aimed to take a bite out of his neck as he fell.
Ramba's tendrils continued to fight as if on their own. Tamu was retracted from the battle and dropped more or less safely to the ground. The whips of light that had dropped her there floated aimlessly, their task fulfilled. Ramba's eyes flickered open, and his conscious mind began to take hold. With a jolt he became aware of his situation, and scrambled to the edge, where he saw Strife plummeting down towards the Demon. The few tendrils he still had free tightly wove together into a crude javelin that the old priest held in his hands. He unsteadily stood up, his head spinning and his vision all but gone from the effort of combat while still on the verge of death.
He felt his hand shake violently, and his light grew dim for a moment, and threatened to dissipate entirely. He thought of his wife and child, and his resolve urged him to hold on. He grabbed the projectile out of the air and flung it down at the Demon before falling flat on his back. The tendrils dissipated, leaving his javelin as his only presence left in the battle.
Strife let the demon hammer away at his armor, yet for all the demon did not a single scratch was left on Strife's body. Strife just laughed as he and the demon plummeted downward at higher speeds every minute. Strife made quick jabs to hit the demon in its chest, looking over its shoulder once to see a javelin of light flying down towards him. Strife planned to keep the demon distracted so that the javelin could finish it off.
The demon kept its grip tight on Strife, still aiming to land on top of him to take him with him. He didn't notice the javelin until it was piercing through the shadows, into him. The javelin went clean into him, straight through its chest, and unfortunately for Strife, straight into him. The force of the golden tendril, strengthened by the pieces of darkness still wrapped around it, pierced the Armour of the weakened Hero. The Javelin skewered both as they fell straight down, slamming heavily on the ground with a thud.
The shadow spread around the ground, and the demon was no longer alive. All that was left was a golden javelin embedded into Strifes Chest. Zero looked around, and said mostly to himself "Oh Lord I hope that is over..." he said as he moved towards Ramba, stopping his power from flowing so he wouldn't over exert himself. "Someone please go check on Strife.." he said calmly, cradling Ramba, "He may have excellent defenses but he is tired and that Demon wasn't a push over."
<spoiler=OOC>Don't blame me for what happened... Blame the person who threw the Javelin...
There was really no avoiding this scenario... Either you got crushed along with the Demon, or skewered to death by a javelin.
Also, I pinky promise I will finish this arc tomorrow.
Strife lay at the bottom of the cliff, his body now unarmored because it would have taken too much effort to keep his armor up and survive. The only armor he left on was around the javelin so that he could at least live to talk to Ramba. One of his arms was broken, but what little shields he had kept up had saved him from sustaining any internal injuries.
"Ramba, next time be sure to hit only the other bastard." Strife called out, not knowing if anyone had heard him. Strife just stared up at the ceiling, his life flashing before his eyes as his vision faded. Strife realized that he had been wrong for the past few days, and vowed change what he had done if he survived.
Before anyone had time to go down and check to see if Strife was still alive, his breathing stopped and the golden javelin sunk deeper in his chest, slicing clean through his heart and into the ground below. Strife's eyes closed and his body went limp...
Yep Strife died. Not sure if it was okay to keep him alive for that little post, but if you have any problems with it please tell me and I'll be glad to discuss it.
It took several minutes for Garkar to make his way down the distance that the demon had fallen. He wasn't helped by the many pains that filled his body, or his right arm that he couldn't even use to help balance. Garkar suspected that the limb would never move again, if it would even remain at all.
However, he also knew there wasn't much reason for hurrying. If his comrade had survived the fall then a little waiting wouldn't do any worse. If he didn't... well Garkar was no healer anyways.
Once he made it down though it was quite easy to find the impact site. One look was all that Garkar needed, there was no way that Strife was alive. Still, to die as he had; in battle, grappling with his enemy, dragging the foe to death even as he went; the greatest death any could earn. Garkar knelt next to the broken body and began to pray.
'Great Spirits, guide this true warrior to the reward that he has earned...'
