Fantasia (IC)

Mila
Time of Day: Night
Weather: Heavy Rain and Cold (not frosty)
Prominent Characters Mentioned: Emeline, Dark King Howne, and The Witch.

The sky over the kingdom of Mila, and strangely only over the kingdom, was grey, and it rained as though the heavens were crying. The streets were a mixture of cobblestone and mud. Where there wasn’t cobble lining the path there was mud so deep and thick that it could suck a boot right off a man’s foot if he didn’t tread carefully. The city was quiet and empty. Every resident had gathered like a congregation within the embrace of the castle walls and gates. They stood around an obsidian platform that projected from the staircase which led up to the castle doors. Armored soldiers circled the platform to keep the onlookers at bay, and archers watched from their perches on the walls. On the platform was the Ivorene Empress. Her wrists were bound behind her back and she had been stripped naked in her humiliation. Her porcelain skin was smudged with dirt, bruises, and cuts that suggested a beating prior to her presentation; and even though she had no way to veil her nakedness, she didn’t try to. She stood before the people of Mila with her chin raised, lips straight, and eyes without a tear—despite her right eye being red and purple and nearly swollen shut. Her thick curly hair draped her thin shoulders and spiraled down to her small bottom and her pink nipples hardened against the cold.

The executioner to Emeline’s left resembled a devil compared to her divine beauty and innocence—the allure that emanated from her body from the goddess at her core. The hulking executioner was wearing a black hood that hid his frightening mug and was wielding an ax that had been taller than the little woman before him. The ax head was crudely crafted and cracked in places, but it would cut. It always did its job.

The king’s throne was moved outside before the castle doors, and it was there that he sat draining a golden chalice with precious stones of sapphire, rubies, and emeralds embedded into it. To his right upon another throne sat a woman that was a stranger to the very kingdom. Her black hair was twisted about a headdress of iron in her hair, and a necklace of small skulls adorned her throat, draping the swells of her bosom. A black gown gripped her body down to her hips and split at her thighs. Her gown was without sleeves, leaving her tattooed arms free. Her nails were dark, long and sharp and behind a shadow of what seemed like eyeshadow, but had actually been darkness were sickly-yellow eyes that unblinkingly watched Emeline from afar.

“Have we all gathered?” King Howne roared in exasperation, his voice loud enough to quiet the voices of the Milians.

His tanned cheeks swelled with gas before a heavy belch left his throat, and he rocked forward off his throne, rising to his monstrous 6’6” height. Feathers circled his head and shoulders as a blood-red cape dragged on the floor behind him as he walked down the stage. Wearing his black, heavy armor, he clanked down to the end of the platform carrying his wine cup and stopped at Emeline’s left. Thick, white feathered brows creased his forehead as his lips parted to reveal teeth clenched in a malicious grin. His red mane of thick hair sat back on his head without need of a headband as he finally snapped his head in the woman’s direction.

Holding out his chalice to her, he offered, “I did not finish my cup for I thought that you would like to have your last drink of wine.”

Emeline said nothing to the king and didn’t look his way.

“Huh,” King Howne laughed before he raised his cup and dumped the purple liquid over her head.

The wine rolled in streams down her face and chest and was washed away by the downpour. When the chalice was empty, he carelessly tossed it into the crowd where a group of thieves, beggars, and murders fought to the death over it.

Facing the Milians, the king announced, “I bring you your goddess!”

The crowd cheered as King Howne laughed, holding his hand out to her in presentation.

“Now are you convinced that she is mortal woman? She bleeds, and I’m sure she screams like one!”

The king grinned perversely at her, but again, received but her cold shoulder.

“If she was a goddess, then why doesn’t she save herself? Why not strike me down like you did. My. FATHER!” he screamed, his face suddenly contorted in rage.

No response and out of contempt, the back of his hand struck the queen’s jaw. She gasped in pain as her head snapped to the side. The corner of her mouth was tingling and stinging with pain as her legs crossed and she went falling upon the stone, cold ground. The king guffawed in his mirth and pointed down at the empress, “Your death shall be much worse than his! Get her on her feet!”

The executioner took Emeline’s slender arm into his massive hand and yanked her to her feet with ease. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as her red cheek started to swell. King Howne started back to his throne and waved his hand over his shoulder.

“Let us begin already,” he grumbled.

The executioner released the empress’s arm to rest his hand upon her shoulders and grip the back of her neck. He bent her down over a cutting stand, resting her neck within its circular crook. Grasping his ax with both hands, he lined its wicked edge with her neck.

“WAIT!” King Howne ordered. He sat upon his throne and held out his hand as he commanded, “I am not entirely heartless. I would like to know the queen’s last words.”

The executioner grunted in disappointment, having been too eager to use his ax, and rested his weapon upon his shoulder.

Emeline raised her head as good as she could to look upon the Milians that surrounded her and a soft, sympathetic smile curled her lips.

“I am sorry that I was not good enough a queen, and I am sorry that King Howne’s heart still aches for his father. A father should never be taken from his son, and I take responsibility for his death and the actions of my people. If I could have convinced my mother and father Queen Sybil and King Harlow to avoid the war, I would have, but I was too young to understand politics. I am at fault for overlooking the suffering the war has brought the people of Mila. I do not blame you for my death. I just want all of you to know that I forgive you and I hope that in your hearts you can do the same for me!” said the queen, and her words left a stunned and quiet people.

King Howne’s eyes were wide in shock and disturbance for he hadn’t been expecting…that. What sort of show was this? Was she trying to be a martyr? The dark king interrupted the silence with another round of his belly-aching laughter. The mysterious woman next to him raised her fingers to her dark-red lips and giggled.

“Turn her around, I want to see her face when her head is separated from her body!” he ordered.

The executioner snagged Emeline and turned her so that the crowd got to see only her pink, exposed womanhood. Beneath his mask, the executioner grinned at the sight and clapped his hand against her ass cheek, gripping it and leaving his red handprint. He lowered his ax from his shoulder and took up a position next to her head. As much as he didn’t believe that it would ever happen, he didn’t want to miss. What a lousy executioner he would be if he did.

Strategy

1. The king is well-guarded.
2. The executioner can be taken out by a skilled shot.
3. Everyone is allowed only one post per turn. A GM post will be posted to reset the turn.
4. The walls have enemy archers so be careful.
5. The platform is guarded by a line of soldiers.
6. The battle will commence with the killing shot from the archer.

Minions
The GM will send a certain amount of enemies your character’s way. Do not create your own enemies.
Ally/Enemy Soldiers 2 xp.
Ally/Enemy Archers 2 xp.
The Executioner 5 xp.

Reminder

Every character who joins this game will be given 5 stat points to distribute through the 5 attribute categories. All characters start at Level One, and as they earn experience, they have the ability to level up. Each time a character levels, the player will earn 5 stat. points to arrange how they like. A cleric can be customized to also pack whopping magic damage or to be as much as a tank as the knight. This game is your oyster.

Experience is awarded two ways: 1) In-game when bosses—main or minor—are defeated, and 2) by player word count. I reward literacy. The player and the GM will keep track of the experience points achieved. Every experience bar starts at 10 experience for level 1. As players level up, the experience bar will extend by 10. So for example, the experience bar of a level 2 character is 20. This means that a character must earn 20 points worth of experience in order to advance to level 3.

300 words = 1 experience point
500 words = 2 experience points
1,000 words = 3 experience points

You can keep track of your acquired experience by posting the points at the end of your post, or by writing it to your character’s character profile.

Jorn

A lot of planning had went into the rescue operation. Ivorene had needed to recruit the most skilled and highly professional individuals they could find. The commander had desired only a small band to quickly infiltrate the castle, rescue Emeline, and vanish. It wasn’t a mission to take the kingdom. There were fifty soldiers mixed into the crowd and they weren’t entirely a part of the Ivorene military. Some had been hired mercenaries. The mission had seemed simple at first. No matter what obstacles they faced, Jorn was gifted with improvising a new strategy if the situation called for one, but as soon as they entered the castle walls, no training on Fantasia could have prepared him for what he saw.

The knight was draped in a brown cloak that had darkened from the downpour. Beneath it, he wore his silver armor and his goddess shield at his back. He was shaking, and it wasn’t because of the cold and damp. His body was on fire, his blood surging through his veins, and his breath thin in his throat. His grey eyes were small and tense with the rage that was invading his conscious, threatening to send him into madness. His pants left his mouth on a white plume as he tried to control his breathing in order to remain calm. When Jorn had seen his older sister naked, bruised, and battered upon the platform, he had nearly blown his cover. He could barely maintain his composure as his thoughts screamed:

Take command from me! Someone! I am unfit to command! I am unfit!

His fists shook. He lowered his head and closed his eyes if only to preserve whatever sanity he had left. Any ally that was nearby and who knew of the kinship Jorn shared with Emeline would have been able to see his distress, and if it wasn’t eased, the operation would be for naught.

Where was the archer? Why hadn’t he struck already? Jorn’s thoughts were getting ahead of him. He was probably still scaling the walls and trying to find a position to take his shot.

