TFF The Bringers of Light x TFF The Dark Side

[ToroMor]

((ooc:
This is a club RPB, only members of “TFF Bringers of Light” and “TFF The Dark Side” are allowed!

The terms of this battle:
- The RPB will start at thursday, 2004/12/23 7:00pm U.T.C with an introductive post of ToroMor
- During the first 72 hours, no fights are allowed. If it's possible you should make your introductory post during this time
- Character introduction can be included in the 1st posting
- Battle action thus starts at sunday, 2004/12/26 7:00pm U.T.C.
- Standard RPB rules apply
- The setting is mostly fantasy, elements of other genres can be used with care
- No further restrictions to magic, summoning et cetera
- NPCs as much as you like, just without essential influence
- We should allow for rather different levels of RPB experience, so please no harassing on ooc level, we could let things slide a bit and have fun.

And now, let’s get it on.))


Somewhere …
A sinister world, bathed in eternal darkness.
A pale moon, floating through an ancient sky, wrapped in stormclouds. Sleeping. Dreaming.
An old, black castle soars above the nightly fogs. Distant Thunderbolts cast their gloomy light as the drawbridge falls. Heavy hoofs shatter the still. The last guest has arrived.
A stone hall. Oak wood fires fill the air with smoke. Mighty breasted Walkyries serve mead to the tall dark figures who assembled around a black mirror. The Gods of Chaos fix their morbid gaze on the images that now emerge on its surface…

After finishing his small meal which consisted of a single hazelnut, the little red squirrel allows itself a short but pleasant nap in the late afternoon sun that shines through the autumnly colored leaves above. The scenery is calm and peaceful. Wide stretched green grasslands, softly waved with small hills and rarely speckled with fallen leaves, surround a tiny picturesque wood. Everything looks perfectly untouched and this impression is emphasized even more by some huge rocks, old and crumbly and thickly covered with moss. No one will ever know the real reason why - but all at once everything changes. First there is no obvious sign. Not even the most subtle senses could discover anything uncommon. But suddenly nature itself seems to shudder and panic chokes the throat of the squirrel. Birds rush out of the trees and their fluttering wings beat the warm air in ferocious fear. The squirrel unfortunately lacks wings and so its earth bound instinct tells it that its only chance of escaping the death, that so surprisingly befalls the living, is to stay where it is. And so the small animal presses his weak body into the scraggly rind of the old tree, closer than a mother would cleave her little baby that is snatched away by the grim reaper. And nature holds its breath.

Some endless seconds later, the dull droning of war drums is heard, soon joined by the sound of many marching boots. War is on its way. A huge dark shape comes slowly into sight. It is the leader of the Legions of Doom, named ToroMor. His bulky appearance is fully covered with heavy black metal armour and his movements attest to enormous strength. He seems to bear no weapon but any beholder of the scene could feel the deadly threat that emerges from this daunting giant. Ahead of the army of darkness he has come to open the battle against light. Descending a small hill, ToroMor starts to cross a plain meadow where he suddenly stops. Something tells him that he has reached the field of battle. And the empty hull of probably the last meal of a small squirrel is burried under a metal boot.

ToroMor stands motionless, absorbing the air of the oncoming battle, breathed by this calm place. His thoughts travel back in time…
Almost two thousand years ago. The Dark Knight once again left everything behind and entered a new world. Almost deprived of his powers and without a weapon, he found himself in a strange world full of magic and war. In two millenniums of warfare he covered the world with nocturnal massacre and he erected a dark empire, superior to all, and he was constituted a god. The final destruction of all enemies was only a matter of time and the evil plan just fulfilling, when this singular urge suddenly returned. It must have been right after the demise of one of ToroMor’s last powerful opponents, the ancient master necromancer, who brought the Dark Knight to the edge of his first and last defeat. If his companions would not have sacrificed their life, the story would have ended there. What now appears particularly odd and fateful is the fact that it was a paladin of light who made the final victory of chaos possible…

