FOR CALEDOR Part 2/4:Thorshafn (WAR)

Come, brothers and sisters, share with us your tales, from before your joined to today! Tell us of yourself and your travels and travails! (IC Please, OOC labeled!)

FOR CALEDOR Part 2/4:Thorshafn (WAR)

Postby Aeneis2009 » Wed Oct 01, 2008 5:14 pm

The current of the air carried what was left of the rain, past the rocky beaches of the blighted isle, to the northern coast of the empire and beyond. High above the sparse forests of the Nordland, the wind from the mountains chilled it, till the light rain floated back down as snowflakes in the breath of winter.

Two lithe hooded forms tracked their way slowly through the tall pines just beyond the southern edge of the great mountains that separated the empire from the chaos wastes. Their leather boots crunched softly against the snowy ground. Gwilith watched a lone snowflake flutter down in front of her, dancing lightly in the soft breeze. She had always admired the simple beauty that came from the snow drenched plains that existed far beyond the borders of Ulthuan, a land beset by an almost perpetual spring. White flecks clung to the edges of her green hooded cloak, which hid her ornate mithril breastplate as well as her flowing mahogany hair. A bow and quiver of elven make hung loosely on her shoulder, as she continued northward with her companion Vendyus, who bore a heavy kite shield of oak on his own shoulder. Sent on the orders of King Finubar himself, they followed an unmarked trail in search of both enemies and answers.

Bred from the most noble of elven stock, Gwilith’s face held the same potency in its sharp attractive features that her hands mastered when wielding her blade and bow as a shadow warrior in defense of her people. Her comrade paused for a moment throwing back his hood, small droplets of ice sparkled in his tightly knotted black hair. Vendyus always kept his hair braided tight and pulled back; his head was tilted slightly as though listening. Gwilith squinted at him inquisitively, asking without words. She had heard nothing, even at her venerable age she could still be distracted by the beauty of nature around her. “I hear horses approaching,” he pointed northward and continued to listen a moment longer, “six of them, bearing heavy burdens.”

She knew from his serious expression that he was thinking the same thoughts as she. These could be Norse, the ones they were hunting. The human pawns of chaos, who raided the northern edge of the empire, slaying their own kind, and desecrating their bodies in the name of their foul gods. Vendyus slowly unslung his shield, his own mithril plate creaked softly as he moved. The Swordmaster’s blue eyes lit up with fire as they often did, when he was thinking of combat, “we should take them.” Vendyus was rather young for one of such skill, and with his youth came rashness. Gwilith, glanced southwest as she weighed her options. In the distance there, she saw a lone horseman approaching on a path which would surely meet the Norse. “Another rider approaches,” the shadow warrior whispered, as she nestled into a hiding place signaling for Vendyus to do the same. “We shall see what comes of this,” she thought to herself crouching against the long leg of a tree, blanketed in snow.

The lone rider approached first, riding in cautiously. Looking ahead at the approaching band, he was unaware of the two elves who watched him. He had a gruff looking face, with a jaw that had been broken a few too many times. Wavy brown hair flowed out from underneath his feathered cap; this and his hawkish nose clearly marked him as a man of the Empire to Gwilith's keen eyes. He gripped a long bronze spear in his right hand, which was covered by an embossed leather buckler. A worn and tattered brown woolen cloak hung over his ruffled sleeves,draping slightly over the back of his spotted horse. A studded black leather vest protected him from the cold, as he slowly guided his horse through the trees.

Gwilith wondered what a lone Reiklander would be doing this far into Jotan territory. The civilized humans of that empire had a peace agreement with Ulthaun and they too had suffered from Norscan raids. The lone cavalryman began to dismount as he saw several other mounted warriors approaching from downhill. She and her companion had been correct in their assumption; six heavily armored Chosen Barbarians crested the hill. The lone cavalryman reached into his saddlebag, to procure a wooden scroll case. “A messenger,” thought Gwilith, who glanced over to her comrade as he intently studied the approaching northmen.