Have we all gathered?

Jorn’s eyes slowly opened and returned to the stage. He examined King Howne closely not wanting to forget his dastardly face. It would have been impossible to with how enormous the man was with his premature white brows and red hair. When the king dumped his wine on Emeline, Jorn hissed and stormed toward the stage. He shoved Milians out of his way and jerked them behind him. It was then that King Howne threw his chalice and the glimmering object flew in Jorn’s direction. The knight’s eyes widened in startle and he saw out of his peripherals the greedy individuals rushing in to claim it. Suddenly, he had been caught up in the wild scramble for the cup. The knight was tackled to the ground as the cup clanged loudly upon the street. Beggars and vagrants screamed and snarled as they stabbed and clawed at one another, blood soaking the ground the longer the chalice remained where it laid. Jorn remained on the ground as his senses momentarily returned. He had almost blew the mission.

Slap! Jorn glanced up and saw Emeline collapsing upon the ground. A feral look gleamed in his eyes and his fingers raked back on the stony street to ball into fists.

The hell with the mission! he mentally screamed. He wanted nothing more than to see King Howne’s head on a pike! Jorn abruptly rose to his feet and immediately a vagrant lunged at him. Grasping fistfuls of the man’s collar, Jorn threw him to the floor and threw a gauntleted fist into the face of another man who tried to lunge at him next. The chalice was being kicked around in the struggle, its musical clang ringing in the peasants’ ears like the moans of a wanton whore.

Gillian had found the small band of warriors by fortune. He had been in disguise of course, using an easy glamor he had picked up for traveling in human cities with ease, when he had overheard two drunkards discussing how they were going to rescue the goddess with ease. They talked about how easy it would be as they were on a holy crusade. He had watched them all night and had followed them back to a small camp they had staggered back to.

He had approached the commander later and asked to join them, and although he had been upset about the way he had found out and chastised his men severely, he had been impressed with his skills and had agreed. In fact when he had shown him his Bow skills in full he based a full plan around him.

He had revealed his true nature to the commander, a warrior named Jorn, who knew exactly how good Elves were with the bow, especially those chosen to be Rangers and the guardians of the woods.

They had traveled for a time training together and making plans for how they would actually rescue the goddess. They had not known what the Dark King would do with her. Public execution, Lock her away in the deepest dungeon, Torture her, Parade her around as a living reminder of his superiority and maybe force her to do unspeakable acts.

Finally it was announced that she was to be publicly executed and a plan was quickly hashed out. A group was to infiltrate the crowd while He was to kill the executioner from afar. As soon as he did they would rush the platform and drag Emeline to safety.

Now here he was scaling the walls of the castle to find a good vantage point. He had noticed all the guards on the walls, but that had been on the inner walls. He was going to take his shot from a Tower outside of the inner walls. It had the height to see over them and provided him a good clear unobstructed view. He made the climb easily, the uneven stones given him plenty of hand and footholds. His grey cloak, brown clothing, and naturally mottled hair blended in perfectly with the stones and wood of the tower and in this sort of weather he was practically invisible. He scrambled onto the roof and looked towards the platform. The king was just moving back to his throne and he unslung his bow from his back and pulled an arrow from his quiver.

He knocked and drew back as the executioner spun Emeline around and then began to raise his axe. Breathing in and out he let fly and watched as the arrow sped true and sprouted from the mans neck. Smiling he began to pull more arrows from his quiver and taking quick aim he took out the bowman on the walls. It would make it easier for the ground troops if they did not have to worry about arrows coming at them from above.

Words 512 +2 exp
Executioner death ?
Enemy Archers ?

As Stephan fled his home town in search for more things to explore, to do, he stopped at an inn, where he heard of some sort of rescue mission. He was quite interested, and decided to look around for a group of armed individuals. The risk sounded interesting enough, and the payment was sure to be enough to live for some time. He overheard it was about Emeline, so he had no real reason to decline: all stars were alligned.

After skulking around, he found what he was looking for: a rather large group of individuals. He shimmied his way in to the commander, and enlisted. It took some time and persuasion to get into the team, but Stephan succeeded. The team was lacking a skilled cleric, and Stephan was just the person for that job.

After arriving to the town square, Stephan was told to stand by somewhere in the middle and act as a cleric and stay in the back of the battle, that's what he was hired for of course. He stood in litle disguise, his regular clothes: a leather vest, a nice silk robe and a hood. The nasty combination of rain and cold was not pleasant on Stephan or the people around him. The hood kept him somewhat safe from the rain, and the vest kept him as much warm as it could get. Stephan was watching it go down, slightly worried for Emeline. He waited for the shot from the archer, gripping on his mace, hidden on his side behind the robe.

After the shot was made and the executioner killed, Stephan cracked his knuckles and calmly walked up towards the stage to assist the incoming attackers, not drawing his weapons still and remaining hidden, the rain blurring him out slightly, helping Stephan blend with the crowd around him.

Words: 305 +1 xp

Green - Goren the merchant

"Fucking rain," he muttered through yellow teeth as he almost lost his footing for the hundredth time - the weight of the sack slung over his shoulder threatening to hurl him face first into the mud. Recovering from both the barely avoided fall and the muted snickers of the crowd, he frowned and continued to plod forward through the masses of townsfolk.

A public execution, especially one of a figure of authority, brings a few types of spectators. Some are there to witness and be part of a moment in history, to be able to say "I was there when...". Some are there for the rush that violence sates but that can usually not be found within the confines of civilized society. Some are there out of fear - wanting to be seen as supporters of the ones doing the execution, lest they end up targeted themselves.

Goren was there to make money.

He reached over his shoulder into the sack and withdrew a small parcel wrapped with paper. Wisps of steam could be seen rising from it, if one were looking. No one was, of course, as all eyes were focused on the platform some hundred feet away. Goren adopted a cheery smile, calling out "Warm bread! Cheese! Sweets! Only a few copper!"

He wandered through the throng of people and he scanned the crowd for potential customers, but no one seemed interested. He tried again - he yelled "Straight from the best bakeries Ivorene has to offer!" so convincingly that even he thought that they sounded delicious. They weren't.

There was a slight pull on his cloak and he looked down at a young boy whose parents weren't paying attention to him, as they were craning their necks to see a glimpse of Emeline. "You got coppers, boy?" he snarled.

The boy shook his head.

"Then beat it!" he yelled and he kicked mud at the boy, which almost sent Goren sprawling down to the ground again. "Bah!" he shouted. He decided that this section had no promise, and shuffled further into the square. Soon he found himself nearer to the action - a wall of well-armored, straight-backed guards separated the crowd from an open section housing two thrones. He avoiding looking towards the thrones as most commoners with a lick of sense did, since no good ever came of looking directly at anyone with power. Instead, he decided that guards were people too and must get hungry, and so Goren continued his shuffle towards them, smiling. His lips hurt from being curled up into such an unfamiliar configuration.

Reaching out a pastry to one of the guards, he slowly waved the food back and forth. "Eh?" He uttered, nodding to it, "You want to buy?"

He didn't even see the guard move, but a second later he found himself on his back - surrounded by the contents of his bag and the laughter of his many witnesses. Red with embarassment and fury, he flopped over and began to gather his goods at the guards' feet, mumbling curses under his breath. He was so flustered that he did not pick up his parcels as much as push them around. His bag was noticeably lighter afterwards, some of his more expensive packages having been lost forever to the mud.

Something was happening now. The monstrous son of a bitch was on the platform with Emeline and was laughing, holding something over her head. Everyone in the square was craning their necks, trying to see and hear what was being said, dreading what was going to happen next.

Stumbling away from the guards' reach into the crowd, he had what could only be described as a tantrum. He pulled a handful of inedible, mud-covered wares from his bag and threw them at random, splashing unimpressed spectators. He wandered through the crowd, stomping and swearing and throwing more and more of his livelihood into the mud at his feet in anger until finally his temper passed and he found himself empty-handed and broke.

This might have attracted the guards' attention, but at about the same time a fight erupted in front of the platform.

Disheartened, he struggled away, back through the crowd and towards one of the alleys leading away from the square. At the very least, it was unoccupied and it was out of the rain.

"Ten minutes", he thought to himself. He hoped he had timed it right.

If anyone decided at that point to pull their eyes from the platform or from the fight in the crowd or from the intimidating guards, and decided to look into darkened alleys instead, they might have seen something interesting. Goren's tight-lipped frown disappeared from this face and was replaced with a stoic, slightly concerned look. His hunched form straightened and he wiped off the remaining mud from his hands. Indeed, his entire bearing was such that it had not the slightest resemblance of the man who had been standing there moments before. He shed his cloak along with the persona of Goren, discarding both in the mud of the alley. Finally, Connell pulled on a pair of gloves and peered out into the square.

Howne said something that couldn't quite be heard from the alley, and the crowd erupted in a cheer.

