Yehoshua's Tale ((WAR))

[Yehoshua]

((I actually wrote one of these for DAOC but never had the courage to post it. Here is a piece of my story in all its non-glory. I will make a posting in the tavern for comments. Please leave your comments in that forum and keep this one clear for my postings.))

The long and slender frame of an elf in full plate paces through the warm rain in front of an axe that appears more like a scythe buried in ground before him. The smells of wet leather, iron and large beasts waft about you in the humid air and fog that is the hallmark of these human lands. The elf finally comes to a halt next to a worn and disheveled battle standard and turns slowly but distinctly to face a formation of elves, dwarves and men. A muster has been called early this morning it would seem, regardless of the weather conditions as usual. The troops are tired and they are few, but nevertheless they stand.

If you are a dwarf the first thing you notice about Yehoshua, the WAR Knight standing at the head of your formation, is that his favorite stein, what had seemed inseparable from his hand during Keg End ,is not present in it’s customary position on the knight’s belt. A serious matter indeed…

If you are an elf you will notice that beyond the stoic composure displayed by the knight that is typical of your kind there are undertones of more reckless and perhaps sinister emotions. There are undertones of serious grief and dismay that if not kept in check… Well there are none present that are ignorant of how your dark kin came to be. You know that the other races will not see these things present in the knight, but you must remember to keep watch on him lest he fail to control his emotions.

If you are a human you see nothing more than another imported elven officer seeking to satisfy his lust for pomp and circumstance while you can plainly see the fires burning your homeland in the distance beyond the formation in which you now stand.

The one thing that everyone in the formation notices to be amiss is the white lion, Judah. All of you have had the opportunity to fight alongside the magnificent beasts. The beasts seem to have an almost magical or psychic connection to their masters. When attempting to read the sentiment of their stoic White Lion masters it is almost always better to try and get an impression of the beast first as they are far more social creatures and easier to read than their stone faced and seemingly emotionless elven masters. Judah lays deathly silent in the wet grass next to your worn and disheveled standard, the standard of Saint Crispin’s League. You find it unnerving that you cannot hear the breaths of a beast that large amidst the gentle pitter patter of the rain. It is this silence that is the sound of death when fighting a White Lion. When the lion roars at the enemy it is most certainly a sign that the beast has little intention of harming them, he is only playing with or baiting them. It is this silence that cloaks the beast before a killing blow, and it is quite an unnerving thing to stand in formation before one of these beasts who is carrying itself thusly; it is also quite telling of the demeanor of his White Lion master. This is to be a dark day.

The elven knight pauses to look at the unit mustered before him as if taking in all of the troops in one long glance and then begins to speak in calm, even and emotionless tones.

“Do you see this standard here before you? The one I carry into battle against the hordes of Chaos?... <he pauses emphatically and repeatedly during his speech as if to give the troops time to ponder the implications of what he is saying> Do you know who gave it to me?... Forgive me, some of you are young and may not know of these things... This standard was given to me by the Knight Aeneis Anchioses of Saint Crispin’s League. This Aeneis is my brother in arms and in blood… Do you see him here today?... You have not seen him for some time, for he has lost himself to a dark passion… the path that leads to the ways of my dark kin… Do you think that I do not feel the pain of loss that accompanies the gaps in your ranks ?... <he steps between two members of the formation who had left a space between them for a comrade who had fallen during the last skirmish> Does the pain that I feel justify the presence of these gaps? … When you are cut in two by some nameless Black Orc because our ranks were too thin to proplerly hold back the tides of chaos will you have sympathy for our fallen brethren?... No you will not, for you will be dead. My brother’s banner, your banner, will be a hindcloth for some nameless warboss and this League will be no more. Is this why you came here? Do you wish to die as heroes?...”

