I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaack.
So yeah. Hi. I should be posting a lot more now.
Hopefully.
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Ifrit stayed silent through the rest of the flight, taking in his ethereal travel. This was certainly not what he had been used to in his days of glory, when he had his old heavy body. He felt his stomach churn as he was tossed from side to side, the invisible chain barely holding him to Shaige. He was terrified of what the consequences would be should they get separated. When they arrived in the small chamber, Ifrit moved to speak, but Shaige was gone before any conversation could be made. Ifrit struggled for a moment, before realizing that he was trapped there, his form still immaterial. He looked around, seeing nothing but darkness- it was as if he had never left his crypt in the first place. Still, Ifrit felt grateful- he was sure his master would come back soon to bring him into the land of the living soon, so he slumped down, accepting the endless darkness, letting it flood his mind.
After the initial confusion, it wasn't long before buisiness began booming once again in the small fishing town of Pracll. There was fish to sell and gold to get. Even though the town was nowhere near as big as some of the cities like Paterdomus or Altearx, the rickety wooden buildings were packed tight with an impressive population, and the countless small stores always had people milling around inside. Generally the town was a safe place- because of their trade with Altearx, the impressive military city kept them safe from threats that would approach from the south. However, they were on their own to defend from the Northern Giants, a tribe of arrogant savages. Though they attacked often, they were not much of a threat, mostly armed with little more than crude stone weapons.
Today, Beru Bestal sat in a cold wooden chair, fishing through a small hole cut in the iced over lake. Though none of the many lakes around the village were massive, there were enough to supply their massive use and trade of the product. No one liked being posted at this particular lake, because it's supply was scarce enough to provide very little fish, and those who were posted there also were made to keep watch and alert the town, should savages attack, as the lake itself was dangerously close to some of the camps, and a common target when fishermen were there. Still, those posted there never argued- no one ever argued with The Guild.
Beru had been staying in the small wooden house here for nearly a week without incident, so was more disappointed than anything else when he saw a few figures walking over the horizon, obviously headed towards him. it surely wasn't anyone from some of the civilized northern towns, the figures were large and bulky, as the savages always were. Without hesitation, he lit the signal fire, before running to grab the iron axe issued to defend himself until the reinforcements arrived. By the time he had blockaded himself in his home, he clearly saw the aggressors.
As expected, a troop of about five dozen savages approached, each tall, muscular men, dressed in thick furs to protect from the cold of the tundra, headed by a man clad in deep red wolf skin, and an ivory skull crowning his long black hair. He loosely held a spear in his hands, bloodied and dented from years of killing. The group hollered and whooped as they ran up to the cabin, slamming against the doors and boarded up windows, shaking the shoddy shack. The leader pushed them all aside as he walked to the front door, calm and calculated. He was handed a crude axe by one of the many savage soldiers, and promptly began hacking at the wooden door. Within the cabin, Beru shook in his boots, holding a table against the door with all of his might, clearly terrified.
The head savage left the axe buried in the door, turning to face one of his men who was screaming a bit louder than the rest. He frenzied gestured to a third party, who had approached unnoticed in the excitement they had brewed. Through the shiny white skull, the mans eyes galred at the transgressors, before giving a loud war cry, and pointing at the new threat. All but five of the savages rushed at the fresh meat, brandishing knives, spears, and fists, the others staying behind to break down the shack.
As the first of the savages reached the troop of newly arriving soldiers, They were quickly cut down like wheat before a scythe. Those fortunate to be behind the first ten or so attackers were able to reel to a halt, and back up. They stared in fear at the aggressors- massive creatures of nightmare, skin seemingly patched together, standing among massive horned men, covered in hair, standing around a walking suit of armor. Though this strange party numbered only twenty-six, the barbarians were made short work of, bodies carelessly tossed into a wagon. Stamrad strode slowly to the six remaining, stopping just before the man draped in crimson, obviously a leader. "Your men are weak. Your kind are like children, blind to the truth. Today, you shall be given a second chance, one last hope to truly see the light of power. Lead us to your people, and join our ranks- your kind shall become stronger than you can imagine, no longer oppressed by your human limitations." Stamrad stated simply, reaching out his hand.