On either side of the alley's mouth there barrels and crates someone had left, having been stored there when the square was cleared for the execution. Connell pulled a larger package from the bottom of the bag and secured it to a crate on one side of the alley. Steam rose from the bag with a vengeance and he could feel the heat even through this gloves. A cord ran from the package and he unwound it so that it led a distance down the alley away from the square. He repeated the process on the other side.

He tossed the empty bag onto one of the barrels and gracefully leapt up on the other to get a better vantage point.

Emeline was now addressing the crowd. He couldn't hear her well, but he could see that a deep silence had descended on the square. He could almost hear his heart beating. Then Howne's laugh pierced the silence, and he knew things were forever going to change in just a few minutes.

"Five minutes", he hoped. Things were never exact when you dealt with explosives.

It had been a long journey back to Milia, with the goddess´ slaves in hot pursuit. But Loia had a way of making things too hot for anyone, and with some basic cunning and her abilities, she had eluded her pursuers. As a result, she now stood among the crowd, wrapped in her cloak, close to the platform on which Emeline was to be executed.

Though she did not particularly relish the idea of seeing the woman murdered, Loia would be happy to see the concept of divinity cleanly wiped off from the world.

The girl had killed so many people and in such a horrible way, and left so many without a home, just for this moment. Just this one moment that would justify everything she had done. Though Loia did not care much about atonement, she did care that the suffering she had inflicted should serve a purpose, and freeing the people from slavery to the goddess was as good a purpose as she thought one could find. Gods were tyrants, and nothing more. Perhaps Howne was worse than Emeline, and Loia would not disagree with that opinion, but there was something intrinsically evil in the idea that human beings should live under the shadow of something like a goddess. And what was a goddess, anyway?

Hearing the pitiful appeals of Emeline only hardened Loia´s heart to her plight. Her big, brown eyes, usually neutral like an owl´s, glared intensely at Emeline.

The girl was not particularly tall. Perhaps she was even a bit shorter than the average. She wore a cloak in black leather, clearly new, that replaced the tattered remains of the one she lost on her flight from Fantasia. Not wishing to draw attention like the stupid merchant throwing a tantrum, her cloak was closed, to hide her scandalous body and clothing, and the hood hid her pale features. From a distance, one might take her from a minor noble, given that she seemed well dressed yet could be found in the company of the commoners. These two assumptions were wrong: she preferred the company of commoners, if any at all, and she was higher in the hierarchy than many suspected.

One might have been surprised to see the hatred in her eyes as she watched Emeline with full attention. If that one could read her thoughts, though, it would have been quite revealing.

Gods were supposed to be all-powerful, protectors of their lessers, but here Emeline was, about to die. Where was her power? Where was her divinity? Where could one see the justification for all the thousands that grovelled at the woman´s feet?

At best, gods were nothing but impostors. Mortal beings that had somehow placed themselves above everyone else, demanding their adoration while doing nothing to fulfil the duties they were supposed to attend to. At worst, they were truly divine creatures that cared nothing for the suffering of all those they had created, and then abandoned to a world of unending hardship. Loia did not hate Emeline personally, but she did despise everything she represented. And while Howne was no doubt worse as an individual, at least he was a human being, imperfect as any other. And with Emeline gone, the world would change. For better or for worse, that would be up to the people. And that was fine by Loia. Humans would have the autonomy they should. Religion would not hold them back anymore. Perhaps there would be chaos, when those with reckless ambition raced to use the situation for their own good, but what about those would find new opportunities for everyone? A goddess´ death would break many taboos.

But Loia was not doing this for her own benefit. In fact, she had not really made plans for what she would do once the goddess was dead. She may continue serving her king, or perhaps she would fade off into obscurity? The young woman had never wanted anything more than to enjoy her family´s vast library. The concerted marriage her parents had intended for her was terminated thanks to Howne´s intervention, and now? Who could possibly force her to do anything against her own will? It was a strange feeling indeed, that she should have freedom in the palm of her hand yet not know what to do with it. All she knew was she wanted it to arrive. The Black Ember would be extinguished, and Loia Junse could be reborn into... something else.

The girl felt a great impatience and her body started to burn with it, figuratively. The sooner the goddess was dead, the better. Why did the king have to make such a grand spectacle out of this?

Someone bumped into her from the left, against her leg.

The fight for the chalice had somehow pushed it a short distance from where it had originally landed. A clumsy commoner must have kicked it her way during the brawl, and though it had landed a couple feet away, the whirling melee took up enough space to get her involved. An old man in rags, almost completely bald, with a knife in his hands and the sort of insanity in his eyes that only greed and a very base life could inspire looked up at her from the ground. Then, another man, taller, stronger and marginally better dressed, stabbed the fallen one in the base of the neck, on his back, and quickly stepped away from the melee. As he did, he lost his knife, tripped, and grabbed onto Loia all at the same time. The man held onto Loia as he regained his footing, pulling at the cloak´s fasteners and somehow opening it. Though bothersome, Loia did not care much for all of this and expected the man to simply walk away. She did notice that he had emerged victorious from the brawl, with the chalice in his other hand and his opponents mostly exhausted, bleeding, or unwilling to enter a contest of strength with him. They glared at him, and he smirked back at them, before looking at where his free hand was. His fingers, dirty with grime and the blood of others, rested on Loia´s rather comfortable chest. The girl could see the way he then glanced at the chalice, from there to her pretty face, then to her sizeable breasts, to her flesh visible between her thigh-highs and her leotard, and back to her face. She could guess his intentions, and began speaking just as the man formed the thought.

“Do not...”

“Well, say, I think you and me could have some fun, and I could compensate you nicely for it!” He grunted.

Loia, irritated beyond measure by the interruption, responded by raising her arm and gently pushing his off, turning her attention back to Emeline´s bruised face. The man was clearly not impressed by her gesture and reached for her, his fingers spreading and enveloping her breast from below as he opened his mouth to try and convince her into acceding to his wishes.

Her eyes glared at him with an intensity and contempt that no one would have ever expected to find on a visage like hers. Though impressive, that gesture did not equal the next. She snapped her fingers with the hand she had used to push the man´s hand off. There was a spark and a flame for not even a full second, but that was more than enough for anyone who lived in Milia. The man blanched, his strong limbs going limp. He moved almost like a fish spasming after being dragged out of the water. Knowing she would have to do nothing else to be left alone, Loia´s glared turned back to Emeline.

Die already, the girl wished with all her being, all her resentment toward the goddess almost bursting out of her chest, relighted by what by most accounts would have been nothing but a minor incident...

---------------------

Mila
Time of Day: Night
Weather: Heavy Rain and Cold (not frosty)
Prominent Characters Mentioned: Emeline, Dark King Howne, and The Witch.
Player Characters Mentioned: Jorn, Mae, Stephan, Connell (indirectly), and Gillian.

This part of the plan? Or did you really want that cup?

Jorn felt a back against his shield and had recognized the voice that had passed over his shoulder. It was that smart-ass mercenary he had hired and she was proving her worth by watching his back. Trouble seemed to follow the cup wherever it had been kicked next, and despite the few bodies lying on the floor from where he and the merc had laid out some ruffians, the crowd had settled back into audience mode.

“Thanks,” said Jorn to Mae as his eyes moved from the crowd to the massive ax hovering over his sister’s neck. The general’s face paled, he felt his heart sink into what seemed like a pool of frigid water. “N-”

What would have been a terrified cry was silenced with the whistle of an arrow. The executioner felt a sharp sting in his throat and took two startled steps backwards. Blood welled in his mouth and suddenly his black hood felt like it was suffocating him. The ax struck the stone platform, another triangular chip of steel popping free from its serrated edge. His grubby hands clawed at his neck as he gurgled and sputtered on the hot essence that soaked into his hood. The executioner staggered further backwards until his back met the air and he landed on the muddy earth with a thud.

King Howne’s eyes were livid as he and the witch rose from their thrones. He then smirked when he realized who it could have possibly been.

“Guards, Ivorene has come! Do not let them near their queen! Kill every single one of them. Let there be no survivors and let them not escape!”

KABOOM!

The king’s eyes widened when he saw three of his guardsmen thrown into the air. Smoke bombs erupted about the crowd, causing the peasants to scatter like mice. They ran to and fro and those who remained were being swiftly approached by guards with long swords. The first guard swung at Mae in a downward arch, attempting to slice her down the middle, and the second guard followed with a thrust for her abdomen.

From what Gillian could see, there were archers running aimlessly on the walls trying to find the sniper that had executed the executioner. He managed to nail two, sending them spilling lifelessly over the walls before two other archers were able to pinpoint his location. Alerting the other archers, arrows were soon peppering the tower and if Gillian wasn’t careful, that tower could be his gravesite.

Stephan would feel the ominous chill of dark magic being whispered on the wind. The witch’s dark lips were at work, whispering a spell that had been too wicked for the ears of the living. The language hadn’t been of this world and the words traveled across the platform to pour into the executioner’s corpse. The executioner convulsed and his dirty nails raked back through the sticky mud. The hulking man slowly sat up and yanked the arrow from his throat. A low, gurgling growl left his hood, bubbling with dark blood that began to stream down his neck. Stephan would see the undead giant sluggishly rise to his feet and heavily stomp over to the platform to reach for his crude ax.