ToroMor inwardly sighs. All the memories of aeons sometimes press down on him. Then he asks himself if it is true what some philosophers once stated, that he is the reincarnation of a cruel demon from the dark abyss of time, cursed by the gods of chaos with endless wandering through the worlds, to bring fear and damnation on his voyage and to finally cover all light that trembles through the naked depths of cosmos with eternal blackness. But maybe he is just what seems obvious to him: that dark knight who once took off to gather fame and honor with his sword and who, with all the magic powers he aquired on his endless travels, remained a warrior in the core of his existence. And who – he added in his mind with his thoughts returning – will continue to travel and conquer the worlds until someday he will meet an opponent strong enough to end the journey. But this won’t happen today and it won’t happen in the near future. Soon after depriving that master necromancer of his knowledge, ToroMor arrived in this world as a perfect stranger. As usual, he lost a fair amount of his powers by being transfered. Nonetheless he quickly gathered the dark forces and challenged the opposing powers to a first major battle which is now about to begin. Till now his evil plan came true in every detail. But today the first serious test has to be passed. The Dark Brotherhood ist still young and the seed of doom freshly sown. The Light Side is strong and only a clear victory is sufficient to spawn enough shadows to let the seed quickly grow strong.

He slightly heaves his chin as he perceives the dark army approaching. These moments are among the most delightful of all. Then time floats so slowly as if it intends to stop. When the noise of the battle deployment is reduced to gentle background sounds and even the wild whirl of the war drums is drowned out by the steady deep drone of one’s own heartbeat. In these moments the chaos and bloody butchery is still far away and every little banal detail suddenly seems full of relevance as if everything would be part of a battle painting, created by a master beyond time and space. And right in this moment, ToroMor feels like home. Battlefields are the places where he belongs. He loves to battle and he even breathes battle. Countless combats taught him that even if there is a large difference in numbers and strength, it is the spirit of the warriors that mostly decides on victory. He also knows that a fighter should never give in to his emotions. To empty the chalice of murder with cold senses, that is the essence of war. ToroMor learned to merge emotions, reason and intuition to a perilous alloy and forges them like a deadly sword. Thus he already awaited the now beginning eagerness and the call of blood and inwardly salutes them like old friends.

ToroMor then speaks his prayer.

“Gods of War,
bow down and hear my call!
On the field of battle I stand,
to bring the light to fall,
sent to kill and to destroy.
Even if you trick or betray,
my enemies I will crush,
and at you gods I laugh,
you will never see me obey.”

The last words of the prayer are barely spoken as the Legion Of Doom arrives at the grounds of war. Menacing dark soldiers trample down the soft green landscape, followed by an army of countless undead minions. In the twilight of the dying day, clouds of vampire bats dance amidst the reek of torches and demonic voices chant their songs to the roaring thunder of the drums.
And before them ride the Warlords Of Doom, each one a mighty fiend and a warrant of destruction of the forces of light. In pride and honor they appear and all who behold them know that mercy will not be given or asked for.

And so, the Brotherhood Of Doom is ready for battle. Raising their weapons into the air, they roar their warcry:
“DARKNESS OVER ALL!”

[Strong Bad]

(OOC: Nice Intro.)

Laughter could be heard that morning. Deep in the stars above, beyond all existence and knowledge of man, there, in the farthest reaches of the universe was Heaven. A divine palace spreading upon a land that bore no end to its celestial grasp. A pure white, so pure and untouched shown that day. Hell had been conspiring deep in the depths below and on this appointed day, Judgement would be served.

Small child-like angels danced and frolicked in the nimbus clouds, each one being centuries old. They’re laughter came to a halt, for one brief moment, the skies seemed to turn. It was the sign; the day of the covenant had arrived. It had begun.

The children’s attention had changed, their gaze was drawn to a figure in the distance, rapidly increasing in speed and heading in their direction. Without an instant of hesitation, a divine being concerned with fate proceeded to the centre of the Universe, to the Throne of God. It was the Angel. Meliegent.

“Can it be Master, has the time finally come?” Meliegent questioned.

