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re: Rumble in the Shiverpeaks (GW2 RP)

It was another unusually foul-weathered day. It was only an hour or so before dusk in the southern Shiverpeaks mountain range, the phenomenon seemingly getting worse as time went on. High winds and a veil of snow came from the sky so thick that vision beyond more than ten yards was immensely difficult. However, In defiance of these conditions, a lone creature charged through the snow on all-fours.

Up snowy hillsides, down rocky precipices, across icy streams it moved forward. The howling onslaught of fierce winds and thick snowfall died down as the creature came to a halt on a high cliff top overlooking an old abandoned norn lodge, not unlike the great spirit halls in the norn city of Hoelbrak. It was still quite a distance away. The creature pushed off its front paws and now came to a standing posture like a man. Its front paws now appeared to actually be clawed hands, its arms, body and legs covered in a leather jerkin as though it were a person.

The clouds above parted enough to allow the dimmed light of the sun to filter through and illuminate its features with greater clarity. The creatures face was lion-like in appearance and sported a long mane of unkempt hair that grew separately from it's normal fur which stretched across it's hunched posture and down to it's back. From its muzzle protruded large sharp fangs. What fur was visible through its apparel was an oaken brown shade, rich in texture with an arrayed pattern of black fur across the top of it's arms, legs, back, neck and face. Across its back sat a longbow and quiver of arrows strapped securely, with the scabbard of a great blade next to them. Its feet sported long razor-sharp claws, one coming out the back of its ankle like that of a savage beast. It was a member of the race known as charr, a militant society of cat-like creatures from the land formerly known as Ascalon. The charr's amber-yellow feline eyes scanned the ruined lodge below, fixing on a fallen off ornament in the shape of an owl. It had found what it was looking for. The parting in the clouds soon covered up and the light faded, the gloomy atmosphere resumed. The charr made way for the Owl lodge, leaping back into all fours and loped downwards along a cliff face to its destination.

By the time the charr finally arrived at the abandoned Owl Shrine, it was already past dusk. The clouds had cleared away and the moon shone radiantly, brightening up the surrounding landscape and bringing out the natural beauty of the snow-covered landscape in dazzling display. From within the darkened hall of the Owl Shrine a faint flicker of a campfire shone. The charr lowered his posture into a cat-like stalk and slunk towards the lodge. Upon closer look, the charr noticed the shape of a tall figure amongst the semi moonlit-interior of the lodge. Its great wooden beams spanning up over fifty feet tall in support of what was once a majestic hall in dedication to a norn spirit totem animal. Multiple holes in the ceiling allowed beams of moonlight to penetrate the darkness within, but not enough to dissipate the surrounding shadows. A silhouetted figure stood by the campfire, peering down at some scraps of parchment it held. The charr stalked closer while it kept a low profile. Having come upon a fallen support beam, the charr gauged the distance to the figure while carefully considered the timing, unable to clearly see its target as it paced between some bookshelves. It watched the silhouette, waiting for the opportune moment. The charr waited for several minutes…

At last! The person by the fire seemed to turn its back, this was the moment the charr waited for and took it. Leaping from the wooden beam it charged forward swiftly and furiously. The figure by the fire turned their head, hearing something, but by this time it was too late, the charr leapt at the person, tackling them. Pushing down it's victim into the floor with one hand on a shoulder, the charr's other hand quickly unsheathed a dagger strapped to its thigh, raised it high ready to make the plunge into its struggling targets neck. The charr froze in hesitation when it noticed for the first time this wasn't the person it was after.

The charr, completely furious opened it's mouth.

He spoke.

(To be continued...)


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re: Rumble in the Shiverpeaks (GW2 RP)

"Who in Pyre's name are you?!" the charr exclaimed exasperated. In his clutches at his mercy turned out to be a norn female clad in heavy armor. Seeing this moment of hesitation the norn woman angrily dug her fingers into the charrs scruff and pulled him down and her head up simultaneously for one wallop of a headbutt. Crack! The charr leapt on to his hind legs and staggered backwards clutching his skull, a trickle of blood flowed from under his hand down between his eyes. The norn woman muttered to herself about making a mental note on how hard charr heads were.

"Bear's breath! Why..." the norn woman uttered in pain.

"You aren't who I'm looking for!" the charr snarled.

She stared, breathing heavily, beyond livid. “ Finish what you started, charr. Unless you fear defeat.”