Emeline remained where she was wiggling and bucking, trying to get her knees upon the platform so that she could pull her head free of the stock. Jorn had come to save her, she knew it. As much as she hated the idea of him risking his life and others to come save her, she was thankful.

Strategy Update!

1. The king is well-guarded.
2. The executioner is now undead.
3. Everyone is allowed only one post per turn. A GM post will be posted to reset the turn.
4. Attack only the enemies given to you by the GM. If no enemy has been given to you directly, then you may select up to two opponents and no more.
5. The platform is guarded by a line of soldiers.
6. The battle has begun!

Minions Update!
The GM will send a certain amount of enemies your character’s way. Do not create your own enemies.
Ally/Enemy Soldiers 2 xp.
Ally/Enemy Archers 2 xp.
The Undead Executioner 10 xp.

Reminder

Every character who joins this game will be given 5 stat points to distribute through the 5 attribute categories. All characters start at Level One, and as they earn experience, they have the ability to level up. Each time a character levels, the player will earn 5 stat. points to arrange how they like. A cleric can be customized to also pack whopping magic damage or to be as much as a tank as the knight. This game is your oyster.

Experience is awarded two ways: 1) In-game when bosses—main or minor—are defeated, and 2) by player word count. I reward literacy. The player and the GM will keep track of the experience points achieved. Every experience bar starts at 10 experience for level 1. As players level up, the experience bar will extend by 10. So for example, the experience bar of a level 2 character is 20. This means that a character must earn 20 points worth of experience in order to advance to level 3.

300 words = 1 experience point
500 words = 2 experience points
1,000 words = 3 experience points

You can keep track of your acquired experience by posting the points at the end of your post, or by writing it to your character’s character profile.

Awarded Experience

Gillian (2 enemy archers +4 / the executioner + 5) = 9 xp Level up!

Connell (3 enemy guards +6) = 6 xp

Stephan walked around in the crowd, inspecting numerous people. This had no particular importance in the mission, but it was something Stephan did to skip the time until Gillian's move. Stephan adjusted his cloak, cracking his knuckles, pushing aside the beggars and other scum that were amongst the crowd, soaking wet and cold from the uncomfortable weather. But it did suit the situation very well, with the possible death of a godess.

As the peasants were running and fighting to get the chalice that the king dropped down, Stephan calmly pushed his way through, getting knocked back here and there. The rain and the cold did not help, but there was no way to stop it. After all, weather isnt something magic could control. Stephan pushed his way to the front crowds, as Jorn and Mae were fighting the people, he walked closer to the platform, stopping about 5 meters from it. He reached for his mace in his cloak, when...

The executioner's neck was pierced by Gillian's lucky, aimed shot. Stephan smiled, dropping the cloak and revealing the silver mace that was concealed behind it. He heaved it over his shoulders, slightly crouching when the shaft hit his shoulder. Then, an explosion struck the platform, as three guards were cleared infront of Stephan, smoke bombs erupting behind him. While a little startled from the quick turn of events, Stephan kept his cool and prepared for battle.

He felt the wave of dark magic flow over him, shaking his head, resisting it and placing his mace in his leather gloved hands, holding it strongly. He looked ahead, as the before dead executioner rose up from the dead, blood pouring from his neck, and the arrow already lying down on the ground. He looked at the witch, suspecting her to be the source. The growl that the executioner released slightly shocked Stephan, but he shook it off quickly. He saw the undead reaching for his axe, and jumped atop of the platform, and kicked the axe away down to Jorn and Mae, turning back to the executioner.

Stephan was slightly afraid of this encounter, as he never faced an undead, and especially someone like an executioner. With a strong body build and a high resistance to pain, this fight couldnt be easy. Stephan was never made to endure high amounts of pain, but rather, resist dark magic and harmful spells and curses. Although, he hoped he could pull through this. Maybe his allies could help him in this battle, but surely, Stephan could pull this fight off.

The undead executioner was nearing closer to Stephan, but with no axe to attack with, so he resorted to using his big, strong fists. Stephan wasnt completely safe, but atleast it wouldnt demolish him in one hit if the undead executioner had his axe. Stephan started walking towards the executioner, rising his mace over his head and aiming for the executioner's neck or head, hoping to tear off the already weakened neck or to crush the thick skull of the undead.

Words 507 +2 exp

The world seemed to stop for a moment when the executioner´s neck was pierced by an arrow out of nowhere. Loia opened her mouth in disbelief. Now? Just when the world was almost rid of Emeline?

On hearing the king´s order, the Black Ember´s fingers strained at the gloves at the same time she whipped her head around to try and find the attacker. But it was not long before explosions rocked the square, and the panic began. The screaming and confusion around her were deafening, but she stood there, watching and thinking. As she noticed the attackers, Loia figured out that it was not killing them that was important.

It was Emeline. Emeline had to be her target. To hell with the king´s spectacle, the goddess had to die. Nothing else mattered. The guards could distract the Ivorians, and if you wanted something done right... do it yourself.

Her cloak went flying up into the air as she dashed for the platform, the oversized cuffs of her gloves trailing whisps of flame and sparks. Loia was on the move a good, long time before the cloak even touched the ground. The people trying to run away saw her coming and, quickly figuring out who she was, jumped aside or ran in a different direction, terrified more by her and the intense glare in her eyes than by the explosions. The explosions were quick and loud, but there was nothing quick about being set on fire, and it was oh so loud. There was chaos ahead and to the sides as people struggled to clear a path, fearing a fiery death at her hands. They were not completely wrong: if any had had the misfortune of being an obstacle, Loia would not have hesitated to strike them down. Her eyes burned more than metaphorically, with her goal almost achieved but in danger thanks to the interlopers.

Up and ahead, Loia could see the executioner standing up again. While welcoming the sight, she knew she had almost no time left, and no way of knowing how the Ivorians would employ it. Any distraction against the attackers would be welcome, but she had to get past the guards first. Without hesitation, she raised an arm to the front as she ran. It exploded in flames up to her elbow. “Let me through!” She snarled, enraged, her eyes now bright with twin orange points in them that threatened to spit an inferno out. The guards promptly side-stepped, knowing who she was as well and not interested in being in the way of an avatar of hatred such as her. She dashed through without thanking them, thinking only about her goal. Knowing that by now she would have drawn some attention, she jumped the last few steps onto the platform and rolled, mindful of the executioner´s end. Loia was not sure how the man was standing up, but she did not fancy the chances of that miracle happening twice. That was the same reason Loia did not break her momentum, simply continuing her mad dash straight out after finishing her rolling motion.

Emeline was in front of her.

The Incinerator howled as she dived for the kill, both arms now enveloped in a fire that roared, hungry for the flesh of a goddess.

Where was the signal?

Connell's heart was racing, waiting for the spark that would ignite the plan. He kept his gloved hand on the hilt of his gladius but wouldn't pull it until the chaos started. His bombs were in place, the escape route prepared and under his control - all he had to do now was to keep it clear so that Jorn had a path to bring Emeline through.

He was past the crowd, somewhat to the side of the platform but he had a fairly good view. Close enough so that he could see each individual on the platform, but far enough that he could not quite make out their features. After freeing Emeline, Jorn would have to either take the smoke-filled direct route through the crowd or around it to get to him and his escape route.

Where was the signal?

The answer came a heartbeat later. His lips threatened to pull themselves into a smile when he saw the shot hit the executioner and knock him backwards. With any luck, Jorn and his men would soon be through the surprised guards and freeing Emeline. His bombs remembered the plan a moment later and soon there was confusion, chaos and fear as explosions rang out and smoke began to emanate from the ground. "That should slow down the reinforcements", he thought, nodding almost imperceptibly.

Then, something not right. Movement that seemed out of place, there in the crowd. Most people were moving as you would expect - randomly in confusion or away from the platform and the fighting, but there - people moving like water being pushed to either side by a boat's prow. And the boat was moving towards the platform, towards the fighting. Explosions (not his), a woman's cry full of passion and hatred, a glimpse of a feminine figure running, her arms seemingly coated with flame. "Damn," he spat under his breath as he recognized her, half his heart falling in his chest and resting somewhere near the pit of his stomach. "The incini-fucking-rater. Didn't know she was going to be at this party."

Plans never work the way you expect, that was a given. There are too many variables. You have to be flexible. Every plan is woven together in an intricate, overlapping pattern and every person is running around holding one of the threads. At some point, the plan is going to unravel. It just seemed a little early for that yet.