A deep billowing voice trumpeted from the skies. It was the voice of God.
“Yes my son, it is time. You must ascend. You must… be born” The voice replied.
“As you wish, I am prepared.” Meliegent answered and turned his back to the Lord. A magnificent pair of angelic wings expanded out from Meliegent’s back. It was time for him to serve his true purpose, to defend the light. Such a holy quest could only be appointed to a select few, it was his fate to be one of them. With that, his angelic wings were broken, relieving him of his eternal life and immortality. He would become mortal.

Meliegent descended down; down through the passages of time and space, unspoken images of light flashed and danced before him, he was being born. An immense aura of energy and light exploded onto the surface of this world. Meliegent knelt on the ground, the divine light only now subsiding. He stood and beheld himself; his wings gone and a full suit of armour equipped to his body. He had arrived on the battlefield. A dark force had quickly become a concern to him. The enemy had already arrived and spread its demonic arm across this sacred land.

He took a firm stance and stood his ground, saying a humble prayer. God’s divine omnipotence had blessed him with a body and would aid his strengths in battle. Although the enemy was strong, he had faith the light would prevail. It had been a long time since he was required for a fight, but this battle was like none he had ever participated in before. This was it, the beginning of the end. He stood firm and unshaken, God was on his side.

“It begins…”

[Cloud Strife X]

Marching with the Brotherhood of Doom was a hunched-over man, leaning wearily on an old oaken staff as he slowly but surely proceeded forward, taking special care to avoid tripping over his brilliantly red robes. Although he projected the appearance of an old, helpless man, a look under his red hood would reveal a young man who didn’t appear to be a day over twenty, with long, flowing, strikingly silver hair and piercing green eyes. His light skin appeared to be stretched over his cheekbones, with his mouth drawn into what, upon closer examination, appeared to be a faint smile. And if one were to then take a step back and take in the man’s entire figure, they would notice the various potions and flasks hanging from the man’s belt and the spell books and parchments drawn into sashes that were sagging, almost floating, from a belt drawn across his chest. But what they could not possibly know was that this frail body and apparent weakness was all an illusion, a sham whose purpose was to hide the real power of this sorcerer. His name was Necrobutcher the Pagan.

“Neraska! Neraska, where are you?” A young boy, about the age of 12, ran through the forest, calling out for his brother. It had been a simple task, really… he and his brother were supposed to go out into the forest and look for herbs. The boy was confident that they could do it in no time. Walking behind his older brother, he had grabbed a long stick and began waving it around like a sword, fighting off imaginary monsters, as he wandered down the narrow path leading into the heart of the woods. After some time, he grew bored with the charade, throwing the stick into the forest… and discovering that his brother was nowhere to be found. Panicked, he began to run down the path in front of him, calling out his brother’s name as loudly as possible. “Neraska! Neraska!”

Suddenly, a large tree root caught the young boy’s foot, yanking the earth out from under him. With an “oof!” the boy hit the ground. Rubbing his jaw as he climbed to his feet, the boy stood up to see a massive rock, almost four feet tall, directly in front of him. The boy frowned, unable to remember seeing a rock like this before his fall. But what really caught his attention was the staff gently hovering atop the rock, glowing with a softly pulsating light, defying gravity by its mere presence. The young boy gasped in awe as the staff began to float down towards him. As soon as it got within range, the boy reached out and grabbed it, holding it up to the sun to get a better view. It was roughly five feet tall, and appeared to be made of strong, healthy oak. At the top, a glowing pearl-colored jewel was held between the jaws of a dragon’s head that protruded from the staff. The boy, in admiration, stood rooted to the ground, unable to speak. Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him as his brother came crashing through the woods.

“Altarias! What are you doing here? And… what’s that?” The boy whirled around in shock. “Oh… I… I found it, just now, on this rock…” Neraska, his brother, suddenly held out a hand. “Here, Altarias… I don’t know what it is, but Dad told us to never trust magical objects. Give it over, and we’ll take it home.” Altarias’ eyes widened. “No way! I found it, and I’m gonna keep it!” Neraska began to walk forward, hand still outstretched. “It’s dangerous, Altarias. You should get rid of it, right now…”

He leaped! Altarias drew back, both hands gripped tightly to the staff, as Neraska attempted to wrench the staff from his grasp. Suddenly, a flashing light and a roar! Altarias shrieked in fear as Neraska was thrown into a tree, impaled through the stomach on a large branch. Before Altarias could react, there was another flash of light, and something appeared on the rock! It was about the height and build of a normal human, with long silvery hair, green eyes, and a large, bloodred robe. The man, hovering on the same spot where the staff once stood, looked down on Altarias with a tightly drawn smile. Altarias, frightened, asked, “Who are you? What did you do with my brother?”