"Get yer rusted gauntlet out of m' bloody face ye goddamn monster." The leader said gruffly, spitting as he stabbed at the enchanted armor. Predicting such a petty move, Stamrad leaned to the side, easily evading the wild attack. With a quick swing of his sword, he lobbed the mans head off unceremoniously, using the momentum to spin, lodging the blade into the side of another savage. Leaving it there, he turned to kick down one of the others, while he simply stood there, awestruck. By the time Viktor had pulled his sword out of the muscled man, the others had been finished off by two minotaurs who had stepped forward. Stamrad laughed at the pathetic attempt at resistance, before turning to walk away, as the bodies were loaded onto the wagon. As he walked, Stamrads boot ploughed down on the decapitated head, crushing it without a second thought as he walked, not breaking his pace. their grim procession carried on, following the messy path left by the savages, a nice path back to their camp. Looking back over his shoulder, Stamrad saw he had left not a moment too soon, a platoon of men could be seen approaching from Praclll, probably responding to the signal fire.
Meanwhile, Viktor looked down at the rather unimpressive creature before him. From a distance, it could be mistaken for a normal man, and could pull off a disguise rather well, provided he was covered in a large enough cloak. The creature itself was simply made of cloth, patched together in the shape of a man. The head of this man had no actual features, save for a smile sewn on the front, and two flat glass eyes, showing nothing but darkness. Though there appeared to be nothing behind the eyes, they could light up with a magical fire, made to stun those it looked upon. The mans hands were made of iron, and had a strong grip, though all in all, the cloth dummy would be terrible in combat.
The true purpose of the patchwork man was his torso- able to be split in two by a large zipper on the front. Though it would appear to open up to naught more than various mechanisms and organs, various enchantments allowed him to store far more than it would appear within the deep recesses of his stomach, to be called forth at a moments notice. Currently the man stored twenty minotaurs, twenty five skeletons, and ten ogres. This made him a wonderful weapon of sabotage, capable of sneaking into enemy encampments, and releasing an army from within their lines, rather than having to attack from any predictable direction. Viktor quickly sent the construct out to the barracks, where he would wait until further notice. As the dummy left, Viktor turned to his dwindling pile of organs, beginning more work.
Far out in the tundra, a small fire burned in the center of a small gathering of tents. Around the fire, a few people gathered, simply nomads traveling. The laughed and talked loudly over a pot of freshly cooked stew, the scent wafting around the air. A low rumbling noise began to grow louder in their ears, the ground trembling ever so slightly. Two of the men stood up to investigate, concerned looks shadowing their faces. They picked up pieces of wood from the flame, using them as torches as they walked towards the sound.
As the orange light danced and flickered across the cold ground, they soon found the source of the noise, and breathed sighs of relief. It was naught more than a stampeding herd of oxen, headed off away from the camp. Without hesitation, they made their way back, not wishing to linger outside the warm grasp of their fire for long. Little did they know, behind them crept a creature of far less friendly intention than the ox. As they walked, the small creature stayed a distance behind, as it limped below the sparse patches of grass. There he laid in wait, watching as the group of people slowly began to tire, and enter their tents.
By sunrise the next morning, only one heart was beating in the entire camp. The bodies laid where they had been killed, necks mercifully slit in their sleep. There had been no mess, and no fuss, save for a couple of the humans, who laid with their flesh ripped from their bones. The creature had needed food and shelter for the night- it wasn't his fault that they were able to provide both. Though the creature knew he had to move on, he lingered for quite some time, resting his weary body, still broken and battered, bruises covering his pale skin. He stared up at the red sky, the one thing that had kept him going and alive all this time, before grudgingly lifting his malnourished body up, to continue his tiring journey.
After the initial confusion, it wasn't long before buisiness began booming once again in the small fishing town of Pracll. There was fish to sell and gold to get. Even though the town was nowhere near as big as some of the cities like Paterdomus or Altearx, the rickety wooden buildings were packed tight with an impressive population, and the countless small stores always had people milling around inside. Generally the town was a safe place- because of their trade with Altearx, the impressive military city kept them safe from threats that would approach from the south. However, they were on their own to defend from the Northern Giants, a tribe of arrogant savages. Though they attacked often, they were not much of a threat, mostly armed with little more than crude stone weapons.