"Fuck it," he decided. And with one graceful movement he freed his short blade from the scabbard and sliced through the cord trailing from one of the packages he had just placed on the wall beside him, the severed end falling to the mud below. Connell yanked the package off of the wall with his other gloved hand and entered the crowd, moving as quickly as he could towards the platform. He danced around anyone who had fallen in the crowd, shoving others out of his way with his fist, which was still holding the gladius. In this mud it didn't take much to move someone aside and he had no interest in harming any innocent townsfolk if he could help it. Just then a man fell beside him on his left, his flailing arm swinging inches from the bundle Connell was carrying. An older man, weathered and uncertain on his diminishing legs, a man he recognized from The Golden Harp - one of the taverns near the docks. Connell barely had time to spin, bringing the parcel up and away from the man's outstretched hand. "Close one!" he thought. If that unlucky fool's fingers had found the cord and had yanked it as he fell, then they and everyone immediately around them would have been knocked back and sprayed with an explosion of burning hot fine sand, which would have imbedded into their skin from the force of the explosion and seared the muscles underneath. Good crowd control for any pursuing guards, certainly, since the sand had a tendency to find the nooks and cracks in armor, but likely deadly for the unarmored, especially the old and unarmored.

And then he caught sight of something else, and the other half of his heart joined the first in his stomach. The executioner wasn't dead after all - he was struggling to his feet and their healer was facing him alone. He glanced up to the walls surrounding the courtyard and it looked like Howne's archers thought they had a bead on Gillian, too, because they seemed to be focusing all their attention on one tower.

A new plan started to form in his head. At this heading he would come across Stephen and the executioner first, which was fine by him. He'd help Stephen take him down (which shouldn't be hard - after all, he was shot in the neck). Then they could both join the fight on the platform by Emeline, and hopefully flank any guards who were fighting Jorn by that time. As for the incinerator... maybe Jorn and that battleaxe of a mercenary he had with him would take her out before they got there. If not, he had one more trick up his sleeve. Or rather, burning a hole in his glove.

Words 877 +2 xp LEVEL UP​

Jorn

A relieved breath escaped Jorn’s lips when the archer’s arrow struck home. He watched as the executioner wobbled off the stage to fall to his death and smiled as he prayed a silent thanks to Gillian. He would have to thank him personally once the ordeal was over. There was then an explosion of fire and smoke. Soldiers were scattered and King Howne’s rage boomed out over the square. The audience dispersed and soldiers charged forth under their king’s command. For now, Emeline was safe, but they had to get to her!

Jorn saw the guards like shadows on the grey screen. Two had already engaged Mae, and he unfortunately would have to leave her side. The knight whirled, his brown cloak swirling to his movements and the advancing guards would see the cloaked stranger vanish into the screen. There was the shrill sound of a whistle that halted the two guards as they stared suspiciously into the blind. The road beneath their feet rumbled and the smoke parted about the white chest of a stallion. A long javelin tore through the first soldier’s sternum, forcing him back into the second soldier behind him. The steed continued to charge, causing the soldiers’ heels to slide across the street before the rider retracted the javelin and flipped it in his grip to impale the second soldier in the back of his neck. The two Milian knights clanked heavily to the ground—one on top of the other—as the Knight of Eloria powered on.

His right hand kept a tight grip on the reins, whilst his left raised the javelin to his shoulder. His grey eyes swept the smokescreen before gazing ahead at the platform. Stephan had made it to the stage and he hadn’t been alone. Jorn’s brows shot upwards at the sight of the executioner. How was that possible? There was a flickering of flame in his peripherals that tore his attention away from Stephan and the goliath. There was a woman with burning arms charging his sister. Stephan the fool! Was Emeline not his priority? Jorn in his fright was thinking irrationally, knowing full well that Stephan had his hands full. The executioner had proven to be enough of a distraction.

Baring his teeth maliciously, Jorn’s brows hardened on his forehead and his grip tightened on his javelin. With an enraged scream, he hurled it at The Black Ember.

Gillian was in a little spot of bother. He had not expected the guards to pick up his location so easily and now he was busily dodging as many arrows as he was firing. It was fortunate that the Kings archer's were firing blindly, while he himself had perfect targets, yet he knew he could not stay here long. He had managed to get a few of them but eventually they would get him.

Quickly he did two things. One was to use his superior skill's with the bow and a little magic, and his hands became a blur as he loosed nearly half his remaining arrows at the walls in just a second or two. It caused a veritable wall of arrows that covered the whole front of the castle. Anyone caught standing would be a pincushion in an instant, but even in this low light they would be able to see them coming. That would force everyone on the walls to keep their heads down for now.

Second he reached out with his druid magic and caused the ivy on the side of the tower to explode into growth. It grew think and luscious and sent up tendrils and leaves well above the rooftop. It gave him cover and some respite from the archers on the castles walls. He then had another thought and with another thought and push he had them grow into a small dome over the roof. He sat down exhausted from the effort. He had never attempted anything like that before, normally he just made things grow, and the strain had been enormous but he had to keep going.

Gillian smiled as he rushed to the side of the tower away from the castle and quickly made his way down the side to the ground. It took him no time at all, after all climbing greenery is what he was born to do. He looked up and saw the top of the tower now had a new roof that from a distance and in this light looked just like it's old one. He hoped the castles archers thought so and were even now still shooting at it in the hopes of hitting him. It would not keep them for long. As soon as he no longer shot back they would loose interest and find targets in the square so he had to move quickly now he thought as he slipped away into the dark alley ways. He headed towards the castle, a move he suspected the guards would not expect.

He had another plan in mind that was even more suicidal than the one he had just risked, but considering what he had witnessed in the square he had no choice. As he ran through one alley he stopped and reached behind several sacks of grain piled up behind a bakers. Retrieving the two quivers of arrows he had stashed there earlier he headed for the castle walls.

He approached easily through the panicked throng, blending in easily and able to thread his way through them towards the walls. Once there he checked the small gate house and as he suspected it was empty. All the guards were either on the walls or fighting in the square. Drawing his sword and knife he stepped through and began the worst part of his plan. He had to make his way up to the top of one of the towers. Once there...Well he had a plan for that too but he had to concentrate on this part first.


WORD COUNT:592 +2exp

Mila
Time of Day: Night
Weather: Heavy Rain and Cold (not frosty)
Prominent Characters Mentioned: Emeline, Dark King Howne, and The Witch.
Player Characters Mentioned: Jorn, Stephan, and Loia.

The executioner’s head resounded with a sickening crunch. The blow from Stephan’s mace had clearly cracked the skull hidden beneath the black sack, but the undead behemoth was still moving. He retracted the hands that had been reaching for Stephan, and instead, seemed to turn his head in the direction of the axe he had kicked from the platform. The executioner started for the weapon, his heavy steps causing the mud to gush and squelch beneath him and his big boy rolls to quiver. Blood continued to stream darkly from his hood, rolling down his breasts and hanging belly. If he managed to get his hands on that axe, then the heroes were going to have one heck of a hard time defeating him.

Meanwhile, the witch’s eyes flared when she saw the little burning bitch racing through the crowd toward the Executioner’s Stage. She couldn’t be planning what she thought…her fine brows knitted on her forehead and her dark-red lips twisted furiously. In a puff of black smoke, the witch disappeared. King Howne glanced suspiciously at the empty throne and then glanced to the end of the stage where the witch had reappeared. She threw out her arms, her left hand firing a branch of black lightning that would repel Loia and her right, which halted the javelin that had intended to pierce her.

“Fool!” she boomed at the mage. Had she known about the goddess’s blood? “The goddess is mine!”

After repelling the meddlesome mage, her yellow eyes motioned to the cloaked rider. The prince…two birds with one stone. She had both Ivorenes where she had wanted them and she planned to destroy the line right then and there. As her eyes widened and lips curled with malicious intent, Jorn felt a chill pass through his body. She must have discovered him. He pulled back on the horse’s reins and the hooves of the steed slid across the stone floor. The witch drew back her hand and thrust it forward, sending the javelin soaring in a blur too quick for the human eye. The javelin had been propelled by so much eldritch force that it tore through the stallion’s neck. Hot blood washed into Jorn as the horse’s head went spiraling into the air on a ribbon of blood. The javelin had not only torn through the horse’s neck, but pierced through his armor with enough force that he was dismounted. The knight could barely utter a gasp. He felt his body hit the air and then clatter heavily into the street. His horse continued to run, aimlessly galloping before its legs curled beneath it and sent it crashing to the ground.

The witch laughed before she whipped her hand in Stephan’s direction, having not forgotten about him. Her magic would strike him like a telekinetic assault that would throw him from the stage, and if no one had stopped the executioner from getting his axe, then the executioner would be there, ready to cleave him in half with it while he was down. She walked over to the young queen and reached her hand down to grasp a wad of her cinnamon locks and lifted her from the stock by her hair. Baring her teeth in pain, Emeline rose to her feet and was turned to face the battle. The witch pointed a long, curled nail at the one knight who lay on the ground with his javelin protruding from his stomach like an hors d’oeurves.

“Look! Your knight has come!” the witch laughed.

Emeline’s face paled at the possibility of the knight being her brother. The strength she had shown all that time seemed to suddenly crumble as she screamed, “Jorn! JORN!”

Jorn sucked in a breath as the world came rushing back to him. Everything was spinning, but the javelin reminded him of the pain burning in his guts. Baring his teeth, he growled out a cry as his hand went to grasp the spear.