It was another few minutes before Garkar returned to the others, He held Strife's body cradled in his one great arm. Without a word Garkar lay strife down in a respectful way so that they could all see the condition that he was in.
'To fight to the end.' He thought to himself. 'Without rest until the battle is won. If there was ever a virtue that I and my followers will pursue, this is it.'
I won't be on tonight, I have a friend over. I apologize heavily, so just assume Tamu is following and I'll be back either at the end or at the next arc.
For a few minutes Ramba remained as he was when he hit the ground. The unconscious man still as if he were dead, his eyes lazily rolled back into his head. His mouth hung open a bit, and a few dried drops of blood stained his golden beard. As Garkar climbed up to where the rest of the group was located, Ramba began to wake. The crescendo of voices was gone, as was the curious reserve of strength that had preserved him through the fight. He barely had the strength to lift his head, and all that he was rewarded with was the image of Garkar dragging Strife's lifeless body to him
Ramba said nothing when he caught this sight in his eyes. He could only avert his eyes and bow his head toward the ground.
Zero looked at the corpse of strife, and he was hit with a sense of guilt. 'You made the mission... Now people are dead, good job...' his mind said sarcastically to himself. He looked up to where the opening in the cave was, and something moved inside. The orange staff began to roll out the hole, and fall down the shaft, slamming onto the ground next to Strifes body.
The wooden staff however, did not shatter. Zero looked at it curiously, and went to pick it up. As he touched it, his hand was sent back. He tried again and his hand was again shocked backwards. "Something is odd about this staff..." he said mostly to himself. He Summoned his powers into his palm and grabbed it, this time finding no resistance or anything special other than a simple staff. He observed it for a second, then looked at Strife again. "Some-one find everyone and meet me back at my house for a funeral procession." he said as he walked away, looking at the staff.
____________________________________________
Some Time Later
Zero as near his house, surrounded by everyone who had been i the fight, and the families if they had them of those lost. Behind him the corpse of those deceased were on piles of wood, and with a swipe of some flint, they were alight. "Even though they may have been lost." Zero continued, being near the end of his eulogy, "They saved countless lives from those horrid monsters." he concluded his speech.
They bodies lit up quickly, and the others could say anything if they wanted too. Zero however, despite the sadness, was transfixed on the summoners staff. There was something about it... Something that made him need to keep it in a safe place to study.
<spoiler=And they all lived happily forever after>Just kidding, the flames go out of control and kill everyone...
Okay, time to be serious, this concludes this arc. Feel free to post something sad about people being dead, people being dead can have there familys, but tomorrow I will start the new time-line.
Hope you enjoyed the first one =D I hope I can post more frequently in this one...
Dozens of miles away, a cloaked figure stood overlooking the entrance to a cave. No one had seen the man leave Zero's home, and he figured none would care. That was fine, he thought. He deserved no pity or assistance after his failure. This would be his atonement for the death of his ally.
A pair of guards stood watch at the cave below, their spears held at their sides casually. They were coated in black furs originally from wolves, as were all of the Raiders. They were no great warriors, however, as they put up little resistance when two golden tendrils, thin as razor wire, pressed into their throats and quickly choked them to death.
The wire expanded into rope and lifted the guards up to Ramba, who hid them behind an outcropping of rocks. He would not be relying on stealth for long, but he wanted this battle to be fought on his own terms. He carefully dropped down to the entrance, a golden aura suspending him and slowing his fall. He walked into the dark maw in search of the secrets that were tucked away in its passages. The halls were dark and dripping, creatures he dared not identify creeping in the corners of his vision. He kept his hair hidden, and gave no aura to avoid alerting anyone of his approach. He crept through the halls for nearly an hour before he found what he had been searching for.
