Before a great roaring fire, The Champions sat, all laughing and drinking. Thoughts of war and battle were far off, weapons in sheaths, left locked away. They were laughing about something. Politics, an old battle? It didn't matter, as long as the ale kept flowing, and the spirits stayed merry. Soon enough the laughter died down, and they were left staring at their cups, hoping someone would break the silence soon. Arhim looked up, speaking. "So, Darhok! How is Hilga?" He piped up, deep voice echoing through the stony chamber. All, save for Darhok and Arhim silenced quickly. Hilga was a touchy subject for Darhok. But still Darhok smiled and chuckled a bit, before whistling. Out from a hallway, the clattering of hooves on stone could be heard, until the small boar showed up, nuzzling up to The Champion.
"Ah, she is doing wonderful! Growing so fast, and so strong, just like her mother! You know, I'm surprised that none of you had asked earlier. It's like you all forgot that she's here." He said, as the boar tugged at his glove. "You'll excuse me?" He said, leaving the room to fill the pigs food dish. Alishe shot a pointed look at Arhim, but it went unnoticed. Without a word, the large-bellied man waddled off, to grab his spear, returning just moments after Darhok did, rubbing a blood-stained cloth across the ornate point. He smiled, double chin bouncing as he walked. Before he could reach his seat, Verac spoke up, stroking his rough beard.
"While you're up, Arhim, we're running dangerously low on ale. Show us that speed that you're so well known for." He spoke. His little joke sparked an uproar of drunken laughter that ushered The Champion out to where they stored the kegs of ale. Arhim struggled to grab another of the barrels of ale while still keeping a hold of his spear.
'I couldn't have put the bloody spear down. Arhim buddy, maybe we should hold back on that ale. We're not exactly thinking straight...' He thought to himself, making his way back through the snow.
He returned, to see he was just late for yet another hilarious joke. He attempted to join in on the mirth, but was met with only strange looks when he erupted laughing. He sighed, falling back down into his chair. Everyone passed their mugs down to him, which he filled up. He spilt more than he poured, but none noticed, or cared enough to point it out.
Alishe looked at the spear Arhim was still sharpening, before she nudged Verac on the arm. "Hey. Let's get your old butter-knife. Show us some of your old tricks?" She said, standing up. Unlike the others she was unfazed by the alcohol, able to hold her drink much better than the others. Though Verac was still rather tipsy, in comparison to Darhok and Alishe, he was sober as a nun.
Down the hall, and up the stairs, the two made their way to his quarters, leaving the brothers alone. "How are your magical practices coming along, brother?" Arhim said, breaking the silence. Darhok was staring off, a grim look on his face. Arhim sighed. "Alright. I shouldn't have brought up Hilga. Sore subject. I understand." He said, putting a hand on the shoulder of his younger brother. Darhok snapped back to reality, smiling at his brother.
"Don't worry. It wasn't that, certainly not. I'm just surprised by Verac and Alishe. They looked at me as if they expected me to cry! How are we to keep working together if they think of me as some... Some big softie?" He said, usually light voice now angry. Arhim looked at him, a look of pity in his eyes. He stood up, looking down the hall.
"Listen brother. We would all do the same if I spoke to Verac of... Arkisae. Darhok, you're not perfect. None of us are! Can we not expect you to feel? Grief, sadness? We might be a bit more than your everyday farmer, but we're still mortal! Let yourself go just once in awhile." Arhim said, patting his own large belly. "And not in the way that I did." He chuckled a bit at that, before sitting back down. He reached for his mug, before thinking better of it, and pushing the alcohol away. Darhok opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off when Alishe and Verac stormed in, armed for battle. No words were spoken, a simple nod told them what they needed to know.
The messenger almost reached the doors when they opened forcefully. Out came The Champions, heroes of Elysium, glowing in all of their glory. They did not linger on details, they had no time to waste. An attack on Altearx? Surely the fortress city could handle that on their own, though the champions. It wasn't their place to question. If the defenders of the tundra came to The Champions, it was truly a dire situation. "You can get us there quickly, yes?" Alishe said, speaking to Darhok. The Bulwark smiled, raising his Morningstar high. Runes appeared in the air before him, before the group vanished, travelling miles instantly.
--=--Vragas the imp dashed through the raging battle between man and monster, his lithe form jerking from side to side as he dodged in between the crossfire. His eyes shifted faster than one might think possible, searching for that gleaming armor worn by Stamrad. That was his mission. Vengeance. The imp knew he had to hurry. The soldiers of Altearx would see him as an enemy, and he couldn't keep dodging swings forever.
After he had skirted all around the battlefield, he realized that his target hadn't been within the fray at all.
'Just like the coward, to be hiding away from the fight while others do the work.' Sharpened claws scrabbled across the bloodied flagstones, as he attempted to find some higher ground. He had not spent days tracking the army to fail now. It was here that one would die- and Vragas would make sure that he himself didn't end up in the grave.
Glee filled the eyes of the imp, when he saw the suit of armor, running from the fray. The mask hid the imps feral smile as it charged, arms flailing. Vragas was glad to see the mans back was turned, making his job that much easier. With a furious leap, the imp flew through the air, latching onto the helmet of his adversary, dragging Stamrad to the ground, face-first. Vragas skidded to a halt, crouched about a foot in front of Stamrad.
When he looked up, Stamrad was nothing short of shocked.
"You... I killed you, you little bastard. What the... he stuttered, before being attacked again by the imp. The claws slid across his steel face, attempting to find a nook to grip. The claws caught on the eye-holes of the helmet, claws ripping through the magical body beneath. Stamrad shouted, before reaching up to his face. An iron grip closed around the neck of Vragas. The arm quickly flicked out, throwing the small beastie away. Vragas certainly hadn't been built for fighting, and he felt his bones break as he crashed to the ground. Perhaps this had been ill advised, after all.
Lying there, blood pooling beneath him, Vragas schemed. Perhaps he should go to Viktor, tell him of the deceit. Perhaps then, his vengeance would be dished out properly. Of course, this raised the problem of getting to the fortress in his battered state. Still, it would be manageable. Perhaps a soldier would take pity on him, and take him up on an offer to stem the cause the siege. No, they would be to cautious. Perhaps he could still get mercy from his own army, tell Stamrad that he thought it was an enemy. The poor imp's thought process was interrupted with a loud bang. He looked up to see Stamrad looming above him, hands clutching at his own chest, as if stabbed, but with no weapon. A quick look showed Vragas a small group- four men standing off in the distance, just approaching the fight. Before he could study the new arrivals, Stamrad was torn apart by a burst of magic, the shock wave knocking Vragas out.
Altearx- (Made to be copy/pasted to end of current entry)
This fortress city was built on the ancient ruins of a society of magic. Years of outside opposition has made them wary of others, shutting the rest of the world out.
The Titans-
Long ago, a group of eight legendary warriors, massive titans roamed the land. These warriors ruled without challenge, unstoppable, until they fell into a deep slumber. Now, their corpses lie dormant, hidden away. The Titans wait for one with enough magical power to wake them, and start their reign over the land once again. Though once there were eight, one was summoned, only to be dismantled limb from limb. Each Titan has an affinity for some magical element or power.