"I have no time for this nonsense!" the charr said.

“Nonsense? You attack me and expect to walk away? I said finish what you’ve started!” She hovered a hand over her sword hilt as she clenched her teeth, the muscles in her jaw bulged in response, which gave her angular facial features a puffed out look.

“Clearly you Norn have terrible hearing, because I already said I've no time for this!" the charr yelled whilst his body twisted around to take off in the opposite direction on all fours.

The norn woman sighed. She stood up while scraping up a shred of Owl’s ancient manuscript from the snow, she leveled the gaze of her icy-blue eyes at the back of the charr. “Then I’ll make you have time.”

The norn woman, with a sure foot, charged after the charr with long powerful strides. Her raven-black hair trailed behind her in an almost vertical line due to the speed of her sprint. While passing under beams of moonlight through the holes in the ceiling, it became evident that streaks of red flowed through her dark tresses. She closed in on the charr in short order, before he could make it to the exit of the ruined building they were in. She was finally within grasp of the charr...

Or rather, of his tail. She reached out and wrung it hard with a grip of iron, pulling back, and skidded across the snow momentarily. The charr shrieked in surprise, giving the most blood curdling snarl of rage any living being has ever heard or should have ever heard. The charr stopped dead in his tracks, rapidly came about with his hands splayed open, claws fully brandished, and swiped at her viciously in several quick successions. The norn woman angled her armor plates to deflect the slashing claws of the charr, an occasional spark or two flew from his sharp claws glancing over the steel-plates of her armor. The charr's vitriol laden voice declared “No one grabs a charr by the tail!”

The norn woman grinned wide and beamed, saying "Now that's the spirit, charr!", reveling in his change of heart. The charr and norn woman scuffled for several minutes. The blows they dealt to one another were only few and far between, though, as the charr was agile and mobile. At one point he leapt to one of the lodges wooden beams, digging claws into the wood, and attaching to it sideways for a moment before launching at her from above. Even with all this effort, he only managed to shear off a shoulder plate on her armor, but he didn't stop there. He used other elements of the broken building to try and find an opening in her defense. The norn woman, however, was stalwart and more rigid in her movement, deflecting most of his strikes with her armor and carefully avoiding unnecessary openings, making feints and landing a punch when a moment showed itself opportune.

Unfortunately for the norn woman, her fun was about to end as a norn man came running into the lodge and towards the wrestling opponents. By the ragged furs he wore and the icy runes painted across his face and arms, it was easy to see that he was part of a cult of norn who call themselves the Sons of Svanir, devotees of the elder dragon of ice, Jormag. He declared in a loud voice “Wretched interlopers, we have claimed this land for the great and mighty Jormag! You are trespassing here, this is your only chance to leave with your limbs intact!”

Much to the chagrin of the norn man, the dueling pair utterly ignored him and continued to scuffle. He cleared his throat and repeated his threatening announcement.

Now the norn man, with a bruised ego at being ignored, stomped over to the fighting pair. They at this moment were in a deadlock, with each other's hands clasped together, pushing against one another, both trying to gain the upper hand over the other. As the norn man approached, he filled his lungs with air and decided to change up his message, he came into reaching distance of them, and announced “In the name of the all-powerful and great Jormag, you will be-”

“SHUT UP!” both the norn and charr, simultaneously pivoted their heads and shouted, followed by them both throwing a fist squarely into the norn mans face. He went flying at least several yards whilst the norn woman and charr resumed their brawl.

A moment or so passed before the Son of Svanir overcame the disorientation induced by a double-punch to the face. He sat up and cried out in the loudest voice he could “SONS OF SVANIR, ATTACK!”

What followed caused the ground to subtly, but noticeably, shake from the distant roar of battle cries that drew closer from what sounded like well over a dozen or so men.

Both the norn woman and charr suddenly stared at each other with widening eyes. The gravity of the situation sunk in and they released each other. They peered at the gaping maw of the lodge’s front entrance and began to see large figures swarming in, their battle cries growing louder by the second. The nearby herald of the Sons jumped to his feet and reached for the axe at his side, but suddenly stopped short as he felt something impact his chest with force. He looked down to see an arrow protruding from his chest, deep into his heart. He lurched forward a few steps, then fell over. The norn woman looked over at the charr to see a longbow poised and aimed in the direction of the dead herald. He snorted in contempt, and then glanced over at the norn woman.