The man looked straight down at the boy with a penetrating glare. “None of that matters, boy…” he coughed, and continued. “Listen to me… I am about to die. I caused you to become lost, so that you would come here. I need a soul to merge with, and I have picked yours.” Altarias stumbled backwards, gasping, “You want my soul? Who are you?” The man chuckled. “My name? I have no name… no, I don’t believe I have a name. What does matter is that I am powerful. If you merge with me, I can give you power… I can give you magic. What I just did to that boy-“ he cast a finger at Neraska’s corpse – “is nothing compared to what I can give you! If you will only allow me to become a part of you, I can give you power. Do you understand me? Help… me…” the man was suddenly racked by coughing. After a few seconds, Altarias gripped his staff and rammed it into the ground. “Very well, stranger. Make yourself a part of me.” Suddenly, the man swooped down into the young boy, and the world became black…

And that was the best decision I ever made, Necrobutcher the Pagan decided. After that fateful day, he had traveled the world for thousands of years, never aging a by a moment, constantly expanding his knowledge and grasp of the world’s most powerful magics, living only to gain more power. Although he sometimes cast his thoughts back to his childhood, those were rare moments, and Necrobutcher the Pagan tended not to dwell on them. The young boy was now a powerful sorcerer, living to gain more power.

And it was that pursuit of power that had brought him into the Brotherhood of Doom. Although he had no particular quarrel with the side of Light, he found that his talents were more readily accepted within the realms of Darkness, and that there was much more potential for growth serving evil. Necrobutcher knew that despite his vast powers, he would require the blessings of whatever dark, vile gods existed to stand up to the forces of the Light. Yes, he could feel the eye of Odin watching him, constantly judging to determine whether he was worthy. Necrobutcher the Pagan was determined not to fail Odin on this night.

And so the sorcerer hobbled onward with his fellow Warriors of Darkness…

[Angel of Death]

"Damn I'm hungry... " a man with a giant sword said as he walked with the masses of the dark army. "Quiet!" A random soldier whispered to him. "You're gonna get us in trouble!"
Me? Trouble? the man thought to himself. "Shut up, and I won't kill you and your entire family. Got that?" The soldier realized who the man was, and quickly did what he was told. Why do they always stick me in the back with these brain dead morons? I'm the best swordsman they've ever had here. The Slayer, as he was known, looked out on the massive army assembled for the BoD, and looked at the soldiers standing next to him. They are all terrified, he thought. They fear the death that awaits as we battle those fools of the light. Death...... I welcome it.
"Where are they?" a little boy asks his mother. "Be patient, they'll be here soon. Just, get their gifts ready, okay?" The little boy ran into their tiny house, that somehow fits 8 people. He grabbed two gifts wrapped in cloth, which just happened to be two jewels he had found in the forest next to their house. They will love these! He thought to himself. He eagerly ran outside awaiting his two brothers arrival back from the military base of the BOL. He met his mother outside, placed the gifts on the ground, and received with great pleasure the kiss his mother gave him. His sisters also sat outside, on the porch of their house. "They are Here!!!" His mother said with great joy as two men came over the hill, with no weapons in hand. They began waving and shouting to their family, and ran as fast as they could towards the joy inhabited family, who also ran to greet the mens' open arms. The little boy fell behind everyone, and was soon out of breath.
He stopped and bent over only for a brief second, but when he looked up, he saw everone laying on the ground, not moving. "Mama!? Sisters!? Please stop!!!" He screamed running to them. when he got there, he saw all of them were covered in thick red blood, appearing to be stabbed. "Please! Get up!!!" He said, beginning to shed a single tear for his fallen family.
"They can't hear you boy. They're dead. All of 'em. I hate killing unarmed people, but I had to." The little boy looked up, only to see a man dressed from head to toe in black, with a dark robe on. "Hi. You must be...... Brad?" The little boy slightly nodded. "Okay, my work here's done. If you want to avenge their deaths, then you'll need this. Oh, and wipe the blood off soon, or it'll dry on and get all gross and stuff." He handed the blade to Brad, and ran off into the hills. Brad just stared at his mother's corpse. "Why...... Who....... ugh". He dropped down to his knees and just sat there. For a week, he watched his family further rot. He swore revenge. That day was the day he lost his name.... and gained a sword. For the next ten years, he became the most feared asassin the world had ever known. Those who knew his name whispered it in fear, and noone would ever challenge him. Until one day he got a letter, which asked him to join the Brotherhood of Darkness. They also enclosed a wad of gil of over 10 million. He got out of his chair, and left, hoping to find the man that killed his family.
He over looked the masses, hoping to see someone, anyone who looked like that man. He unsheathed his blade, and took a good look at it. You got me into all of this, he thought, staring angrily at the giant sword. "That's a marvelous sword! Where did you get it?" The soldier asked him again. "A place far away in a time long ago. That's not important though. Are you afraid?" Slayer asked him. The soldier looked up at the sky. "That obvious? Yeah. I don't wanna be here." The soldier asked again, looking forward. "Why the dark side, then? That sounds like something one of those light bringers would say." He said, sheathing his blade. "I hate god. I can't be one of them. What about you?" the soldier said, trying to keep up in the line. "Same here. God turned his back on me years ago. Now... time to stop talking. The commander is giving a speech.
Guide me blade.... let me destroy all those in my path.... for my family, and my father........