JORN!

The knight looked to the stage and his own face paled to see his sister in the witch’s clutches. Emeline grinned in relief when she saw him move. He was alive! And soon a black sickle ripped through her neck. A strangled choke of blood and spittle spilled from the queen’s lips as her shining tear-filled eyes bulged. The witch had her palm pressed against the back of her neck and dragging it to the side, the young queen’s head was taken clean off.

The trauma shook Jorn down to his soul. That didn’t just happen. He was dreaming. He must have been still unconscious. The rescue mission…no…they couldn’t have failed. Jorn cried out in horror at the sight of the witch holding his sister’s head by the hair and her limp body by the arm. The witch laughed at the knight, holding Emeline’s head high for all of the Ivorene unit to see. As her blood dripped from her neck like syrup, the witch opened her mouth to drink it all in. The blood of a goddess. She pressed the queen’s neck to her face, sucking down her blood and juices. As she drank, her yellow eyes rolled back into her head and the tattoos that adorned her arms started to glow. Whatever ritual the witch was performing, Stephan would be able to feel the air growing thick with black, demonic magic. It was suffocating for a man of the light such as himself and the fates warned him of grave danger if they remained. The executioner, however, wasn’t going to make their escape easy.

“EMELINE!” Jorn roared and baring his teeth, his face contorted in a blind rage. He ripped the javelin from his stomach and struggled to his feet. He charged for the stage, eager to kill the witch while she feasted. King Howne rose from his throne, excited to see that the other Ivorene was present.

“Nobody kill him! He’s mine!” the king bellowed.

The rescue plan had gone to hell and with the Milian army mobilizing, the heroes would soon be overwhelmed. They had only two options and only one of those options seemed to be the wiser: escape or perish!

Strategy Update!

1. The king is entering the fight.
2. The executioner is still undead, and if he gets his axe, then one of your teammates will be in danger.
3. Everyone is allowed only one post per turn. A GM post will be posted to reset the turn.
4. Attack only the enemies given to you by the GM. If no enemy has been given to you directly, then you may select up to two opponents and no more.
5. The platform is guarded by a line of soldiers.
6. Mission Failure! Escape or be killed/captured!

Minions Update!
The GM will send a certain amount of enemies your character’s way. Do not create your own enemies.
Ally/Enemy Soldiers 2 xp.
Ally/Enemy Archers 2 xp.
The Undead Executioner 10 xp.
King Howne - cannot be killed at this time. Steer clear of him!

Reminder

Every character who joins this game will be given 5 stat points to distribute through the 5 attribute categories. All characters start at Level One, and as they earn experience, they have the ability to level up. Each time a character levels, the player will earn 5 stat. points to arrange how they like. A cleric can be customized to also pack whopping magic damage or to be as much as a tank as the knight. This game is your oyster.

Experience is awarded two ways: 1) In-game when bosses—main or minor—are defeated, and 2) by player word count. I reward literacy. The player and the GM will keep track of the experience points achieved. Every experience bar starts at 10 experience for level 1. As players level up, the experience bar will extend by 10. So for example, the experience bar of a level 2 character is 20. This means that a character must earn 20 points worth of experience in order to advance to level 3.

300 words = 1 experience point
500 words = 2 experience points
1,000 words = 3 experience points

You can keep track of your acquired experience by posting the points at the end of your post, or by writing it to your character’s character profile.

Awarded Experience

Jorn (2 enemy guards) = 4 xp

Gillian was surprised to encounter no one as he made his way up through the tower. He would have expected at least a few guards inside and he began to get a little worried. Just what was going on in the courtyard that had drawn everyone outside. Either the attack was going very well and they needed every soldier they had to repel it. Or it was going so bad that they all wanted to see the rebels get slaughtered.

Either way it was a blessing in disguise for him. He made it up to the gate tower without anyone spotting him. It too was empty, but through the open doors on both sides he could see archers firing down into the courtyard.

The good thing was they had their eyes firmly fixed downwards and were not looking around. Gillian could kill them now but that would only draw attention to himself and for now he did not want that.

Sneaking out the door closest to him, he climbed easily to the top of the towers roof and hid in the shadows. The rain and gloom easily hid him and he looked down into the courtyard to observe what had happened since he had slain the executioner.

What he saw was a scene of chaos. The executioner was still walking and trying to pick up his axe, but Gillian was certain his shot had slain the man. Emeline, the lady they had come to rescue, was dead and the witch was feasting on her blood. Jorn was yelling out her name and rushing towards her holding a Javelin stained in blood, while blood flowed from a wound in his back and the King himself strode forward to meet him.

He could not see Stephan, Connell or Mae but assumed they were down there somewhere. From the looks of things he had few choices. The king was too well armored for him to even think of attacking, so that left the witch and the executioner again. Both of these targets must have some form of magical defense. The witch certainly but he had no idea how the executioner had survived.

They were to far away for his magic to reach them, and besides the only plant life he could see was some of the wooden planks on the platform and the rope, and they had been dead far to long for him to be able to manipulate.

He had one course of action left. Placing his arrows beside him and sticking them into the roof slightly, he gauged the distance to the witch. Shooting in these conditions was tough but he had mastered it a long time ago. Then looking at the shambling figure of the executioner, he saw what he was going for and a plan formed in his mind.

Taking a calming breath he steadied himself, then his hand became a blur. He sent seven arrows angling towards the witch. Three aimed for her chest and four for her head. Three of which are designed to arrive at the same time as the ones aimed at her chest. The fourth is aimed much higher and will land several seconds later. He is hoping to catch her off guard as she looks around for the shooter. Even if it doesn't get her in the head, he is hoping to hit some other part of her body and wound her in some way.

He then turns his attention to the executioner and fires off nearly all of his remaining arrows, fifteen in all. His strategy is different here. Gillian doesn't know why the big man is still moving but it is obvious magic is involved. Even while he was observing him he could see that his head didn't look right. So if he couldn't kill him, he would try to stop him. His arrows were aimed at his feet, knees, hands and elbows. Two each at his knees, two each at his feet, one at each elbow and one at each hand. The last three were aimed at the axe and he put his full draw behind and aimed extra carefully. He wanted to pin or destroy the handle of the axe the big man was going for.

Once all his shots were off, Gillian strapped his quiver back on his hip and placed his bow on his back. He had six arrows left, but he had seen more inside the tower. He hated using ones he had not made himself but he would make an exception in this case. First though he would have to clear an escape route for the others. If they stayed in that courtyard they would die, and if anyone on the wall realized this and tried to drop the portcullis it was all over.

Drawing his sword he slipped back into the gate house and locked the two doors quietly. Then after filling his quiver again he looked around, searching for some way to sabotage the portcullis's mechanism so that they would not be able to lower it.

Word count:843 +2exp

Stephan hit the executioner in his barely attached head, crushing the skull with a sickening crunch. The crunch inspired Stephan, seeing as he could do some damage. However, upon pulling out the mace, the executioner continued his journey to the axe. Stephan raised his mace once more, a bit exhausted from the previous hit and was about to hit the executioner once again, preparing to annihilate his skull completely so he wouldn’t walk again...

...When the witch struck Stephan with her dark magic. Stephan lost balance and barely held his mace in his hands, getting pushed back by the magic. He stumbled, shook and fell on his back, hitting his head on the floor. Stephan passed out for a small bit of time, regaining his senses...

When he woke up, Stephan looked around to identify the situation that was going on - seemed like chaos. He saw the witch holding Emeline's head, lapping up the blood like a dog. Stephan grabbed hold of his bloodied mace and stood up, holding his chest - his heart was tightening. He sensed the dark magic aura getting stronger, but was able to resist. The demonic powers tingling in the air could potentially wipe out the rest of the team. It was not easy for him, as this would mean his powers weakening. Stephan felt his team and his grave fate if they would not get out of there, but his priority remained the executioner. Stephan focused all of his might and powers into one and rushed towards the executioner, swinging his mace overhead once again and aiming for the neck/spine to disable him. As he was running, he screamed out:

"Escape while you still can, her magic is going to overpower us all, and im going to have to take the first hit if we dont get out! I'll take care of the executioner, but we gotta go!"

Words - 315 +1 exp

This was quickly turning from a cold wet night to one lousy fucking day, Weyland Blackthorn thinks. The plan was risky but the pay was more than acceptable. That is, until the executioner got back up. And the witch swatted aside the cleric like a rag doll. Then the girl loses her head and the whole reason to be here goes for shit.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Weyland exclaims.

He hates it when the plan falls apart. This is the third time, in his career, he has apparently signed up for the wrong side. The losing side! Undead executioners and high level witches! The mercenary in Weyland Blackthorn seriously thinks about turning cloak. The sight of that young girl's head coming off though committed him. Poor thing, she didn't deserve to die like that. He curses his own sentimentality, which might just get him killed.