“I for one do not wish to die at all and I am no hero that much is certain. We are not some otherworldly thing thrown here from some parallel universe beyond the warp. We are here now to stand against the tide, and all that will be remembered of us, if anything at all, will be how we carried ourselves and the parts we played in this conflict. If our ranks thin and this League fall it will because we have failed this League. If this League is to succeed in holding back the hordes it will be because of how you have carried yourselves and how others have come to our aid because of your actions.”

“There is no need of recruiting here. Any you see this far into the fight are here for the war effort. What sets this unit and this League apart is how we fight and how we carry ourselves. The standards that we hold near and dear are what give this Knight and this Battle Standard their meaning, their purpose and their strength.”

“Let us not fail each other in the sight of our enemy…” <he points to a human town burning in the distance>

“There will be no muster today. This force is not large enough to properly face a fully manned brigade of Chaos warriors. Break camp and prepare yourselves for skirmishing.”

Yehoshua removes the Battle standard and his impossibly large axe from the ground in one fluid motion and marches downhill towards the burning town. You still hear nothing from Judah as the large beast in full plate disappears into the grass.

[Yehoshua]

Yehoshua gets drunk and throws himself off of a cliff in Tor Anroc and into some lava.

The End.

[Yehoshua]

A tear stained and tattered note hangs from the scroll case in the empty guild hall, at about dwarf height.

"My friends I bring sad news. About a week ago I came across a bloody heap in the rear of the guild hall that I discovered to be Judah, WAR Knight Yehoshua's lion. The lion was seriously wounded but I nursed it back to some semblance of healthiness only to have it force it's way out of my care and away towards the land of Chrace, a journey on which I accompanied it. A dwarf can only hold back so much cat and the beast is taller than I. Nevertheless what the cat showed me in Chrace has cut me to the core. You will find a Blackguard now walking amongst the dark elves named, Yehoshua. His face has been mutilated and filled with bits of metal but it is the same elf. Judah disappeared from me as I stared dumb struck from a bush a safe distance away from the Blackguard, and I was unable to locate the cat afterwords. After watching the Blackguard take particular joy in the slaying of multiple White Lions and War Lions at the Fortress in Nordenwatch I returned here to make this report. It seems Yehoshua did not die at Tor Anroc... and with that I will be leaving for Altdorf. I will require a large supply of ale to keep myself going now and that is where I hope to find it.

-Bilis
Legionnaire of Saint Crispin's League"

((It's not a permanent move or anything but I have been playing on Ostermark as of late,almost in T2 now.))

[Yehoshua]

His stomach felt like a brick, so filled with ale that it had long surpassed that bursting wineskin feeling. His cheeks burned a hot rosy red and ached as if he was now feeling the pain of a smile that had lasted days, but Bilis was not smiling. His eyes floated with his consciousness in a haze somewhere above his wobbling stumbling body as it bounced off of walls and cobblestones as he carried his body to… wherever the next pint was. He couldn’t even be sure of what city he was in except for the flavor of the ale that lingered in his mouth like a stain. It was the taste of a particular pale ale from Altdorf probably from the Mastiff’s End, that much he was certain of. What should have been a state of alcoholic bliss was merely a passing and brief respite from an inner turmoil that left him feeling empty and lost but that did not keep him from trying to fill that emptiness with ale.

Bilis’ days had begun to take on a pattern and no one, not even he, knew for sure how long the pattern had been repeating. He would wake in the rubbish near the Bright Wizard’s College around sundown. The vermin and criminals alike would not bother him there for fear of the flame. The last rays of the evening sun always seemed to reach down and around the roofs of the buildings to stab him in the eyes as he would stumble, hands in the air to hold back the painful light, to reach the first pint of the night at Dangerous Delicacies.

Dangerous Delicacies is small café overlooking the Market Square and run by the widow Rohesa Koch. The café closes shortly after dark due to the proprietor being a lonely widow. Rohesa gives a discount on her ale if you say it’s to toast her late husband, Mr. Koch. Bilis heads to Dangerous Delicacies first each night as it is a great place for the dwarf to get something to eat before a night of drinking. Every good dwarf knows that, “if you take care of yer stomach, yer stomach will take care of yer ale!”