He came across a massive room within the cave, appearing to have been mined out extensively from what it originally was. Multiple pillars within the room remained to hold up the ceiling. Over a hundred women and children in rags, his villagers and charges were working on mining the oppressively dark walls. He counted nearly twenty men dressed like the two outside, mere obstacles in his path to the true goal: On the opposite end of the hall was a crudely-fashioned stone throne, adorned with animal pelts and grotesque jewelery. On it sat a creased old man, sour-looking and with a hateful fire in his eyes nearly obscured by his wild gray hair. And next to him stood his best soldier, the bald man, glowering at the slaves around them. But next to them both was the only thing Ramba cared about, a pale and sick-looking woman, in ragged clothes and clutching a blond baby to her breast. Ramba's wife and child were both still alive.
To be continued after I get back from Polka Mass, possibly the worst church event to ever be conceived.
A man stood watching the burning pillars, his eyes fixed on the body of one man in particular. Despite the flames already having ignited the body, the man could make out the body of his son clearly. The man wore dark black clothing, and he wore clothing that looked fit to be a kings. A women and a young girl stood behind him, the women's gaze as harsh as the mans although her eyes were a normal blue color, while the man's were dark red with cat-like pupils. The young girl had tears in her bright-red eyes, despite how hard she tried to hold them back as she watched her brother's body go up in flames. The girl turned to her mother and tugged on her dress, "Mommy, why are they burning big brother Strife? He said he'd come back and play with me... Mommy, make them save big brother!"
The mother, turned her head away from the child and a single tear could be seen falling down to the grass below. The man's gaze remained cold as he watched Strife's body slowly turn to ash, and only then did he turn to the girl and reply:
"Strife was a failure and disgrace to our family name. To think we allowed him to run away and go after that silly dream of his... What a pathetic excuse for a Golem, and to think we wasted our time to come down here and see him like this. I'd congratulate the man who killed him if he were anywhere to be found, but it was a fitting way for that failure to die... killed by one who he called ally." Strife's father said with a grimace.
Strife's father turned and began walking back to where a carriage awaited him, ready to send them with all speed back to their village in the North. The women and child followed soon after, and the young girls cries could be heard echoing throughout the hills as their carriage sped away...
Matridom's body, lifeless lay there on the ground. The energy inside her, uncontrolled spread though out her body, when it swelled to much to be contained, Her body lit with blue fire. Deep blue smoke poured into the sky, some might see dragons within the smoke if they look close enough. It was visible for miles around. Her body would burn into the night.
Matridom died with a smile on her face, protecting the only friends she ever had from a not-so-immortal bird.
The cloaked man, Ramba, walked into the center of the dark hall. The men covered in black furs were too shocked by his boldness to even attempt to stop him. He stopped once he was in full view of everyone, and pulled back his hood to reveal his face, and his golden hair. The brutish man by the throne recognized him at once, and stepped in front of his king to protect him from whatever the invader might attempt. Over a dozen raiders slowly circled around Ramba, crude spears and cudgels waving at him. Ramba dropped his cloak to the ground, leaving only an olive tunic and woven leggings covering his body. The old sun priest looked up to his wife, whose face was soaked with fresh tears when she saw him. His son looked down at him with a curious stare.
Ramba nodded, and smiled at his son, who seemed to recognize him and cooed. That was what he would be fighting for.
The foul old man hiding on his throne shouted an incoherent order, some language Ramba did not know, and the minions charged. Ramba was no melee combatant, but his power was vast. One dozen men rushed him, and one dozen sharp golden tendrils pierced their chests. A collective groan slowly eked out of their throats before their frames smacked the ground. Only about eight others remained, who all rushed him at full speed. Ramba would normally have been terrified, but he was not about to die to men like these.
The first pair came at him and swung their cudgels at his head. Ramba ducked and let the weapons collide over him, stunning their wielders long enough for him to eviscerate them both with a searing aura from his hands. Another rushed from the front only to be bisected by the razor wire of a tendril he had conjured. A club hit him in the back and bowled him over, but he rolled onto his back and extended his hand, a flurry of tendrils stabbing through the remaining soldiers behind him.