Today, Beru Bestal sat in a cold wooden chair, fishing through a small hole cut in the iced over lake. Though none of the many lakes around the village were massive, there were enough to supply their massive use and trade of the product. No one liked being posted at this particular lake, because it's supply was scarce enough to provide very little fish, and those who were posted there also were made to keep watch and alert the town, should savages attack, as the lake itself was dangerously close to some of the camps, and a common target when fishermen were there. Still, those posted there never argued- no one ever argued with The Guild.
Beru had been staying in the small wooden house here for nearly a week without incident, so was more disappointed than anything else when he saw a few figures walking over the horizon, obviously headed towards him. it surely wasn't anyone from some of the civilized northern towns, the figures were large and bulky, as the savages always were. Without hesitation, he lit the signal fire, before running to grab the iron axe issued to defend himself until the reinforcements arrived. By the time he had blockaded himself in his home, he clearly saw the aggressors.
As expected, a troop of about five dozen savages approached, each tall, muscular men, dressed in thick furs to protect from the cold of the tundra, headed by a man clad in deep red wolf skin, and an ivory skull crowning his long black hair. He loosely held a spear in his hands, bloodied and dented from years of killing. The group hollered and whooped as they ran up to the cabin, slamming against the doors and boarded up windows, shaking the shoddy shack. The leader pushed them all aside as he walked to the front door, calm and calculated. He was handed a crude axe by one of the many savage soldiers, and promptly began hacking at the wooden door. Within the cabin, Beru shook in his boots, holding a table against the door with all of his might, clearly terrified.
The head savage left the axe buried in the door, turning to face one of his men who was screaming a bit louder than the rest. He frenzied gestured to a third party, who had approached unnoticed in the excitement they had brewed. Through the shiny white skull, the mans eyes galred at the transgressors, before giving a loud war cry, and pointing at the new threat. All but five of the savages rushed at the fresh meat, brandishing knives, spears, and fists, the others staying behind to break down the shack.
As the first of the savages reached the troop of newly arriving soldiers, They were quickly cut down like wheat before a scythe. Those fortunate to be behind the first ten or so attackers were able to reel to a halt, and back up. They stared in fear at the aggressors- massive creatures of nightmare, skin seemingly patched together, standing among massive horned men, covered in hair, standing around a walking suit of armor. Though this strange party numbered only twenty-six, the barbarians were made short work of, bodies carelessly tossed into a wagon. Stamrad strode slowly to the six remaining, stopping just before the man draped in crimson, obviously a leader. "Your men are weak. Your kind are like children, blind to the truth. Today, you shall be given a second chance, one last hope to truly see the light of power. Lead us to your people, and join our ranks- your kind shall become stronger than you can imagine, no longer oppressed by your human limitations." Stamrad stated simply, reaching out his hand.
"Get yer rusted gauntlet out of m' bloody face ye goddamn monster." The leader said gruffly, spitting as he stabbed at the enchanted armor. Predicting such a petty move, Stamrad leaned to the side, easily evading the wild attack. With a quick swing of his sword, he lobbed the mans head off unceremoniously, using the momentum to spin, lodging the blade into the side of another savage. Leaving it there, he turned to kick down one of the others, while he simply stood there, awestruck. By the time Viktor had pulled his sword out of the muscled man, the others had been finished off by two minotaurs who had stepped forward. Stamrad laughed at the pathetic attempt at resistance, before turning to walk away, as the bodies were loaded onto the wagon. As he walked, Stamrads boot ploughed down on the decapitated head, crushing it without a second thought as he walked, not breaking his pace. their grim procession carried on, following the messy path left by the savages, a nice path back to their camp. Looking back over his shoulder, Stamrad saw he had left not a moment too soon, a platoon of men could be seen approaching from Praclll, probably responding to the signal fire.
Meanwhile, Viktor looked down at the rather unimpressive creature before him. From a distance, it could be mistaken for a normal man, and could pull off a disguise rather well, provided he was covered in a large enough cloak. The creature itself was simply made of cloth, patched together in the shape of a man. The head of this man had no actual features, save for a smile sewn on the front, and two flat glass eyes, showing nothing but darkness. Though there appeared to be nothing behind the eyes, they could light up with a magical fire, made to stun those it looked upon. The mans hands were made of iron, and had a strong grip, though all in all, the cloth dummy would be terrible in combat.
