Blood and Mist ((Open RP))

“Breath…” Valkra whispered to himself, as he ran threw a ragged mountain pass in the northern most reaches of Nagarythe. He knew the Druchii were close; perhaps only a few miles behind him. He could hear them every now and then; the sounds of their cold ones echoing threw the narrow pass.

Valkra quickened his pace while holding his side trying to keep the knife wound in his side from reopening; he knew the one on his left leg was still bleeding as was his right arm, they were leaving an easy trail to follow. It had been an ambush like he had never seen before, the Druchii just appeared out of no where, coming out of the mists like phantoms.
Ambushing an Asur war party was difficult but a full war party of veteran Shadow Warriors should have been impossible, something didn’t add up. They knew that they would be there, Valkra could see it in there eyes, they were expecting them, but more than that they knew how to get in close undetected; only a fellow Shadow Warrior should be able to do that. But that ‘would’ be impossible.

Valkra was shaken from his thoughts as he heard footsteps closing in on him from behind, he quickly drew his blade and spun around in time for his blade to clash with one of the blades of a Witch Elf.

“You won’t be getting away from me again.” She said in a hateful voice.
"We'll see about that Witch!" He spat back
Valkra knew he couldn’t afford to fight her for long he could hear the others getting closer by the second. The Witch elf wielded her blades in an elegant dance of death as Valkra fought franticly to block her attacks. He knew he couldn’t keep this up, he was wounded and tired, he had to end it quick or die. He kicked her back and slid his blade along the ground throwing dust into the Witch elves eyes. The moment her defenses dropped as she tried to rub the dust from her eyes Valkra closed in and in one fell swoop of his sword he removed her head from her shoulders.
The second her body hit the ground Valkra turned and began to run again at a pace much faster than before, he knew he had lost a lot of time and he would just have to ignore his wounds. If he could make it into the lowland camps he just might have a chance.

Valkra chuckled bitterly “This is going to be one long night.”


(( I haven't seen any one else do an open RP so I thought I'd start one. And this seems like a good enough start. ))

[Berethas]

Aerinar looked up from his shallow sleep. He had heard footsteps running ast and then the scuffle of a fight. Slowly picking up his gear to avoid unnescesarry noise, he moved towards the sound of the fight. He saw a shadow warrior take off. Running after him, he pulled him into the shade of the darker trees.

"What happened? Why are you by yourself and wheres the rest of your party?" He spoke quickly and quietly. He knew that some dark elves were close, but this Shadow Warrior shoudlnt be running away from them.

Then he noticed the blood on the side of this Warriors clothing. "Sit. Do nothing until I return. You will not be noticed."
Aerinar mumbled a few words of the innate spell that a Shadow Walker had taught him. the shadows grew dark and hid the injured warrior from sight.

A small party of witch elves ran into the clearing he had just left, and he confronted them, a smile on his face.
"So, The Hag Queen has sent some of her own to try and take back that which isnt her's has she?" he chuckled. Before throwing a knife. It burried itself into the throat of the closest.
"You will pay for that, wanderer" one of them hissed. "We know of you Darkmoon. We have come to repay you for what you did to us."
"Well then, you'd better get started, I may escape again." He said, a light smile on his lips." In an instant an arrow was in the air, and hit the one that had spoken in the heart. Screeching she fell. There were four left.

[Belvaryn]

Their screeches filled the air and lifted up to the white armored figure on a snow-white horse. He dared not move. Being armored in shining white and blue didn't exactly make him stealthy. Still, Swordmaster or no, engaging those screaming leonid fanatics in a charge would be suicide. They cackled and frothed at the mouth, chasing one of the Shadow Warriors from the advance party.

They continued their single-minded charge, oblivious to their surroundings. Belvaryn manuevered his mount down on the deer trail, his Caledorian charger more at home here than an Ellyrian steed would have been. He pushed his mount the instant he hit level ground charging directly as the Druchii in the rear of the charge. He vaulted off his mount, using the Druchii lunatic to break his fall.

He heard the wind blast out of her lungs as she hit the ground, mouthing a wordless scream with lungs that had no air. She quickly recovered, her supple body revealing supernatural strength, but the Swordmaster had the advantage. Reaching into his belt, he grabbed his dagger and went to slit her throat...and then she suddenly sprung up with a roar, nearly throwing him.

Blood trickled down her muscular side, dark from a deep, mortal wound. Looking up, the Swordmaster risked a smile as he saw his horse, Karlen, escape into the woods. The impact had been hard on him, but not enough to slow him. He drew his blade, the rune of Saroir burning brightly before his tainted sisters.

The witches, meanwhile had recovered their compusure, snarling with white fangs in perfect alabaster smiles and slender bodies. The wounded one would die from the wound, but, she would still be just as deadly until the filthy Dark Ones claimed her.