[Doomsayer]

High above the battlefield, a dark shape circled. At first glance, it would appear to be a large bird, possibly a giant eagle, from the remote mountain peaks in far away lands. As it neared the ground, however, one could see that it wasn't a large bird, but in fact, a small dragon.

Its scales were jet black and its eyes were red, which burned with such intensity that they could cause mortals to tremble underneath their gaze. The beast exuded an aura of pure evil, an aura that spoke to those who felt it, that said 'Be afraid. Your death draws nigh.' Yet despite its fearsome appearance, the dragon paled next to the man seated behind its scaley shoulders

He was tall, dressed in shiny black plate mail, with long, flowing black hair, and grey eyes that almost appeared to be windows into another dimension. The swords sheathed over his shoulders showed that he was a warrior, but what hung from his belt told otherwise. The collection of cloth dolls, twisted wooden carvings and the assortment of needles showed that he was a practicer of the magic of voodoo.

The dragon landed in a billow of dust, its sharp talons digging into the ground. No sooner had its rider dismounted before it leapt into the air once again, flying gracefully away to the fiery volcano peak which it roosted near.

The man approached his fellow Brothers of Doom, preparing himself for battle.

'Vaughn, the Acolyte of Chaos, has arrived,' he announced to the others, his voice husky and faint from its years of silence.

With that, he sat, cross-legged on the grass, meditating, drawing his energy for the fight to come.

[Gil-galad]

High atop the mountain peaks the ever stretched into the heaven Gil-galad, the ancient high-king of elves, gazed out from his porch down into the valley below. It was a dark night, the moon and stars were swallowed by a thick haze, war was approching.

He sighed and stepped back inside, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, it was late, and yet he was unable to fall asleep. He was on edge, for he knew what he must do. Ever since the Noldor left the shores of this earth he has dwelled in the heavenly mountains, but the forst still calls him home. He walked quickly to the storage and grabbed a supply pack, along with his legendary spear, Aeglos, and his shield.

He buckled on light armor, it was thin, but made from sheets of mythril, the hardest substance on the earth. Gil-galad preferred mobility to heavy defenses, and never wore heavy armor. He wore not a beautifully designed cloak, but one of a simple green with a black cape, as reminders of his ancient home.

He stepped onto a wonderfully crafted wooden elevator, that was powered by running water. His home on the mountainside was so far elevated it would be a far to great waste of time to walk ever stair to the bottom, but on the longest days of the year he'd wander down those quite steps in deep thought. The elevator came to a halt, and opened behind a small water fall that hid its entrance.