She spoke up. “We have a bit of trouble coming.” The Svanir warriors bore down on their position. “What do you say to a temporary truce, charr?” The charr clearly appeared to be in an internal struggle between his pride and sense of self-preservation. He hesitantly, and begrudgingly, agreed with a nod. The norn stated with a sidelong glance “You can call me Tynne. What do I call you?”

“Just call me Hewer.”

The Svanir were upon them.

(To be continued...)


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Darius Tarminthor
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re: Rumble in the Shiverpeaks (GW2 RP)

The exterior of the great Owl lodge lay cold and quiet, only the brisk mountain winds broke ths silence. The night sky became largely cloudy, it gradually shifted across the the ebon void above, which mostly obscured the moon. Mobile beams of moonlight reaching from above seemed to travel across the landscape in vertical pillars where the clouds were parted, almost as if the moon were searching for something below. Around the large hole of what once used to be a doorway for a massive pair of doors, lay scattered about were at least half a dozen or more corpses of Sons of Svanir. Arrows extended from half the bodies in various locations from the heart, neck or legs. The rest whom faced up had visible sword slashes or stab wounds apparent in vital places. Blood had stained the snow where they had fallen.

"You couldn't have left at least one alive so I could question him?" Tynne said critically at Hewer.

Hewer snorts with vague amusement and a faint toothy grin "Hah. If they'd try harder to live that could've been possible. What could you possibly want to ask these thugs for?"

Tynne replied in an almost reproving manner, "They have something I want, remember? The tome. It was created before the great Cataclysm, its secrets locked with a powerful magic. It used to be in the Durmond Priory stronghold, close to being opened, until somebody stole it." She crossed her arms. "And that's why I'm here."

"I was tracking a quarry that I learned was dealing with norn artifacts about your Owl. But thanks to you and then those bloody Svanir the trail is cold now, good burning job, norn, all of you." Hewer says.

Hewer surveyed the handiwork he and Tynne had made, a dour and somewhat disgruntled expression hung on his features. Hewer turned to Tynne pointedly. "I thought your kind were supposed to be great warriors. This was too easy" He snorted in contempt, and kicked over a corpse onto it's front.

"I'm surprised the Sons weren't more of a challenge for you, seeing as you had so much trouble with me." Tynne said with a glint in her eye.

Hewer released a quick low grunting growl, stomped up to Tynne, almost in her face by a couple of feet, with macho bravado in defense of his pride and said "If I were trying to seriously kill you back there, I would have had you dead. I only wanted to repay you for the humiliation."

The two stared at each other for only moments, but it felt like an eternity. Hewer's gaze shifted past Tynne’s shoulder. In an instant, he backhanded the side of her face, which sent her falling to the ground. Her hand reached for her sword hilt mid fall, grasping it as soon as she the ground. Her eyes, locked on her sword, shifted when she heard Hewer howl in pain; her head shot up rapidly to see a vertical spray of blood erupt from his right shoulder. Specks of blood splattered across the left side of her face from top to bottom. She immediately noticed a throwing axe embedded in the trunk of a tree behind Hewer and she turned to look behind her, catching a glimpse of a Son of Svanir. He began to flee from his hiding place behind a large outcropping of rock a little ways behind. Tynne ripped her sword from its sheath and dashed in pursuit of the Svanir. She would like to have a few 'words' with him.

The Son of Svanir dashed through a narrow rocky crevice away from the lodge. He heaved great loud breaths of desperation as he ran for his life, his large feet kicking up clouds of snow. He ran through a narrow pathway that snaked through the side of a mountain, and came to an asymmetrical fork in the pathway. He pivoted his head between the two options rapidly over and over trying to remember the right way. Having decided the path to the right was the correct one he pushed off to move, when a bright blinding flash of light appeared behind him and suddenly Tynne was there. She bashed him from behind with her shield, and he fell forward but landed on his hands and pushed himself back up. The Son of Svanir unhooked a battle axe from his side, turned around and swung it with both hands at Tynne. Naturally, she blocked it, but it became embedded in the wooden frame of the shield. The Son of Svanir took advantage of the situation and wrenched her arm sideways, pulled with great force, and sent the shield flying far off to the side, axe included. He pulled out a large knife from his belt and started brazenly swinging forward like a madman. Gripping her sword with both hands Tynne parried the swing, pushed against the knife with her sword and threw his arm back and disarmed him. With intent to follow through with moving her sword to point directly at him, she began the motion of swinging her sword back towards him, but with an alarming anticipation, he ducked low beneath her sword and charged forward with a tackle into her torso. Both his arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her up ramming her back into the rock wall. With the wind knocked out of her, Tynne slouched against the wall and her sword slipped into the snow. The Son of Svanir took this opportunity to sprint away, but she began to recover. The Son of Svanir unfurled a pair of bolas attached by a rope, whirled it above his head and tossed it in short order at Tynne. Still with half the wind knocked out of her, Tynne tried to dodge but failed, and fell. The Son of Svanir didn't wait to see what she would do next and tore down the right pathway in a mad dash for freedom.