In an instant, Belvaryn had gathered the winds of High Magic into his blood, his eyes burning with white witchfire. A slight smirk crossed his face briefly as the insane maidens charged. He blasted the rock debris and sand at his feet blinding their charge, which they continued anyway, screaming and cackling madly. Their recklessness allowed him to get a better position on their left, now they were all in front of him and he had some options.

Thinking quickly, he forced his will into a cone of force that knocked them briefly off their feet, but not all of them... The two at the end of the cone were merely swayed, and charged their target. His blood cold from the exertion, Belvaryn parried their first attacks and moved up onto the hill of the canyon, seeking high ground. Unfortunately, his back hit the canyon wall and a dagger missed his temple by a hair's breadth. Instead of regaining his footing, he pushed off the wall and smashed into the closest Witch. The attack stunned her briefly and Belvaryn slammed the pommel into her face, crushing the bones in her face with a sickening crack.

Her companion, however, was not so easily daunted. He barely twisted in time to dodge the blade that slashed at him like a darting serpent. He twisted perhaps too fast, he felt a muscle burn in agony in his side. Still, it was better than having a dagger in his side. The Witch, howling in frustration and rage, redoubled her efforts, forcing Belvaryn back into a defensive position. He waited patiently, looking for an opening in the attacks. Suddenly, she slipped on the debris and her guard opened. Faster than the eye could see, Belvaryn shot his blade into the opening catching her below the heart and severing her spine. She gave him a look of blackest hate and contempt as she was kicked off his blade.

Sweat beaded his brow as he realized her companions had regained their footing and were now getting ready to charge him again. The lead Witch being the one with the shattered face, seemingly enjoying the blood flowing over her teeth.

Sweat on his forehead and a sore side, he prepared for the charge of the three remaining witches. Hearing a subtle wind behind him, he decided friend or foe, he could do nothing about it. To turn his back on these fierce zealots of Khaine meant certain death...

[Berethas]

((are you replying to my post? I'm taking it as you are.))

Aerinar was releaved when the Sword Master turned up. It would have run into close quarters and that is something he did not excel at. Notching another arrow to his string, he sighted on the closest Witch Elf and let loose. It struck her in the bak, causing her to shriek in pain, and turn around, snarling at him, malice in her eyes. Quickly loosing another, it his her in the stomach. She doubled over, but quickly charged him. Placing his bow on the ground, he closed his eyes, and drew arthang, paying attention to his suroundings, he heard the knife as she lunged, eyes snapping open, he deftly blocked it, and span, dropping to his knee, he sliced her hamstring. He had to rely on his quick movements, as his armour would not stand up to as much damage as the Sword Master's.

"I expected better from you Elisor" he laughed, Rising and slicing at her arm, she blocked it quickly, pulling back.
"You were lucky the first time we met, but not so this time. This time shall bathe in the still warm blood of your corpse." She was manical, fire burning in her eyes, her breath coming quickly. she slashed wildly at him, at almost blinding speeds, it was all he could do to remain standing, let alone keep up his defense. He tripped up as he moved backwards, and Elisor let out a triumphant crow, "You are mine, 'Princeling of the Dead'" She spat the name given to him by Druchii.
Aerinar gritted his teeth, and punched upwards with his empty hand, it caught her in the gut, and she stagered. Rising, he ran her through.
"My Family may be dead, but I am not." he murmured, as he let her body fall off his blade, her eyes bulging in shock.

He ran past his bow, picking it up as he went, also sheathing his knife he withdrew from the corpse of the first Witch Elf. He placed an arrow to his string and stood back, waiting, drawing the shadows around himself until he was practically invisible.

[Arathnar]

Arathnar heard the commotion in the forest and pushed his steed, Korsenmair, to utmost speeds to get to the fight. He knew his bluish Dragon Armor was not suited to stealth but now speed mattered over everything.

He rode like the wind and when he got there he saw Belvaryn charge like an Asur into the rear of the Witch Elf fromation. It was then that he saw a lone Witch Elf about to slay Belvaryn from behind. With a dragonlike roar he pushed his steed into a charge hit the Witch with a lance, her pure white skin turned blood red with a mortal wound through her chest.

Arathnar then wrenched it away so as to cause the maximum amount of damage to the lithe frame, before he vaulted off to land next to his kin, and drew his sword the runes of Sarthai glowing in the darkness. "Us Caledorians have to stick together, brother. Now let us show the daemonspawn how two sons of Caledor fight! DEATH TO THE DAEMON!!"

Confronted with two figures bearing glowing blades and majestic, enchanted ithilmar armor would have struck awe and fear into most foes but these insane Witches payed almost no attention to that, so great was their bloodlust, the two warriors started their charge into the fray...

[Duj'it]

Duj'it calmly laid down his cloak as he rested after his time practicing his magic alone in the woods. As he closed his eyes he caught a glimpse of shinning amour running through the roots and tree's screaming their heads off.
Typical Sword master he thought all meant to be nice and carm, but when it comes to battle they scream like those undisciplined witch elves, well i better go see what they are up to.

He slowly made his way towards the sounds of battle and climbed a tree to get a nice view. He saw that it was not a 2 sword masters but a dragon prince and a sword master.