There was silence in the room as the slaves watched in amazement. It took them ten seconds to realize their guards were all dead, but after that they didn't hesitate to flee the cave as fast as their feet would carry them. Ramba stood up and dusted himself off, preparing to turn to face his rival from the previous encounter only to discover that he was already less than a foot away. A massive forearm connected with his face, shattering his nose and possibly several other bones as Ramba fell to the floor, pouring out blood from the ruined construction of cartilage. The bald man's beard brushed up against his face as the behemoth lifted him up, and stared him down. Ramba let a tendril loose and pierced the man's stomach, who cursed at his stupidity in his own foul language before immediately grabbing hold of Ramba, using his own embedded weapon against him as he swung him into a nearby pillar.
The strength of the bald man was inhuman, and shattered the pillar and Ramba's left arm as he was tossed through it. Rubble coated the older sun priest as he fell onto his back on the other side, a dozen tendrils wildly grasping at the bodyguard as he roared and attempted to rip through. The mass of tentacles lifted him at breakneck speed into the ceiling above and crashed into it with tremendous force. Then again, and again, and again, each time leaving a greater indent in the roof of the cave. Tremors began to shake the room before Ramba's concentration broke from the horrible pain that was beginning to seep in through the adrenaline. The body of the bald man fell from the roof, nearly twenty meters before crashing into the ground a bloodied and smashed wreck of a creation. Bones stuck out in horrible places, and sharp remnants of stalactites covered his skin and were scattered as large chunks all around him. Ramba got back to his feet, though it took all of his effort not to drop dead at that moment.
With a few uneasy steps he went forward before striding up more confidently to the throne where that foul old man sat, who now looked more terrified than anything. "P-please." The old man said in a rough approximation of Ramba's old language. "I give power, great gifts to those who spare me! Not wish to harm your people, only bring greatness to my own!"
"Your men murdered my brothers and burned my village to the ground, "king", you will die a death as pathetic as befits you."
The sour shell of a king began to sweat profusely as he thought, before he suddenly lunged into action, revealing a crude stone knife and pushing it up against the throat of Ramba's wife. She gasped in terror, and the baby began to cry and wail as the king stared the supposed savior down.
"You let me go, or your beloved shall die, priest. Not so high and might now, are--"
His words were cut off as a jagged golden spike drove itself up its through and out of his eyes. He gurgled and yelped in a muffled tone before he fell to the wall and slumped down, dead. The grotesque murder weapon dissipated, and Ramba's wife rushed forward to embrace him with her free arm. Ramba let out a yelp of pain, and she pulled back. After another moment, Ramba moved forward on his own, and brought her close with the arm he could still use.
"I have missed you, Shal."
His wife, Shal, could say nothing. She only cried tears of joy at the sight of him. Eternity passed as the two let the horrors of the last few months slip away for that fleeting moment. She looked up at him and whispered, "I knew you were alive. They could never killed you."
"No one could." Ramba told her. "Not while I have someone important to protect."
The moment was beautiful to the two of them, and was as fleeting as beauty was it was no cosmic shock to discover it would not last. A content look on Ramba's face turned to twisted agony as a jagged piece of stone shot through his stomach, embedding itself within and poking out on the other side. Shal shrieked in horror and both of them caught sight of the bald man, chuckling to himself at the accuracy of his throw. His last breath faded, leaving a smile on the monster's face.
At the same moment, the cavern began to groan under the strain that Ramba's destruction had put on it. Rocks began to fall from above, a massive chunk of dark stone falling from directly above the reunited family. Ramba wasted no time in pushing Shal and his child out of the way, but his body was slowed by pain, and he collapsed to the ground as the debris crashed next to him, his already shattered arm caught underneath it. A horrible scream erupted as Ramba felt the full rush of pain, barely audible over the apocalyptic cacophony all around them. "Go," he shouted to them. "Go west to the home of a man called Zero! He will protect you, I promise."
Shal attempted to protest, but Ramba insisted in a desperate tone that she needed to go. She looked at her son; their son. She nodded to him and turned her back to him as she fled the cavern. Ramba smiled as his vision darkened. He felt a great weight lifted off of his shoulders, as if his life's mission had been completed. He admired the surreal beauty of the catastrophic scene around him. In a way, it was peaceful, all of nature's fury in full glory for him alone to view. He felt darkness tapping on his shoulder to invite itself in, but he welcomed it. In his mind, he had already befriended the darkness, and he would be glad to have its company in these final moments. The two lay on the ground together, taking in the sights of glorious stream of rubble, and the bits of light peeking through the very top...