The Son of Svanir, positively ecstatic that his plan worked and freedom assured, uttered out loud to somewhere behind him "Idiot female!". He laughed boastfully as he bound around a corner, only to be greeted by a dark-furred feline fist to the face. The Son of Svanir crashed to the snowy ground with a resounding thud. Hewer's clawed foot came down on his throat, and the norn gasped for air. The Son of Svanir struggled to turn his head against the increasing weight of Hewer's foot to peer down the passageway with a fleeting hope of help from his kinsmen. His head was gradually pushed down into a mound of snow, and saw only emptiness and hopelessness where his vision was not obscured by snow it. The despairing emotions escalated when Tynne came into view. He gurgled out with what little breath he had, "Jormag come to my salvation!". But no answer came. At last the Son of Svanir gave up the struggle and surrendered with the last, little breath he could muster. “St-stop! I'll talk!” The clawed feline foot relaxed in momentary contemplation, much to the displeasure of its victim still waiting. Then the foot lifted off as the Son of Svanir violently sucked in air with a gasp almost loud enough to cause an avalanche. He pushed himself up with his hands only to have the foot halt his rising, and was left leaning back on his forearms and staring at the foots owner. The sky above was overcast with clouds, causing the tight space they were in to be very dark. Only the snow and a nearby beam of moonlight that shone through a part in the clouds provided any illumination. The charr's amber-yellow eyes partially reflected what little light was available. They eerily seemed to almost glow as they narrowed threateningly. Hewer gazed balefully at the male norn, and turned his head towards Tynne. “Speak”.

Small slivers of blue flame slithered from Tynne’s fingertips as she lifted her hand and began to write in the air. “I’m looking for an ancient tome. Legend says Owl was the last spirit who had knowledge of it.” She drew a rectangle, the body of the book, and then a circle inside of it. “It is a special tome,” she said as she continued to recreate it’s likeness in blue fire. “The markings on the cover are similar to Norn ancient script, but also uniquely Orrian.” Her hand dropped after adding a few dashes, and the flames faded. She looked at the charr, her golden eyes flash a soft smile. “It’s a relic lost in time, and a great tragedy if it would become lost again.” Tynne turned to the Svanir on the ground. A flick of the wrist brought a burst of blue fire exploding just beside his head. She knelt beside him, tapping his forehead with a finger. “However, I think you, once-norn, know where it is.”

The Svanir managed a sneer, but Tynne saw a streak of terror flash across his face. “We have taken many things from your gods over the years. How would I know the location of a useless book?” Tynne flicked a glance at Hewer. “Do you mind refreshing his memory for me?” The charr leaned in on the Svanir with his weight, clutching the claws on his foot to dig into the norn’s chest gradually.

His eyes bulged as icy skin began to break. “Gah! Alright! I don’t know anything abour your wretched tome, but we pile all of the weaker races’ filth at our stronghold North East of here. Even were given a few books and old writings by something calling itself “Traskylle” –

"What!” The Charr demanded. “Where is that son of a skritt? Is he still with you?" His tone of voice grew menacing and his eyes narrow dangerously, clenching his claws into the Svanir's chest again.

“I-I – Yes!” His breath came in panic-stricken bursts. “Yes! H-he’s still there! Last I heard he was leaving Tomorrow. I-I’d hurry if I were you.”

"Thank you, you've been most cooperative." Hewer said. His tone of voice then took a chillingly grave turn. "Now you will die the coward’s death you've earned."