The true purpose of the patchwork man was his torso- able to be split in two by a large zipper on the front. Though it would appear to open up to naught more than various mechanisms and organs, various enchantments allowed him to store far more than it would appear within the deep recesses of his stomach, to be called forth at a moments notice. Currently the man stored twenty minotaurs, twenty five skeletons, and ten ogres. This made him a wonderful weapon of sabotage, capable of sneaking into enemy encampments, and releasing an army from within their lines, rather than having to attack from any predictable direction. Viktor quickly sent the construct out to the barracks, where he would wait until further notice. As the dummy left, Viktor turned to his dwindling pile of organs, beginning more work.
Far out in the tundra, a small fire burned in the center of a small gathering of tents. Around the fire, a few people gathered, simply nomads traveling. The laughed and talked loudly over a pot of freshly cooked stew, the scent wafting around the air. A low rumbling noise began to grow louder in their ears, the ground trembling ever so slightly. Two of the men stood up to investigate, concerned looks shadowing their faces. They picked up pieces of wood from the flame, using them as torches as they walked towards the sound.
As the orange light danced and flickered across the cold ground, they soon found the source of the noise, and breathed sighs of relief. It was naught more than a stampeding herd of oxen, headed off away from the camp. Without hesitation, they made their way back, not wishing to linger outside the warm grasp of their fire for long. Little did they know, behind them crept a creature of far less friendly intention than the ox. As they walked, the small creature stayed a distance behind, as it limped below the sparse patches of grass. There he laid in wait, watching as the group of people slowly began to tire, and enter their tents.
By sunrise the next morning, only one heart was beating in the entire camp. The bodies laid where they had been killed, necks mercifully slit in their sleep. There had been no mess, and no fuss, save for a couple of the humans, who laid with their flesh ripped from their bones. The creature had needed food and shelter for the night- it wasn't his fault that they were able to provide both. Though the creature knew he had to move on, he lingered for quite some time, resting his weary body, still broken and battered, bruises covering his pale skin. He stared up at the red sky, the one thing that had kept him going and alive all this time, before grudgingly lifting his malnourished body up, to continue his tiring journey.
Wheee. In a couple of hours I'm leaving for my trip. I won't be able to post for about a week and a half, just FYI, or if you didn't notice. Try not to murder Viktor while I'm gone.
T.K.Bye
: o )
T.K.Bye
: o )
SInce I finally remembered, here is the image that inspired Viktors transformation.
Naturally, I didn't take it that far, but perhaps someday it will be.
Naturally, I didn't take it that far, but perhaps someday it will be.
As they left the realm of spirits, Ifrit felt a rather gut-wrenching feeling deep inside, jostling his newly made organs. Though the invisible cord dragging him along squeezed tightly on his neck like a noose, the pain was nowhere near equal to that he felt under the chains his old master had locked him up with. Even with such little time serving the Keeper, he wondered if serving the Infernal King had been a bad idea. Though he knew little of the ghostly mans agenda, so far he had been treated far better here. Ifrit was a bit dissapointed in the fact that he still had yet to be restored to his former glory and power, even though he was unsure if the Keeper even had the power to do so.
As they drifted through the sky, Ifrit swayed side to side, jerking rather quickly as the wind buffeted him. He could only wish for their arrival soon, so he could feel the sweet sensation of being earthbound again. He vaguely remembered once flying through the air on great wings of flame- back in his days of true glory when the Infernal King ruled over the land, and he rained fire down upon those blasphemous enough to not accept his rule. If was a very different experience, when Ifrit himself controlled the flight, and he didn't like the change much. Despite his troubles, he kept silent, not wishing to anger the Keeper.
Finally arriving back to the keep, Stamrad was surprised at the change that had occurred. He had spent quite awhile away, thanks to the massive load he had been hauling. The castle itself had been built up with strong stone walls, thanks to tireless work from the husks. This intimidating change took quite awhile of work, but would be well worth it in the long run, supposing anyone could brave the cold, and attack his fortress. As he carted the corpses through the gate, he was met with the army, many turning to point their weapons at him, before recognizing him, and lowering all hostilities.
