Lich — Roleplayer Guild

Tharac
 
An armored boot kicked over a fallen sign post. Beneath it was another dead body, but not the one the orc was looking for. The warlord, Tharac, took a moment to sit back and survey the damage state of the village. There were a few fires, broken in doors, ransacked houses, and dead bodies a plenty. He caught sight of two of his troop shoving silverware into a sack. A sneer and a growl was enough to get the both of them to drop their pilfered goods to the ground and fall back into line with the rest of the band. This is why he hated bringing young-lings out on a manhunt. Not yet disciplined enough to focus on an objective over looting petty trinkets. 

Regardless he continued on his way, reaching a point where a human in chainmail was tied and bound and in the process of having the snot beaten out of him. Tharac stood amongst the crowd and watched for a moment, letting the goblins kick and slap the man where he knelled, before stepping in. "That's enough." The words alone were enough to make the majority of the assembled group disperse and allow the warlord passage. Kneeling down next to where the human now laid in the mud on his side, Tharac shoved him slightly to get a better look at the insignia on his chest. The image of a hawk with sword in its talons sat plainly, still visible even through the wear and muck. 

"You fought well, for a human." He drawled and slowly shifted his gaze towards the mans beaten face. "I would give you a warriors death, if you would allow me by answering my questions." Grabbing the man by the collar of his armor, Tharac pulled the human back up to eye level. He held the man in his gaze, seeing the defeated yet still defiant look in his eyes. He would have respected his human, if he wasn't about to kill him. "Where are the other remnants of the War Hawks?" There was no answer. A moment passed and Tharac suddenly snarled and stood to full height, dragging the mercenary to his feet. "Where is he!?" He shouted.

The human coughed briefly once Tharac had stopped shaking him, then spoke. "If you're talking about Ossian, then I don't know. Last I saw him was when he went on leave from the band." He scowled at the orc. "You bastards already tried to wipe us out before he came back."

Tharac squinted his eyes at the mercenary. Eventually he sighed and threw the man back to the ground, then signaled one of the soldiers nearby to draw his sword. Tharac then stalked off as they ended the man where he lay.

It was another bust. And without any new leads this time. Disappointing, but Tharac wasn't one to let set backs keep him down. Still he had one last piece of business before he and his troops left this place. He approached a barn where the last of the frightened towns were being rounded up and herded into. Some were holding on to loved ones, others struggling against armored hand and getting smacked for their trouble. Tharac regarded them all, and spat upon the ground.

"You people, are hereby charged with treason, under the crime of harboring a fugitive from our lord. What say you in your defense?" it was for show really. They knew that. Tharac knew that. There was only one way this could end.

"Please, we're just a simple farming village!" Someone begged. "You can't do this!"

"I don't see anything stopping me." Tharac flicked his eyes up towards where the other orcs were poring oil onto the barn roof. They caught the signal and began to climb down. "The Gods will punish you for this!" Someone else screamed. "You and all of your misbegotten kind!" Tharac snarled and barked at the troops to close and bar the doors. There was panicked shouts from the villagers as the bolts sealed them in.

"Your Gods had already forsaken us long ago." Tharac grabbed a torch from on of his lieutenants. "This is what they've wrought for it." He then threw it upon the roof, catching the oil alight and sending the barn ablaze.

He and the band under his command watched the fire spread and heard the screaming inside intensify. Then Tharac turned back to his troops. "Alright, grab what food you can carry and move out. I want to link back up with the scouts and hear from the other bands by morning. We're gonna find this whoreson even if we have to turn over every tree and rock in this hell-spawned country!" Barks of a salute came in acknowledgement, and without another word the gathered horde marched off, leaving the townspeople to their fates.

Oonar

Oonar had lived many centuries within Aeos, but there were still some things that made the old mage's stomach turn. Lady Nienna of the Leaflit Woods had been a dear friend of his for many centuries. To see her defiled, humiliated, and murdered like this grieved his heart, but his long years on this earth had taught him the virtue of patience. Patience which he needed to calm the war band of elves and humans that accompanied him as they hid amidst the trees bordering the Drow camp.

"We should strike, Oonar. This insult cannot be endured," an elf beside him growled. Oonar nodded. Elys was the Captain of the Silver Guard, charged with the protection of his lady and his realm. To find that they had arrived too late was a greater wound to him than the rest of the war band.

"She is at rest, Elys. If we are to prevail in this battle and lose as few men as possible, we must strike when the time is right and then," he continued firmly, "When we have routed them from these lands, return to Falendale. We cannot hold these woods, but we can make sure the Drow do not dig either."

The elf took in his words reluctantly, but deferred to the wizard. Truthfully, Oonar could destroy the whole host of enemies with a whirlwind of fire, but that would destroy the woods wich Lady Nienna had loved. It would also clear the way for additional enemies to march ever closer to Falendale. The woods were their friends. Instead, a different strategy had been devised. When he saw the Sun shine through the leaves of the tree, causing the leaves to shine in response to it. He smiled. Light was no friend to the Drow and he would use this. He raised his hands and murmured.

"Nara, Lady of the Sun, lend me your power. Please."

With that said, the woods exploded in sunlight and the horns of the Host of Men and Elves rang out in defiance. Arrows were loosed upon the Drow encampment and the magic users among them sang to the trees and the plants to strike out at the enemy. 