Oh its Arathnar... only he could make that much racket and get away with it... oh and that shadow over there must be Darkmoon, anyway better stay up here and let them have the fun.

Valkra leaned against a tree as he watched the battle rage on. Things were starting to look up but then a chilling though crossed his mind. He grunted as he pushed away from the tree and headed back out to where the battle was finally starting dwindle and came up behind the other shadow warrior.

“We have to get out of here, these Witch elves were just the advance party sent to hunt me down, there’s a small army coming. I’m not sure how many but over a hundred. And not just Witch elves.”

Valkra scanned the area and pointed south.

“We need to get to the lowlands, there’s a war camp there with fifty or more warriors.” Valkra said as he turned to where the Swordmasters were finishing off the last few Witch elves.

“Come on we need to finish this and get out of here or we won’t live to see daybreak!” Valkra shouted at them as he drew his bow and took aim at one of the Witches

[Belvaryn]

"Us Caledorians have to stick together, brother. Now let us show the daemonspawn how two sons of Caledor fight! DEATH TO THE DAEMON!!"

Faster than he could mouth his reply, Arathnar had charged the Witches. Belvaryn followed suit and made his attack on the witch with the broken nose, blood still streaming down her face.

His side began to burn, but, he could only ignore it for the moment. His opponent was closing fast. She leapt at him in feral ferocity, trying to force her blades beyond his guard. He shifted his weight backwards and blasted her into the air with a gale of magic. She sommersaulted effortlessly, making slashes at his helmet as she sailed over, landing lithely several paces away. A dark smile played across her ruined features, and she charged again, exactly the same as the first time...

Belvaryn remembered the hole in her guard and hoped she would make the same mistake. She didn't dissapoint. Her attack was reckless, her weight too far ahead of her center... he made a heavy sweeping attack and cleaved her head from her shoulders. An arterial fountain coloring the sand, and his white armor a deep crimson. He exhaled hard, trying to regain his center, his balance.

Then a searing pain shot up his side. He looked down and saw a snake growing out of his side...wait...a snake? He looked at his hands and his vision shimmered and blurred, nightmare apparitions forming in all the shadows. The sounds of the battle sounded infinitely far away and deafeningly loud at the same time.

He closed his eyes and tried to walk towards where he remembered the forest to be. He whistled and a white horse began to gallop out of the forest to his side, his steed Karlen. He knew that he had left his fate entirely in the hands of the others, but, Belvaryn knew that he was worthless now in this fight. If he did not treat the poison soon he would be worthless for the rest of the campaign.

He felt his horse nuzzle up to him, and blindly Belvaryn reached through his saddlebags, his hands felt like they were on fire. Each touch, each breath of wind was a searing pain. He found the vial and the pouch he was looking for. He drank the foul liquid and through sheer force of will kept from vomiting. He numbly pressed the herbs to his side, where apparently the blade had entered, when he thought it had only been a sprained muscle. A bright flash of pain shot up his side, as the herbs bubbled on the wound, and the tonic burned his insides.

Composing himself the best he could, he had not dared open his eyes, he tapped Karlen's forlimb so that he could mount. Clumsily he crawled onto the saddle, stopping only to whisper, "Stay close to our friends, but if they fall, take us home". His horse snorted in recognition. The brood of Korhandir understood the language of the Asur as easily as their own.

Belvaryn could only sit there helpless in the saddle, relying on his steed and his friends to see through the battle. He dared not open his eyes, for fear of losing his mind...

[Berethas]

Aerinar nodded. "Arathnar, we must leave. This Warrior was a member of a patrol, he tells me that there are more of them, well over one hundred. Can you lead him and your Caledorian friend to the lowland camps, I have to go warn my brethren." Without waiting for a reply, he took off, letting his shadow drop. He had the authority to call upon the full might of the Darkblade tribe, but he wouldn't need that, only his old warband from his time in exile in that vile human city of Mordheim. His band was nearby as they generally traveled behind him, waiting to be called up.

When he reached the outskirts of the camp, he made a couple of bird calls, and got replies, they would meet him at the lowland camp the Caledorians would head to. Taking off again, he ran flat out. He bounded shadow to shadow, being careful not to be seen when he had to cross the open.

[High Priestess Khadathi]

The smell of blood filled the air, ..sweet,..... sticky,.......oozing to the earth,....

A maibd glides slowly through the trees,.....her sisters following behind,......her naked body shimmers with an inner power, blood sigils twist and writhe over her skin,.......a dagger held in each hand,....deep pools of emptiness watching, waiting, drinking in the carnage before her.

Behind her,.....death flowed over the fallen like waves upon the shore as the Maibd ripped the heart and souls from all that lay there,.....knives crashed upon the fallen, the screams of the dying rising over mingling with their prayers as they break upon the fallen leaving only silence and empty husks behind,

"Khaela Furdiekh Mensha Farmiekh Khaine"

Death rolled over them all.