When a plan falls apart, they fall apart good. Even the withdrawal is descending into a melee. With the threat of archers, Weyland misses his shield but a covert rescue usually procludes bulky shields and spears. Helmets too. Even clothed in mail and armed to the teeth with swords, knives and his hammer, he feels exposed. His height and bright long blonde hair make him quite distinquishable. Time to go!

If the opposition get men to the portculiss works they were trapped. The portculiss had to stay open. A stable building support catches his eye. A post ten feet high and eight inches across. The executioner's heavy axe lays on the raised platform, overhanging by the handle. Weyland grabs the axe and runs over to the stable building. It takes only two mighty swings with the huge weapon to knock the corner support post loose. A section of thatched stable collapses as a result. Flinging the axe away, Weyland picks up the post and charges toward the portculiss. His intent is to jam the post beneath the gate.

317

In the time it took for Connell to cross the square, their mission crumbled. He wove in and out of the crowd as he ran, visions of the unfolding events coming in horrific moments broken by the masses of fleeing townsfolk. He registered the important shit: the witch appearing on the platform, Jorn being struck down, Stephen being tossed aside, Emeline's death (fuck!), the King entering the fray.

It was clear now - flee or die. The sane part of his brain informed him that he should turn around immediately and run down the alley and away to freedom. It was promptly bitch-slapped by the insane part of his brain, which was the bigger by far. That part told him that he had just enough time to reach Jorn first.

As his distance to the platform decreased, the speed of his progress increased. There were fewer townsfolk, and the smoke was clearing. To his right he saw Stephan shakily regaining his feet, but he was no longer heading towards the healer. He spotted a guardsman ahead, making his way to Jorn who was focused on the platform ahead of him. Connell descended upon the guardsman unaware, thrusting his blade into the back of his neck as he hit him at full speed, letting his inertia drive it through muscle and bone before twisting away and continuing his run. The suddenness of the impact caused his feet to almost slip, but he recovered quickly.

He was mere yards away from Jorn now. A group of soldiers were closing on the knight, and Connell wasn't sure if he had spotted them yet. They were intent on their target, and hadn't noticed him approaching. Dropping his sword, he tackled the nearest one stamped hard on his knee. It *crunched* as it broke, his pain and surprise giving Connell enough time to swat the sword from his hand. He grabbed his shoulder plate and spun, sending the unbalanced guard careening towards his comrades who hesitated as they realized a threat was coming from another direction.

The guard stumbled, but managed to keep his footing as he skidded to a stop facing his allies. That's when he looked down and realized that there was something attached to his belt - a burlap bag the size of a small pack of flour.

Connell dove to the ground as the bomb exploded, sending blinding, searing hot sand towards the guardsmen and knocking the lame guard to the ground, screaming. Connell gained his feet quickly, grabbing both his sword and the guardsman's and calling to Jorn, but he realized that the knight had already started to charge the platform and couldn’t tell if he had heard him. He glanced back, and saw Stephan closing with the executioner again.

The insane part of his brain was regretting being so quick to silence it's counterpart.

The nearby explosion had been loud enough to startle the knight from his enraged trance. He heard a man shout his name and turned in his direction to see that it was The Chameleon he had hired. Jorn then looked as though he were waking from a dream. It hadn’t been a dream, but a dreadful nightmare as he quickly assessed the battlefield. One hand held the seeping wound over his stomach, and the other clutched his javelin. The mission was a failure and he had to accept it. He had to quickly or they would all die. The reinforcements were moving in, and when he peered passed Stephan and the executioner, he saw the looming figure of the king swiftly approaching. He was in no condition to dance with the man.

“Get everyone out of here!” Jorn bellowed to Connell. “Retreat!”

He cast his eyes back over to Stephan and his struggle with the executioner. If he didn’t get away from him, then he would be either killed or captured by the Milian forces, and he wasn’t about to lose their only medic. Baring his teeth against the pain, Jorn once again raised his javelin and with all of his strength hurled the weapon at the executioner’s back.

Mila
Time of Day: Night
Weather: Heavy Rain and Cold (not frosty)
Prominent Characters Mentioned: Emeline, Dark King Howne, and The Witch.
Player Characters Mentioned: Gillian, Jorn, Stephan, and Weyland.

The moment the archer chose to attack the witch was when he made his most grave mistake. After loosing his arrows, he would feel a controlling power clenching his body like a giant ethereal fist. For a brief moment in time, everything stopped—the rain, the soldiers, his allies, the executioner, and the king…but Gillian could see down on the stage, the witch lowering the head of the goddess. She cast her white eyes up at Gillian as though she knew where he had perched all along when really he had just drawn attention to himself. Emeline’s head thunked upon the stage at her feet and she held out her hand in the elf’s direction, dark fingernails pointed like knives at him. Her glistening, blood-drenched lips puckered with the most sinister smile as one of the seven arrows was sent whizzing back to pierce him just beneath his ribs. A second arrow followed to strike his shoulder, and when she sent the third arrow it missed to her surprise, whizzing passed his ear. The frozen dimension collapsed then, his other four arrows falling aimlessly to the street. The witch realized that she hadn’t absorbed quite enough power from the goddess’s fresh corpse, and glaring at the injured elf, he had only a minute to escape the rooftop before she caused it to combust into flames.

Meanwhile, the executioner hand had missed his ax by a second before it was snatched up by the warrior Weyland. The executioner seemed to slowly draw his hand back seemingly stupidly and turned to confront Stephan without his weapon. He saw the man on the ground and unconscious and eagerly trudged toward him. Stephan was quick to recover before the executioner could reach him on stiff rigor mortis legs. The bones in his legs were resounding with sickening cracks as he forced his dead limbs to work beyond their expiration. As the cleric faced the executioner with his mace charged with determination, the executioner raised a hammer-like fist and paused when a javelin ripped through his back and erupted with a spark of blood from his chest. His limp head flopped forward as he gazed down through his sack cloth mask at the tip of the spear, which had lowered his head within opportune range of Stephan’s mace. The weapon struck home, ripping his head from his rotting shoulders and sending it bouncing off the stone wall of the stage. The executioner’s raised arm went limp. The giant’s legs buckled and his mass went tumbling forward like a tree crashing against the earth.

The undead executioner had been slain, which left the king who was approaching Stephan from behind. The cleric had been too busy with the zombie to notice him whilst he worked his way to confront Ivorene. He reached out with his hand to grasp the back of the cleric’s collar and his sword was cranked back with every intention of driving him through the back and ending his life. It seemed that the longer the party lingered the more and more their lives were put at risk.

Weyland’s attempt to stall the portculiss from collapsing were successful. The beam he had procured halted the gate, which angered several guards who went charging in his direction. There were five Milian warriors seeking to knock free the post to trap the heroes within.

Strategy Update!

1. The king has entered the fight. Although he is invulnerable, he can be stunned or halted.
2. The Undead Executioner is dead again!
3. Everyone is allowed only one post per turn. A GM post will be posted to reset the turn.
4. Attack only the enemies given to you by the GM. If no enemy has been given to you directly, then you may select up to two opponents and no more.
***5. Save Stephan!
6. Mission Failure! ESCAPE OR BE KILLED/CAPTURED!

Minions Update!
The GM will send a certain amount of enemies your character’s way. Do not create your own enemies. Do not reward yourself exp for slain enemies. Only the GM does so.
Ally/Enemy Soldiers 2 xp.
Ally/Enemy Archers 2 xp.
The Undead Executioner 10 xp.
King Howne - cannot be killed at this time. Steer clear of him!
The Witch - I thought it was obvious, but don't screw with the witch!
Stephan Rescue 10 xp.

Reminder

Every character who joins this game will be given 5 stat points to distribute through the 5 attribute categories. All characters start at Level One, and as they earn experience, they have the ability to level up. Each time a character levels, the player will earn 5 stat. points to arrange how they like. A cleric can be customized to also pack whopping magic damage or to be as much as a tank as the knight. This game is your oyster.

Experience is awarded two ways: 1) In-game when bosses—main or minor—are defeated, and 2) by player word count. I reward literacy. The player and the GM will keep track of the experience points achieved. Every experience bar starts at 10 experience for level 1. As players level up, the experience bar will extend by 10. So for example, the experience bar of a level 2 character is 20. This means that a character must earn 20 points worth of experience in order to advance to level 3.

300 words = 1 experience point
500 words = 2 experience points
1,000 words = 3 experience points

You can keep track of your acquired experience by posting the points at the end of your post, or by writing it to your character’s character profile.

Awarded Experience

Stephan (Undead Executioner) = 10 xp

Jorn (Undead Executioner) = 10 xp

Collen (1 enemy guard) = 2 xp

His contributing hero bit done Weyland turns to run. Only to find a handful of castle guards heading straight at him. Or probably more likely the post holding up the portcullis. Damn it, Weyland curses his own actions and draws his sword, filling his off hand with his smith's hammer. He puts his back to the post and growls out his defiance to the advancing guards.

"Come get some, puppies," he challenges them, "Let's dance!"