He handed the reins over to some fresh ogres, as the two he had brought on the hunt were exhausted. He followed the ogres to the Dungeon heart, so he could present his successes to Viktor. As they arrived in the Dungeon Heart, he looked in surprise at Viktors new body. Much had changed in his absence, it had seemed. He saluted the autonomous Keeper, gesturing to the animal corpses.
Without hesitation, a robotic claw sprang out from Viktors body, snatching up the wagon, dumping the bloody mass of flesh onto his table. As more limbs reached down, working on the furry hides, Viktors eerie face looked down at Stamrad, his neck stretching out until the porcelain mask was mere inches from the magical set of armor. "Your efforts are much appreciated. You shall be written down in history, as will all who side with me, the side of true power. Before I send you back to battle, where I know you belong, stay with me, and speak." He said, making the command very clear. Even as they spoke, minotaurs were stumbling into consciousness, looking around the stone lab as they were sewn into existence. "There appears to be something troubling your mind, would you like to speak of it? Perhaps it has something to do with the disappearance of my most trusted adviser? I don't see him around." It was not difficult for Viktor to peer into Stamrads mind, after all, he had crafted it. He was a bit surprised, as Stamrad had locked up his thoughts well.
"There is nothing to report, sir. Vragas was killed by the stampeding creatures, there was unfortunately nothing I could do about it. It was a very sad moment, but I'm afraid that we must move on. What were you saying about sending me back into the fray?" Stamrad replied, wishing to stray away from the topic before Viktor peered past his mental barriers, and saw the betrayal. "We have discovered a fishing town, not too far away, and I need you to take it. We require more resources, and I believe that you should have no problem taking it for us. There is no problem here, is there?" Viktor stated, handing Stamrad a map, marked with the town. He knew that there were some holes in Stamrads story, but now was not the time to dwell.
Stamrad nodded quickly, looking at the now finished minotaurs. Without hesitation, he took the new recruits to train, so they could head out as quickly as possible. He truly dreaded what consequences he would face, should Viktor find out about the treason.
As they drifted through the sky, Ifrit swayed side to side, jerking rather quickly as the wind buffeted him. He could only wish for their arrival soon, so he could feel the sweet sensation of being earthbound again. He vaguely remembered once flying through the air on great wings of flame- back in his days of true glory when the Infernal King ruled over the land, and he rained fire down upon those blasphemous enough to not accept his rule. If was a very different experience, when Ifrit himself controlled the flight, and he didn't like the change much. Despite his troubles, he kept silent, not wishing to anger the Keeper.
Finally arriving back to the keep, Stamrad was surprised at the change that had occurred. He had spent quite awhile away, thanks to the massive load he had been hauling. The castle itself had been built up with strong stone walls, thanks to tireless work from the husks. This intimidating change took quite awhile of work, but would be well worth it in the long run, supposing anyone could brave the cold, and attack his fortress. As he carted the corpses through the gate, he was met with the army, many turning to point their weapons at him, before recognizing him, and lowering all hostilities.
He handed the reins over to some fresh ogres, as the two he had brought on the hunt were exhausted. He followed the ogres to the Dungeon heart, so he could present his successes to Viktor. As they arrived in the Dungeon Heart, he looked in surprise at Viktors new body. Much had changed in his absence, it had seemed. He saluted the autonomous Keeper, gesturing to the animal corpses.
Without hesitation, a robotic claw sprang out from Viktors body, snatching up the wagon, dumping the bloody mass of flesh onto his table. As more limbs reached down, working on the furry hides, Viktors eerie face looked down at Stamrad, his neck stretching out until the porcelain mask was mere inches from the magical set of armor. "Your efforts are much appreciated. You shall be written down in history, as will all who side with me, the side of true power. Before I send you back to battle, where I know you belong, stay with me, and speak." He said, making the command very clear. Even as they spoke, minotaurs were stumbling into consciousness, looking around the stone lab as they were sewn into existence. "There appears to be something troubling your mind, would you like to speak of it? Perhaps it has something to do with the disappearance of my most trusted adviser? I don't see him around." It was not difficult for Viktor to peer into Stamrads mind, after all, he had crafted it. He was a bit surprised, as Stamrad had locked up his thoughts well.