The Svanir norn’s face waxed with horror, sputtering sounds but unable to form any words in a panic. Before Hewer made a move, however, a powerful gust of wind roared loudly through the narrow and shallow canyon. Hewer turned to look in the direction it gushed from, blocking his eyes and steadying his feet against the powerful gale. It sounded as if some great creature was approaching, and the Son of Svanir stared in longing hope. "Jormag has sent help! He is mighty and will destroy you fools!" His bulging eyes and icy grin faced the wind. A moment passed, and the strong gust faded into a whisper. A dead silence hung in the air. The slow, creaking sound of a tightly strung bowstring being pulled back echoed through the rocky crevice. The Son of Svanir flung his head upwards at Hewer to see his impending doom.

The charr, in the wide eyes of the Svanir, had transformed into a looming, black shadow with yellow eyes that pierced the darkness, a grim reaper with a bow and not a single ounce of mercy in his bones. He screamed. "No! Wait! I told you everything! How could-" an arrow to the throat ended the sentence.

The charr, who still maintained the dark image in the Svanir's fading eyes, grunted with contempt. "Never said I would spare you."

Hewer's victim slumped lifelessly back into snow as the crevice became quiet again. In the background only the low howl of wintery wind that passed through denoted the cold, grave atmosphere of what just transpired. The moment lingered for only a few seconds as Tynne scanned the body.

“I wonder if Jormag weeps for his children.” She sighed, and slid his empty eyes closed. “So, charr. It seems what you and I seek may be in the same place. It would be wise if we went together.”

"Hmph. It seems you've a head on your shoulders afterall, norn. Maybe you're an exception to the muscleheaded attack-an-army-by-oneself nature of your race." Hewer said with the tone of an awkwardly backhanded compliment, whether he meant to or not.

“And you prove no exception to yours. As such, when this is all over, I would like to continue our fight.” She stood, a hint of a smile on her lips, then faced the direction the Svanir had indicated. “But now, how about we crush some Svanir skulls?”

(To be continued...)


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re: Rumble in the Shiverpeaks (GW2 RP)

Water



Meanwhile not far away, a young slip of a girl walked barefoot on a wild mountain trail beaten down by the paw and hooves of feral beasts thirsty for water. Water, she must have water. She licked her parched lips and turned her face to the sky, eyes closed, drinking the wash that refused to clean the smears that lingered constantly on her face. The girl's mind was lost to the swaying trees, pattering of rain, and the wild grasses billowing like the waves of the sea that surrounded her mind just beyond the light of a cold sun shining down on her uncovered head on that still dry day on the snowy mountain side. Her inward thoughts moved in shimmery visions as the sound of her melodious intonations broke from cracked dry lips. The sound of her voice seemed to her to slipped away following the imaginary whisper of the stormy winds that blew through her delirium. The water isn't far away now, just lift your head and taste it. Drink it in she thought, but the brisk mountain air gave her no comfort in even the hint of dew.


"Low the mountain quakes its hush,
Kept from eyes who linger.
All is well beneath the brush,
Curls the calling finger.


Joranii go and fetch it now,
And bring its secrets hither.
Escape the terrors of the curse,
That's hidden in the heather.


The swirl... of lines...."


The girl's feet could carry her no further. Dehydration took its toll, and the girl slipped off the path and rolled down the hill, landing cradled within the shadows of a knoll.


Last edited by B00TS on Oct. 13th, 2012 11:45 am; edited 1 time in total


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re: Rumble in the Shiverpeaks (GW2 RP)

The merciful pounding inside Joranii's head , a token from the sling of a hammer, granted the ailing girl with a glimpse of clarity. Shivering, Joranii's eyes fluttered open to view vast blue-white crystals that glistened in the dim light. And with a shaky hand, she began scooping snow to her lips. Death would have to wait its turn she thought; because this time her mission would continue. She would live, and her reason for traveling through the mountains would drive her on . She cut leather patches and strips from the hem of her long coat, and stuffing them with tree moss, she fashioned a rough pair of shoes. She needed boots badly. That scrape with the Dredge cost all her gear and almost her life, she would need all of her wits to survive the wilds now; she would need fire, food, a way to carry water, and of course...boots. She was about to tackle the task of sorting out the buildings of a fire when a distant sound of snow crunching paws caught her ear and she heard the voices of two travelers approaching. A smile of satisfaction grew as the glimmer of opportunities arose exponentially. Travelers meant food, canteens, fire, protection, and maybe even boots. She studied the pair's progressions, and as a Norn and Charr approached her position, she pressed to the frozen earth as if asleep.


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