"For Lady Nienna's sake, sends these abominations to the pit that spawned them!" Elys cried, drawing two longswords and charging with his kin. Oonar frowned and signaled the archers to watch for their comrades. At the very least, he mused, the battlefield conditions did not favor the Drow. They had spent much of their strength in cruelty the night before and the battlefield, filled with plants and light, was as different from their home as it could be. The wizard raised his staff up, murmuring as he kept up the spell, their biggest advantage.

Ossian
 
A cloaked man sat in the back of a tavern, inhaling smoke from a tobacco pipe and staring at a mug of ale pensively. Doriath was a small, out of the way village near the border between Halleoth and the wooded territory of the elves. From what he heard, the borders might be pushed back further. The Dark Lord's war with the elves was going well, he heard. The Drow fought with greater malice than usual, it was whispered, and that was saying something. Still, the High Elves of Falendale held out even as their Wood Elf cousins sought refuge with their cousins. Of course, even within the empire, the threat of violence was never far. Ossian clenched his fists.

His home was destroy. Everyone was dead. He couldn't even identify the body of his mother among the burned bodies of the slain. His friends in the War Hawks were definitely dead or captured. He had discovered their camp not along ago and barely managed to escape the ambush that had been laying in wait for him. He had been on the run from a warband led by an orcish thug ever since. He had been laying low ever since then, hiding his identity in order to spare whatever villages he visited the swift punishment for "treason." He did not know why the Dark Lord was so interested in him, but Ossian knew that it wasn't anything good, but where could he go? The Dark Lord's men were everywhere and even outside the Empire, the free countries were always under threat from his armies.

He took one last puff of his pipe before it went out and turned his attention to his drink. Come what may, he would find a way to avenge his kith and kin, if only on the orc that hunted him.

Anvarwel

In the distant mountains to the east lay a valley. Inside this valley lay a bustling city. At the end of this city lay a castle, in truth it was more of an impenetrable fortress, by far the most well defended place in all of the east, this was Castle Miraz, home of one of the tyrannical Lich Anvarwel. This fortress sat on a hill and had a single dark but well maintained road leading up to the heavy wooden drawbridge, through there lay a large and carefully watched courtyard. The casual observer would notice a handful of warlocks idling around or moving off to find books for their studies, the more careful observer would notice the dozens of undead thralls hiding under the cover of darkness in alcoves set into the outer and inner wall. Past this courtyard was a heavy yet delicately crafted iron and brass door, just beyond this doorway was the throne hall, a red velvet carpet was flanked by a number of armored black knights and behind them with their faces exposed were a larger number of undead fallen knights. At the end of this carpet was currently a scarred looking messenger boy, wearing the colors of Halleoth. Just beyond him was five large curved steps at the top was a large onyx and golden throne, the crest of which was decorated with a large white gem, which had a large number of faces.

Sat in his throne, looking every bit the part of the ancient ruler he was, was the Lich Anvarwel himself, casually reading through the scroll which the boy had brought to him, a though struck him. He turned his head slightly to look at the azure armored knight to his left and just behind the throne, the knight had his gauntleted hands placed on the pommel of a two handed rune sword, which seemed to emit pure malice. This Azure Knight rarely left his side and was widely accepted to be both the Lich's aide and right hand man even though next to nothing was known about him. 

"How many times has this Dark Lord sent messages desiring alliance and servitude now?" Anvarwel having no flesh and therefore no lips had a whispering and echoy yet terrifyingly deep voice, this voice was projected from the center of his skull through simple force of will. The Azure Knight turned his head ever so slightly and replied in a voice that was certainly human, if without the major part of emotion. "This would be the seventh my lord."

The Lich turned back to the scroll and then looked at the boy again, before rolling up the scroll and handing it to an ageing necromancer who had hurried to take the scroll to be cataloged, Anvarwel loved to catalogue information. "Tell your master to stop sending pointless messages, he will have to meet me in person." He paused for a second to consider something. "There are some plains a few miles to the south from here, a neutral grounds for both of us. Tell him to be there in say... Five days time, should be do-able if you're legs don't give out trying to get home, if they do make sure you pass the message before you expire." Though the members of the court knew this to be a joke the messenger promptly panicked and began running for his life, leaving a cheerful Anvarwel in his wake.

The Lich stood up after a few minutes and turned to one of his aides. "Have my carriage prepared to leave in an hour." He turned his head to look over his knights, he had to admit he had a bit of a soft spot for these men who served willing instead of the undead thralls behind who served because he willed it. "A dozen of you are to accompany me, I'll leave you fine men to decide who gets to tag along here." As he made his way down the carpet to the courtyard the Azure Knight kept half a pace behind him. "I take it you are not truly going to bend knee to this Dark Lord from the west my lord?" Anvarwel half turned around "I'm almost surprised at you, if I started calling myself the Dark Lord do you think I would order everyone to surrender to me?" He paused as he realized that for the last few hundred years he had practically done that exact thing, the Azure Knight didn't comment so he continued. "No, I would rather learn how this Dark Lord has come to such power so easily, and how much he is willing to give for my aid." 

Just over an hour later the convoy set out from Castle Miraz, at its head was the Azure Knight, riding on a strange undead horse. Behind the knight came the black and red iron armored carriage, pulled by six large horses and with a trio of undead archers perched on top of it Anvarwel was both perfectly comfortable and safe. Behind the carriage came the dozen black knights, each riding horses of their own. It took nearly a full day for the convoy to come to the meeting place, at his place the Azure Knight placed Anvarwels banner to mark his encampment, this banner is of a human skull biting on a vertical hourglass on a black field. It was here that the convoy would wait, thankfully Anvarwel had brought some books so he wouldn't be bored if the Dark Lord failed to arrive.
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