The Norscans wore garb typical of their people, pieces of heavy iron lashed together with hide formed their armor. Animal horns protruded menacingly from their coal black Iron helms and heavy cloaks of fur draped their spiked pauldroned shoulders. They were armed with an array of weaponry, from jagged heavy shields and axes to crude crossbows garnered from trade or theft with more advanced cultures. The largest of them had a dark brown beard jutting out from beneath his helmet, bone colored beads were woven into it as was their custom. “U bent laat aangekomen,” He yelled throatily at the smaller Reiklander as he dismounted, waving his large brushed steel cleaver in a threatening manner.

The shadow warrior gripped the pommels of her blades nervously as she looked over at Vendyus who sat against his own tree, intently listening to their conversation. The Reikland messenger pulled out a scroll and tossed it over to the Norse Chieftain. His speech was a bit slower as it was clearly not his native tongue. “Ik bring orden……van Fabian grote tovenaar von Thorshafn.” She recognized the word “Thorshafn”, a nearby Imperial city, well known for its dreadful proximity to the blasted lands of Chaos. Although Gwilith could not understand their dialoge, she was unconcerned with the meaning of it for she knew her friend could speak the Barbarian’s glutteral tongue.

The Chieftain unraveled the scroll and looked at it briefly before crushing it in his gauntlet. Then he turned angrily to the terrified messenger. His chapped red lips curled out of the edge of his helmet, spraying the shorter human with spittle as he growled, “Ik zal maejn tijdlezing niet het. Me kort van het verspillen geven zodat kan ik krijgsheer Tchar'Zanek persoonlijk informeren.” Gwilith turned to Vendyus who mouthed a quick translation for her, “I will waste no time reading it. Give me the short of it so that I may Warlord Tcar'Zanek personally inform.” She sensed that there was something slightly off about the barbarians mannerisms, and as soon as she read her fellow guardian’s lips she knew that the fool was merely bluffing to cover up his own shortcomings. One of the Chosen began to walk towards the general direction of the two elves, his crossbow held loaded and at a low ready. Gwilith was positive he had not seen them, and that warrior was merely taking a precaution.

The Reiklander grasped tightly on the reigns of his horse. Distrustful of the jotan, he was prepared to remount any moment. “Vertell Tchar'Zanek, om nu naar Thorshafn eerdar dan in een week vooruit te gaan zoals werd gepland.” She could tell from Vendyus expression the gravity of what was just said. “Tell Tchar'Zanek to begin advancing now towards Thorshafn rather than in a week as was planned,” Vendyus, the swordmaster leaned out slightly, mouthing as clearly as possible so that she could understand; in doing so, he unintentionally shifted the snow around him creating a familiar crunching sound.

Bos Mensen!” the black armored warrior readied his crossbow, and rushed towards them as his master shouted, “Kell Hen!!!!” The messenger threw his leg up into the stirrup, thinking only of his own life. Gwilith needed no translation she had heard these phrases before in her past dealings with their kind, “Elves! Kill them!” The elven guardians sprang into action; Vendyus drew his longsword and thrust his shield deep onto his arm so that his sword hand was free for his deadly art. He danced forward moving with the grace and skill of the swordmasters of old, flourishing his jeweled falcata to create a sphere of force.

As the men of Chaos closed in, Gwilith grasped her own short blades whipping them out as easily as one extends a finger. The chieftain growled an unintelligible battle cry, as Vendyus whirled forward guarding Gwilith with his shield and launching a fiery assault to dislodge one of the mounted warriors, as they rode past. She stepped towards her enemies flanked by her brethren's shield; she felt emboldened by her ancient bloodline, as though the power of the Isha herself was within her. She shook her head sharply, throwing back her hood as she did so revealing her lovely face and flowing mahogany locks. Then the warden let out her own battle cry, it resonated across the plain towards her hated foe with a blinding vengeance.

The waters shimmered as the loremaster saw two more of his kindred slaughtered and the vision began to shift.....
"No friend ever served me, and no enemy ever wronged me, whom I have not repaid in full." - Sulla, L.C.

Aeneis, Swordmaster, War Leader
Caldius, Warrior Priest of Sigmar, of course this class is balenced with the dok....<frowns>
Abdiel, Witchhunter, for those times when I want a little Dps.
Draenin, Disciple Of Khaine, Overlord of Quorum
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