Gil-galad could sense that a comerade of his had come to this world, an angel, but he could not yet figure out who. The sounds of the forest had greeted him once again, and he felt at peace. This was his style, to be at peace before he ventured into the darkest places of the earth. Darkness was becoming ever more evident in this holy wood, he strayed into the grove where he had been born millions of years ago... but the trees were withered and decay, mangled not only by the power of time, but by the wickness and evil that now coarsed through the land.

It pained him not, but gave him motivation, a driving purpose to dispell the ever growing evil from the land, and destroy those who wish to defile its soil. Gil-galad saw a holy light coming from the battle field, he assumed it was the angle he had sensed back at his mountain hall. Now he snese not only a holy presence but the presence of a powerful evil, a power he knew belonged to the dark lord ToroMor and the dark side of the world. Even with millions of years of wisdom he could not even begin to imagine the outcome of this battle.

He approched a great plain, but the earth was not covered in tall grass, but hard gravel and stone. Meliegent, who must have been the angel he had sensed was waiting. Though he did not have wings, but he was in the form of a child of this earth, a human. But the holy power evidently flowed through his vains. He fortified his position, and held his ground, Gil-galad, final high-king of the elves had arrived. He stood, wating for the rest of the light warriors to come.

(yar, I had to wrap that up fast, I'm going out for dinner. Here's a neat little picture of Gil-galad: http://www.gwaddiction.com/izumi/ond/aeglos.htm )

The delicate aroma of seasoned stew wafted out of the cooking pot. Pietero unrolled his bed mat as he waited for the stew to finish. He had been relentlessly pursuing the black armored host on the command of the Lady of Fate, one of the seven high councilors of the peaks of the Lungonduo Mountains. She had promised him he would meet up with other fated warriors with which to defend humanity from the oncoming tide of darkness. He would fight to keep Lungonduo safe from harm and protect his love, the Lady of Fate, his Rosalyn.

Pietero approached Skyrunner, his Pegasus, to fetch his magic Locket. It was nearly Midnight and the Lady of Fate would soon contact him through his magical trinket. The Locket snapped open, earlier than he expected. The sound of battle echoed from within, and it was challenging to make out the Lady’s voice.

“Pietero!” she cried, “Listen well, for I am running out of time. The forces of Darkness have breached Lungonduo, and we will not hold out. Everyone is dead or dying. Carry out you mission, and do not return here, Pietero, I will always wait for you in the next world, I love--”
The sound of metal entering flesh and a spurt of blood cut her words short.
“Lady? Lady! ROSALYN!” Pietero roared in rage.

Pietero donned his shining plate mail armor, his billowing purple cloak, hefted his shield embezzled with his family’s personal crest, saddled Skyrunner, Hefted his lance and took to the sky. He vowed the Darkness would pay.

Bellow, quiet unnoticed by anyone, his stew boiled over.

[ToroMor]

And so, the long foreseen battle of Good against Evil started. At first glance, the small crowd of the light side, seemingly consisting of uncoordinated volunteers, seemed to be no match for the assembled massive forces of Darkness. However, the gods of chaos watching the clash knew that the warriors of order were especially dangerous when fighting in despair. And they apparently got support from one of the highest holy deities there ever was. Therefor, a mighty clash was to be expected and the earth would drink much blood that day. The dark gods smiled a cruel smile...

On the field of glory, the brave fighters of Light try to hold their position against the onslaught of the evil minions. Desperate screams are heard, the sound of metal meeting metal deafens the ears of the mortals. Unholy creatures are slain by hundreds and dozens of defending warriors spill their life in the dirt of the battleground. The battle waves forth and back. After being nearly wiped out by the first rampant attack of the black soldiers of death, the light side now builds a pocket of resistance, gathered around a mightful warrior lady. They seem to recover from the initial shock and gain new hope.