"There is nothing to report, sir. Vragas was killed by the stampeding creatures, there was unfortunately nothing I could do about it. It was a very sad moment, but I'm afraid that we must move on. What were you saying about sending me back into the fray?" Stamrad replied, wishing to stray away from the topic before Viktor peered past his mental barriers, and saw the betrayal. "We have discovered a fishing town, not too far away, and I need you to take it. We require more resources, and I believe that you should have no problem taking it for us. There is no problem here, is there?" Viktor stated, handing Stamrad a map, marked with the town. He knew that there were some holes in Stamrads story, but now was not the time to dwell.
Stamrad nodded quickly, looking at the now finished minotaurs. Without hesitation, he took the new recruits to train, so they could head out as quickly as possible. He truly dreaded what consequences he would face, should Viktor find out about the treason.
Question: Supposing I had a way to partially cripple their army from inside (specifically a large fiery detonation within their barracks), how large would my forces really need to be to take Altearx?
Knowing me, if I tried to write it out on my own, I would probably make an absolute orange farm of it all, and I don't really want to go through the strife of beating myself over the head with my mistake, then have to go back and make a hella lot of edits.
Knowing me, if I tried to write it out on my own, I would probably make an absolute orange farm of it all, and I don't really want to go through the strife of beating myself over the head with my mistake, then have to go back and make a hella lot of edits.
I just finished finals today, and school ends tomorrow, so I should be able to post far more frequently. (Although on the 10th I will coincidentally be leaving for a 9 day trip, on which I will have little to no access to the internets.)
~Tentatively Interested
Awe filled Ifrits eyes as he stared at the shining figure of his true form. The candor in his eyes melted away like butter above a flame as pain racked his body, replaced with betrayal. Ifrit had felt true pain like this on a mere two occasions before- when he had been shackled and chained in the catacombs, and when he was felled by the people of Paterdomus. However, Ifrits rage lessened once more as the pain resided, and his body was healed. Almost as if the memories were erased, as Ifrit forgot his previous dog-like loyalty to The Infernal King, now swearing his allegiance to Shaige.
As the charred bone snapped back into place, muscle and blood began to form around it, drawing from the spirits around. As Ifrit once more flexed his powerful muscles, he felt chills run through the rippling flesh- not something he was used to. As pure white skin slid over the red muscle, Ifrit looked down, confused at the sight. Was this what he had looked like before? Without enough time to process the thought, his fire raged out from the pores, charring the shining skin. Though it stung momentarily, the fires quickly sputtered out, as the transformation completed.
No longer a beast of bones, Ifrit's body rippled with large muscles. His skin took on a glassy look, like so many shards of obsidian. Though he no longer bristled with the flames he once did, smoke still flooded out from the cracks in his crystalline skin. The once fiery eyes were sunken deep, peering out through the smoke. A faint ember of amethyst light shone out through them, reflecting the magics Shaige had imbued in him. "What happens now, Master?" He asked simply, as the massive body slowly raised up, until he was standing tall and proud, ivory claws flexing.
As the charred bone snapped back into place, muscle and blood began to form around it, drawing from the spirits around. As Ifrit once more flexed his powerful muscles, he felt chills run through the rippling flesh- not something he was used to. As pure white skin slid over the red muscle, Ifrit looked down, confused at the sight. Was this what he had looked like before? Without enough time to process the thought, his fire raged out from the pores, charring the shining skin. Though it stung momentarily, the fires quickly sputtered out, as the transformation completed.
No longer a beast of bones, Ifrit's body rippled with large muscles. His skin took on a glassy look, like so many shards of obsidian. Though he no longer bristled with the flames he once did, smoke still flooded out from the cracks in his crystalline skin. The once fiery eyes were sunken deep, peering out through the smoke. A faint ember of amethyst light shone out through them, reflecting the magics Shaige had imbued in him. "What happens now, Master?" He asked simply, as the massive body slowly raised up, until he was standing tall and proud, ivory claws flexing.
You don't want to.
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