“Here’s to Mr. Koch!”

From there it’s a short walk down Lord’s Row to the Reikland Arms, the worst bar in Altdorf. Why hit the worst bar early in the night? Well there is a science to it, a knowledge brought to Bilis by way of extensive experimentation. It’s no secret in Altdorf what had become of the dwarf and so Bilis had developed a delicate balance of activities to keep him drunk every night whilst not being cut off by any of the bartenders.

Lothur serves the worst ale in the cleanest bar in Altdorf, the Reikland Arms. You can’t show up there too late and already inebriated because the crowd there won’t tolerate it and you won’t get served. If, however, you show up early in the night and keep the incessantly chattering “Lord Rembrecht” engaged in conversation not only will Lothur serve you, he’ll cut the price of the drinks in appreciation of the fact that “Lord Rembrecht” isn’t talking the barkeep’s ear off. This had been the “Lord’s” custom before Bilis’ appearance at the bar. Bilis is able to withstand the incessant aural assault because he does not actually believe that “Lord Rembrecht” is the lord of anything at all and therefore the whole conversation is like one long arrogant comedy told by someone Bilis believes to be a simple drunk fool. The ale there is the worst because it bubbles like champagne and if you drink at this bar at the end of the night, those bubbles will do a number on even a dwarf’s stomach if it’s already filled with a night’s worth of drink. At the beginning of the night however this ale just makes one’s burps louder and more frequent which goes over quite well at the next stop on Bilis’ nightly ritual.

It’s a long walk to the Screaming Cat on the south side of the docks but in Bilis’ opinion it needs to be third stop of the night because it is the best bar in Altdorf and Bilis prefers to still be somewhat aware of the world around him for the “show” put on by it’s patrons. The ale there is unbeatable and the storytelling is definitively the best in all the realms. There is a dwarf berserker there by the name of Gotrek Gurnisson who tells the tallest tales with the greatest delivery and believability that guarantees Bilis an almost nightly escape into the fantasy realm illustrated by Gotrek and governed Pubkeep Fidruk. Half of the time Fidruk forgets to require payment of Bilis who remains seated at the bar listening to Gotrek. Bilis’ time here ends for the night when Duncan Stanislov has had enough to drink. Duncan is an old travelling partner of Gotrek’s who cannot handle his ale but drinks it religiously like a dwarf even though he’s human. He eventually picks a fight with Gotrek every night about some menial detail of a story that he may or may not have actually been a part of. The timing of his outburst is dictated only by how fast he is drinking. This ends the story telling as Gotrek subdues his long time companion and they head out and in for the night. Bilis finds a sarcastic humor in that bar-storytelling seems to be the only good retirement plan for heroes that live beyond their time.

The next bar is a short walk down the docks to the Blowhole. Tavern keep Mattias keeps a filthy place but the ale is alright and the tavern wench, Fran, isn’t too hard on the eyes. Bilis only comes here because he manages to convince himself that it’s “on the way home.” The most entertainment here comes from the occasional drunken sailor bar fight.

Last and definitely least on the list is, the Mastiff’s End back in Market Square. This bar never seems to close and Barkeep Olaf will serve anyone. It’s often been said that if the forces of destruction ever took Altdorf the Mastiff’s End would remain untouched due to Olaf’s open-mindedness and ever-flowing taps, and this brings us to Bilis tonight and the present taste in his mouth.

[Yehoshua]

Muscle memory carries the dwarf to the scent of sulfur and he begins to realize that he is home and done drinking for the night. He can faintly hear the sound of Dorrin Copperbrow cursing and screaming as he is yet again forcibly removed from the Mastiff’s End. Although in truth it requires little force to motivate Dorrin’s frail body. Bilis lays down on the warm stones of the rubble surrounding the Bright Wizard’s college to begin his slow crawl into the mess for his days sleep.