With his back to the wall only two guards can close with him at a time. There is a moments hesitation as the surrounding soldiers silently decide who attacks first. Two bold youngsters step forward, one thrusting low the other slashing down from high. Weyland parries the high attack with his sword and sweeps aside the low thrust with his hammer. Swords and hammers are not the only weapons at Weyland's disposal. His second attacker suddenly finds all the fight gone out of him as Weyland promptly kicks him in the balls, real fucking hard. He crumples to his knees as Weyland swings his hammer at the midriff of his second opponent. The youth's chain is designed for slashing attacks not the bludgeoning attack of a five pound heavy hammer. The splintering sound of multiple breaking ribs is easily heard over the din of battle and the youngster staggers a few paces before dropping, coughing up blood.

His first opponent down on his knees clutching his crushed testicles impedes the advance of a fresh attacker long enough for Weyland to jam his sword through the throat of the fourth advancing soldier. With three down within seconds the last two step back to have a think on the situation. It would appear that either they are quite devoted, well paid or live in fear of the displeasure of the king and his witch. They spread apart and come at Weyland from two sides. One draws back his arm for what can only be a slashing attack. Weyland knows it will hurt like fuck but trusts in his armour as he turns to deal with the slasher's partner. The man withholds his attack thinking his partner behind Weyland will accomplish the task of killing Weyland. He is fatally disappointed as Weyland grimaces as the slashing sword hits him between the shoulder blades. But his forward momentum to beat aside his opponent's sword with his hammer takes much of the force of the blow away and Weyland thrusts hard driving his longsword through the chain of his opponent.

Leaving his sword in the guts of the man facing him, Weyland spins around with his hammer. Such is the strength and speed of his attack that the guard's second attack, a thrust, misses and Weyland's hammer caves in the man's helmet. Who drops like a stone.

Weyalnd retrieves his sword from the dead guard's body and looks about for imminent attacking guards. None appear interested in attacking him, so he takes the opportunity to run for his life before his luck runs out.

401

Connell was a gambling man, and he played his odds.

Thankfully, Connell's call had reached Jorn, and the knight had retaken command of his senses, and of the mission. His booming voice easily carried over the din of battle, “Get everyone out of here! Retreat!”

Connell nodded, aknowledging the command. "I got them!" he responded, "You have to go!" With a practiced eye, he quickly scanned the scene to take stock of the remnants of their crew. He could see Weyland at the portcullis, heroically guarding it against the militia. Odds were, he could hold it until Jorn got there, so Connell kept looking. He scanned the walls, but could see no sign of Gillian. Odds were, he was long gone. The only other companion he could see was Stephan, still dealing with the executioner. Odds were... not good. Connell broke into a run in his direction a moment before Jorn's javelin pierced the executioner's torso and Stephan's mace split the man's head, readjusting the odds considerably.

He was at full speed, but he hadn't made much distance towards the healer yet. He hoped he was close enough that his voice would carry the rest of the way. He opened his mouth to call out the retreat when he saw the King approaching Stephan from behind. Connell shouted a desperate warning, "Stephan! Behind you!"

He knew he wouldn't make it to Stephan before Howne was upon him, so he did the only thing he could think of. Without slowing, he swung his swordarm backwards, planted his leading foot hard in the muck and whipped his arm forward, transferring the forward momentum of his run to his arm and sending his blade hurtling towards the healer, intending to aim just above him and catch the King unawares, hoping Stephan's body was blocking him from noticing the spinning blade.

Continuing his run, he swapped the stolen guard's sword to his main hand and prayed to anyone who would hear him that his aim was true and the sword would miss Stephan- or, barring that, that Stephan would see it and move out of the way in time, or barring that, that he would have heard the warning and moved. He was a gambling man, after all.

After finally slaying the undead executioner with Jorn's help, Stephan exhaled with relief. He felt the dark magic vanishing from the air as it was banished by Stephan's more holy magic. The cleric felt a rush of power run through him, as he felt more confident in his powers. The healing aura that he could cast suddenly rushed out, being around Stephan passively. He regained some strength and gripped the mace once again, preparing to retreat. But before he could, he heard Connell shout at him. Stephan turned to the voice and saw a sword flying towards him and someone behind him. The cleric turned once more and saw Howne reaching towards him.

Having to react, Stephan swung his mace towards Howne's hands sloppily, trying to hit them. The cleric was not aiming to do damage, but to rather scare Howne off. He saw the sword closing in with the King, and to distract him, Stephan swung quickly at Howne's foot. Once again, that would not stop the King from coming any further but it could distract him from Connell's sword.

After taking a brief moment of looking around, Stephan realised the situation that was around. There was no hope of defeating the forces and everyone was forced to retreat. He quickly turned towards Connell, seeing as that was the shortest way to group up with someone and the way to safety. Stephan gathered all of his remaining stamina and dashed away from the King while he was distracted. While the mission failed, Stephan and the rest of the crew could make it out. Of course they didnt get their goal done, but they did considerable damage to the forces they were going up against. And the cleric would have a job - heal up the wounded after they regroup. After all, that was his job. And that job would be made easier with his newfound power from slaying the executioner - turns out dark magic is a good booster. However, it was not time to celebrate yet.

Words 338 - +1 XP

Well that was stupid, Gillian thought to himself as he slipped from the rooftop and dashed back inside. He was lucky his armor had stopped that shot to his ribs, but he was going to feel it for a few days. He was not sure if one of his ribs was cracked or not, and he wouldn't be certain until he got away from this place.

The arrow in his shoulder was another matter. He was lucky it had not hit anything vital but he could not risk getting it out here. Breaking off three quarters of the shaft he grunted and tested it. He still had some movement but it was going to be restricted. It was not his draw arm though but his aim was surely going to be affected. he would have to restrict his shots to targets barely three hundred yards away.

For now though he had to make it out of the tower. Drawing his sword and dagger he moved down the stairs. He was almost to the ground when he heard the sounds of someone approaching. Luckily the advantage would be with him. Spiral staircases always gave the defender the advantage which was why they were built that way. The attacker had his sword on the inside nearest the wall making it difficult for him to swing, and he had to swing upwards. The defender however could swing down and had the upper body to aim at where all the vital organs are.

Gillian crouched down and with his elven hearing could tell there was only one person. Just as they were about to round the bend he struck out and down skewering them through the eye and into their brain before they even knew what was happening. Kicking the body off his sword he left it to slump against the wall and moved quickly down and to the door.

The fighting was still intense near the portcullis but here he had a clear way out and he dashed towards the safety of the alleyways. Just before he got to them, he sheathed his weapons and pulled his bow out. Searching for any archers on the wall he found one and let fly, grinning as he saw the man pitch over the wall with an arrow in his chest. It had been an easy shot, but he had almost missed as his arm had spasmed before he loosed. He was definitely going to have to get some healing on his shoulder.

Placing his bow back across his back he ghosted into the city and then onto the agreed upon meeting place. He could see to his injuries there.

Words:444 +1

I got them! You have to go!

It hurt to retreat. It hurt more than the gash in his stomach. Soldiers and mercenaries were still behind fighting. He should have been the last to leave. He was the commander; the general. He was…

“Protect the king!” a soldier yelled.

With his hand holding the wound in his abdomen, Jorn’s grey eyes widened. For a moment, he wondered who the soldier was talking about until two soldiers came abreast of his sides. His arms were slung about their shoulders as they quickly started to rush them toward the gates.

“We’ll get you out of here your majesty!” the soldier at his right reassured him.

Jorn regarded the soldier as though he were speaking another language. He was…he was the king now. The Ivorene king. He was the last Ivorene to sit on that bloody throne. It was at that moment of realization that he felt the weight of his role on his shoulders. It had been so heavy that even his boots were dragging through the mud. He felt…stunned. Emeline was really gone. He didn’t know why he still questioned what he had seen. He had seen her executed with his own eyes, and it had nearly drove him into a blind rage.

As he was turning his head to take another glance at Emeline’s corpse, the soldier beneath his left arm hastily begged, “Please Sire, don’t!”

Jorn gazed upon the soldier in silent awe.

The soldier’s head was bowed in fear for boldly making a demand of the king, but Jorn could see the pity glimmering in his eyes as the soldier said once more, “Just don’t, Sir.”

Jorn slowly cast his eyes ahead at the backs of the soldiers that had huddled protectively around him. They were moving in a unit to ensure his escape. Some soldiers collapsed in the mud after taking arrows from enemy archers. They were dying for him. Jorn frowned and regained his footing. He yanked his arms from the shoulders of his men and with a hand clutching his wound, he started to jog. His teeth were bared, the saliva rolling from his lips red with his blood.

“Your majesty, you mustn’t move too much,” a soldier begged, and Jorn snapped:

“Since when did I become weak? Since I became your king? I am still your commander. Move your arses and stay the fuck alive!”

The soldiers regarded their king in awe and bellowed a response as they started to trudge faster through the impeding mud. As Jorn made his escape, he prayed that Connell and Stephan would be able to do the same. The thief was a clever man. Too clever to get caught, and he had faith that he would find himself and Stephan a way out.