[hr]
Years would pass in relative peace. The infant grew into a boy, and in time would become a man, like his father before him. No one in the village had ever met him, but they had heard stories from the boy's mother of courageous man that he was, sacrificing his life to save her and her child. She used a word none of them had heard before, from a language none of them knew, but they had a word of their own that they described him with; she had never given his name, so her neighbors knew him only as Hero.
The boy was liked by many, but they all found him very curious. Wherever he went seemed to be enveloped in an aura, as if everything was brighter. His hair seemed to shine in an unnatural way, even its golden color was foreign to them. But strangest of all was what he would do on the full moon. When it shone high in the sky, he would go down to the river bank in those calm nights and sit with his feet in the water. He would be alone for several hours, but after a long period of solitude some who spied on him claim that he was joined by another. A much older man, seeming so gaunt that it was as if he were on death's door, or already past it. Yet there was spring in the way he walked, a vibrant energy that seemed to be the kind of enjoyment only the most optimistic could get from life; and all of that despite missing his left arm. The two would sit there the entire night and talk, laugh and would seem to be the best of friends; or even family. There they would be at twilight, and there they would remain until dawn, each parting their separate ways. The man would go east, toward the rising sun and the day before. And the boy would go west, both away and with the sun into the new day ahead.
That was so cheesy I think I'm going to go grab a bottle of wine. But I figured if this was prehistorical I needed a good legend or two to craft.
[HEADING=1]As the Romans do.[/HEADING]
Plain walked through the small village. It had been a rough adjustment to get used to the Romans taking over, but he had finally gotten used to it. Luckily, unlike his ancestors, his powers had evolved into more of an Aura than anything physical, but he could still manifest it to increase the effectiveness of it. he wandered around the city, and said a simple greetings so the people he passed, wishing them luck at endeavors or just a simple conversation. He was fairly well liked in this town, as he stopped the "Demonic Possessions" as the people called it. He was known as the towns Exorcist, and would cleanse the Devil from anyone he could, from anywhere he could.
He wandered down a street, and people sprinted around a corner, almost falling in the dust from the torque. They sprinted to him and latched themselves on to his cloak, and began to plead to him. "Brother is sick" the little child wailed at him. The older one continued the explanation more fluently. "Our brother, he randomly fell ill, and has began to speak in tongues, we worry he has the devil inside of him.".
Plain chuckled and then rubbed the small childs head, "Lead the way and I'll help" he said as he began to walk the way they came around the corner. They ran ahead of him which forced him to break into a small run, not easy in the sandals he had donned on.
When he made it into the house, he could hear something was wrong, it was unlike the brothers had said. He walked into the house and was lead straight into the teenagers room. He was bed ridden, and had wet cloth over his head. he was muttering incoherently to himself. he felt his forehead, and put some of his energy into the man, to see if it helped at all. When he felt no stopping, he sighed, of both relief and annoyance. "He is not possessed. He is just slightly ill, keep looking after him and call for an actual doctor, they should be able to help more than I can in this situation." he said and quickly left to their thanks and apologies for the annoyance.
He continued wandering the street, awaiting till he found another actual possession, rather than just a simple illness. Someone was going around giving illnesses to people, that no matter the treatment, wouldn't leave until they died. Unless Plain intervened. He seemed to be one of the only people who could stop it. He had formed an elite group of people to help, or to people help stop the person who was causing this. They were known as simply the "Exorcists", some where well known, others were not. He continued moving around, awaiting a call to another "Possession"...
Enjoy, post yourselves doing stuff.
Simple to say this but you are all apart of the Exorcists for some reason. Whether to help me cure people, whether to just fight and stop this. Or just to fight and kill. Or information. Anything really, but you are all apart of it... Will actually include plot soon, but I know whats going on.
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