ToroMor, leader of the dark forces, watches the fight from some distance. His view fixes on the core of the resistance and deep under his helmet, the rudiment of a smile appears. “Soldier, hand me that battle axe!” he roars to one of his troopers. “Sir, yes sir!” the soldier replies in a mechanical manner. “For what are you waiting, soldier?” - “Sir, that axe is my only weapon. How am I to fulfill my duty without a weapon?”. The Dark Knight petrifies. For one or two endless seconds, time seems to stand still. The eyes of the soldier widen in fear as he senses the menace emerging from the tall black silhouette in front of him. Cold sweat pours from his forehead and suddenly he knows that this very day will be his last. The voice of the Dark Leader evokes pictures of death and damnation in the mind of the soldier as he carefully formulates: “You are not able to die without a weapon?”. The soldier bites his lip, he is about to faint. The awareness of destiny glistens in his eyes. “Dark lord, my life and axe I lay to your feet!” he croaks and hastily drops to his knees, presenting his axe. ToroMor takes the axe and beholds it. A fine piece of craftsmanship, double bladed and considerably heavy - that will do. With a slight nodding, he sends the soldier back into the battle and watches him dive into the centre of the opposing forces, bare handed and howling in berzerker rage. A soldier who won’t die as a coward.

The Lady of Fate, high councilor of the peaks of the Lungonduo Mountains, which now are in peril of being overrun by unholy cohorts, fights a hopeless fight. With her combatants she managed to break wave after rushing wave of dark minions. But even if one of those masters of swordsmanship equals twenty or thirty of their enemies, they are few in numbers and one after one they fall. Their only hope is to pray to the gods of light to send reinforcements or miracles and to survive long enough. The end comes suddenly and without warning. The lady just spiked a vampire bat from the back of a strongly pressed fellow warrior as the frontline abruptly gets shattered. A dark aura befalls her senses and makes her shiver. A dark giant comes into sight, swinging a two-handed axe and slaughtering everyone who dares to stand in his way. And his dark gaze is fixed on her - he is heading for her! He barely seems to notice the others. This must be the commander of the evil troops. Without any fear, she prepares to face him. An instant later, the two meet. The evil creature stops his rampage. His head is fully covered by a black helmet, his heavy armour shows the marks of battle and the shafts of arrows grotesquely protrude from it. The flow of time is slowed and instants expand to minutes. The dark foe slightly but explicitly bends his head, expressing his respect for the lady. In this moment she clearly knows that her life on this plane of existence will soon end. Then, one thought flashes through her mind: Pietero! For just one second, two conflicting intentions struggle in her heart. The next second, the pureness of her feelings prevails over her reason. In distress, she sends a message to her beloved …

ToroMor hits her with his battle axe. He noticed her indecision very well and immediately took advantage of it. One blow suffices. The head of the lady is cut off and falls to the ground, her corpse following soon after. Under his helmet, ToroMor furrows his brows. This was not the tough enemy he expected. Her hesitation was deadly and the Dark Knight surely is not the forgiving type of fighter. He takes the bleeding corpse of the former councilor and slightly lifts his visor. Then he drinks her blood in deep gulps. As he drops the empty body and looks around, his eyes glow in a dark red light and necromantic vibrations emanate from beneath his armature. His voice sounds unhuman and demoic. “Aaah - good drinking”. At this sight, the remainder of the light resistance tumbles and ToroMor again yells the warcry of the Brotherhood of Doom: “DARKNESS OVER ALL!”.

At this point in time, the victory of the evil force appeared inevitable. If only there wasn’t the god of light…

In a sudden cracking burst of light the first of the chosen defenders of light appears on the battlefield. ToroMor can feel the aura of divinity surrounding him. He looks like some sort of angel, certainly provided with numinous powers. Now the Dark Knight finally smiles. At last, there will be a real enemy. He perceives the arrival of a second strong foe, obviously an elder of the Noldor, perhaps a high lord or even a king. His smile broadens. Elven blood is so substantial. ToroMor indicates the position of these fresh warriors to the Warlords of Doom. Possibly more enemies will soon arrive and the dark warlords are eager for butchering. Without any further delay, ToroMor heads towards his chosen opponent - the one he estimates as the best fighter of the light. He sends out a wave of necromatically powered telepathic perception just to notice it being blocked by the aura of his opponent. But at least he is able to catch a name: Meliegent.