Through the haze of his impaired vision he spots a White Lion walking the street without his war lion and Bilis’ guts twist inside involuntarily. His hot cheeks are met by hot tears as the image immediately brings the pain he has been avoiding all night to the forefront of his mind. All of tonight’s drinking efforts prove to have been futile as this passing stranger accidentally rekindles the flames of agony for this tormented dwarf and he immediately begins to sober up. The White Lion must be young as the mane he wears is the brightest of whites and appears to have never been worn. It still retains the luster that the beast who wore it before might have given off. This White Lion might be a possible recruit for the First Brigade who is currently in need of a Corporal of the Guard, but Bilis is in no condition to speak or represent the League. He gives up on the idea as the young warrior walks down the street and closer to the dwarf’s precarious resting spot, only then does Bilis remember that it has been some time since he has fulfilled his duty to the League in any case.

Bilis had joined Yehoshua in Saint Crispin’s League because he had lost a bet with him during Keg End. Yehoshua had bested him at a beer chugging and axe throwing competition, done as one event of course, and the dwarf had kept his word, albeit begrudgingly at first. In a mere matter of three months Bilis had come to admire and respect the WAR Knight and served him diligently even when his orders were obviously extreme at times. Yehoshua’s betrayal had pretty much taken all the fight out of the dwarf, and for an Iron Breaker that is quite a feat.

Bilis closes his eyes finally and decides that he will simply lie on the street until the city Greatswords come and roust him. A stay at an inn would do him some good, perhaps even a bath, he tells himself silently as he begins to doze off, but it’s too far to walk right now.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he feels his body lifted up in its plate mail and thrust through the air across the width of the street to be slammed against the opposite wall and pinned there. He is instantaneously pulled to the back of his mind which he now realizes is what he would normally call the “front” of his mind as the stone-wall collides with his body. His limbs tingle with the shock as he quickly comes to, hanging suspended in the air against the wall, his armor acting more like a net than protection.

“I see you’ve come here to cower like you did when you fled Metoh’s Lair, eh dwarf?”

Bilis begins to wonder what must have been put in his ale tonight as he recognizes the voice of Yehoshua speaking to him, but he knows that isn’t possible, of that at least he is sure about. The smell of sulfur is now mixed with the odor of hot meat and gore, and Bilis nearly wretches as he finally opens his eyes to view his assailant.

Yehoshua is there pinning Bilis against the wall and holding him suspended at eye level. He’s wearing plate mail painted the blue and gold of Saint Crispin’s League, though it is obviously neglected and dirty, the colors faded from wear and darkened by grime. The bright White Lion’s mane was indeed as shiny and bright as it was when it’s original beast owner had worn it, on the outside at least, because Yehoshua had just slain it. The skins had not been cleaned or tanned but had been ripped freshly from a war lion and draped over this cursed warrior still dripping blood, sinews hanging from the underside of the skins like the frayed ends of some horrid cloth. Yehoshua had dressed himself in a fresh corpse for this occasion.

Bilis paled with horror as he looked into the face of the lion on Yehoshua’s shoulder. Not Judah, well thank the Gods for that at least.

Turning to face Yehoshua brought a sobering anger to the dwarf that was comforting in that he hadn’t felt anything as real as the hate that was now brewing inside of him in a long long time.

“My Lord?” said Bilis, dryly and sarcastically, as he punctuated the statement with spittle aimed at the dark elf’s face which was now riddled with bits of metal like some sort of twisted decoration.

“You will find Aeneis Anchioses and tell him that I will not stop the killing until I have presented his head to Kaela Mensha Khaine. I will slay and litter the realm with his name in blood until that day, and you’d best hurry because it takes a lot of blood to write Aeneis Anchioses.”

“Isn’t he with you and yer dark kin?”

“No.” Yehoshua states sharply as his helm smashes into Bilis face granting him the respite of unconsciousness.