Thus, the decisive duels commenced. Meliegent and ToroMor stood face to face. And the Dark Leader again showed respect for his antagonist as his dark voice rumbled: “Hail Meliegen, warrior of light! It is an honor to meet you. Let us measure our strength against each other and may the better fighter win.” ToroMor carefully steps forward, slightly raising his axe. “I grant the first blow to you.”

…And the gods of chaos observed their black mirror with curiosity…


((ooc: I hope the tale telling parts are ok for everyone. I try to stick the postings together and give them a little epic touch, attempting to be neutral in these parts.))

Pietero banked Skyrunner sharply. Warriors of darkness were below him before him, a host of evil incarnate. Pietero knew he was a match for this fodder that dare profane the light. He had vowed that he would lay down his life to exterminate the evil that threatened this land. He hefted his lance and readied his shield for charge.

Pietero plunged through the cloud like a bot of lightning from God himself. His lance burst through the chest of an unsuspecting black clad soldier, ending his life in a fountain of blood. Undisturbed Pietero leapt from the saddle while drawing a blade of the purest Diamond from his belt. He had landed in the midst of the host, evidently a scout party at the head of the main force. The remaining members of the unit surrounded him, while he stood alert, waiting for them to make the first move.

The dark force, believing one man would be easy prey, pounced forward. It was the last mistake many of them would ever make. Faster than quicksilver, Pietero’s diamond blade flickered forward, disemboweling an unlucky warrior. A reverse stroke brought two more to their knees. A quick thrust behind him, followed by a grunt of pain, signaled another warrior’s defeat. Pietero stared impassively at the two survivors, who had faltered in the charge.

“Run while you still can!” Pietero bellowed.

The two warriors panicked. One ran towards Pietero and died on his blade. The other ran into the wilderness, to deliver a message to his superior of this unstoppable combat monster. Amid his slain enemies, Pietero roared his defiance to all things evil.

Elsewhere the lone warrior of evil made it back to his superior. He reported what he had seen.
“And you ran?” said Vaughn, in a tone that brooked no argument.
“Yes, but I-” the soldier began, shortly before Vaughn’s matched blades took his head from his shoulders.

Pietero saddled Skyrunner. These opponents were fodder, and no match for his blade. He would have to find worthy opponents elsewhere.

(Sorry for using someones name, but it is not really story crucial and they were the first evil name I came across that wasn't doing something)

[Angel of Death]

"They send us one warrior to fight? How pathetic. . . my blade needs the blood of thousands."

Slayer looked at the warrior of light, who now stood no more than 500 yards from him.

"Who is that?" He said to the soldier next to him.
"I don't know, but many of our soldiers are dying, and quick." The frightened soldier muttered. "You don't wish to join them? You know, the only reason we live is to die. Did they not teach you that in school?" Slayer said, hoping to inspire fear into the young man's heart.
". . . . . uhhhhh, no. Listen, sir, I have a family, and a home. I don't want to die!" The soldier said, now almost on the brink of tears.

"So you pledge no allegiance to the force of darkness?" The young soldier stared at Slayer as he uttered those cruel words. "Then you shall find your family in Heaven. You'll all die." With that, Slayer took out his blade and cut the man in half, and the soldier fell to the ground. "I love genocide. I don't care if I have to kill my own soldiers to get what I want."

Slayer then proceeded to walk over to the warrior of the light. As he proceeded, the eyes of thousands stared at him, and he returned every one of them, with a subtle smile.

"What are you staring at? I pledge no allegiance to anyone. I'm only here to destroy the liars of this world. Those fools who tell you to praise God, and do what is right. If you need me to explain this further, stand back and allow me to kill the fool of the light."

He stopped. He turned back to see thousands of eyes still staring, then slowly stepping back.
He turned back around, chuckling, to see the warrior of the light still killing everyone that crossed their path.

"Do you wish to die?" He yelled at the warrior.
"If you crave death, then fight me. If you want to live a live as a coward, then turn right around, and run."

And he proceeded on to the fight. . . .