w00t, 101st post!


/bump

 

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As we came over the hill, we saw that we did not put down as many Midgardians as we had hoped. Many were still below the hill. We started fighting them, us on the hill, them below. Slowly, and with the patience of a hunting Lynx, they pushed us towards the keep, raising more and more of their fallen comrades. We hurt them badly, but our people were hurt too. We were forced to go inside the keep once more, the victory that seemed so close, suddenly seeming far.


Resting in the courtyard, we could hear the sound of the ram hitting the doors. At some point, the call was given to retreat to the Lord room. Most of us were healed and ready for the bloody battle that was to follow. A yell was heard from the walls, Llava's high-pitched voice shrilling in the setting sun. "The doors are down! Incoming Trolls! Incoming Trolls!" Taking the advice of Saorise, we set our force at the second floor, trying to surprise the Norse. I could hear the Lord pacing to and from in his room, steeling himself for the battle to come. Then, the loud footsteps of the Midgardian horde could be heard coming up the stairs. The surprise worked. They ran straight to our trap. Not expecting to see anyone on the second floor, but to see everyone in the Lord room, the Midgardians rushed past us. We started blasting them. Some went up to the lord room, not noticing us in their mad rush. Others were dead to our casters and guardians. Their force was divided. Some of their warriors were up with the Lord, tasting the bitter bite of his sword. Some were dead on the second floor. Most of their support was alone at the bottom, trying to make sense of the anguished calls from their comrades. Some brave souls tried coming up in a trickle only to get mowed down by us. Shelter led the Guardians below to take down what support they had. We stayed at the second floor, waiting for the warriors to come down. When the shouts from below grew strong, and it was obvious that their Healers were at a bad spot, the Trolls from above started a mad rush below, to help. The Hibernian Lord called out to us, telling us to expect them.


At the end, the toll for the Midgardians was horrific. Almost all of their force was dead. What prisoners we took, we set free after taking their weapons and honor. We lost two of our force. They were set aside for resurrection while the rest were healed, bruises fixed, gashes closed, broken limbs set. Shelter was shouting for our carpenters to fix the broken doors, for us to keep our vigil until the doors were closed. The "Saorise Defense", as it came to be known worked perfectly. While not a surprise today, it became a widly used, very successful defense in the Northern keeps.


When all was said and done, I was standing near Shelter, in the courtyard, hearing him murmuring to himself. "I am no liar."

*smiles*

 

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We missed you tonight Masnark.


Hurry back, great story

Well written Mas!

 

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Very nice.

<smiles> Wonderful!

The fighting raged for weeks. Us taking keeps, Midgard bringing more and more out to crush us and us hanging by a thread. Sometimes we would have two, three, maybe even four of the keeps in our control, only for them to be taken back by the Norse. These were the bloodiest battles you have ever seen. I have never seen my Comrades more tired or more resolute to succeed.


The Corpse Summoner that resided in Nottmoore collapsed one day. The Drood that came to check on him was dumbfounded. He could not understand what was wrong. When none of the Druid Grove magic had any effect, the big white-haired Firbolg took a very small knife and made an incision in the Summoner's arm. From the opened artery sand poured out – white sand – the type you find on the sea-shore. All of us who were witness to it were standing there, our mouths opened. Nobody has ever seen that illness before. From all his channeling, the earth took hold of him. He was gone. He was more than dead. The earth has claimed him for herself. We gave him a burial outside Nottmoore. A day later Brigit sent four Summoners of the Dead came to reside in Nottmoore. They shared the labor, hoping that it would be enough for them not to suffer the same ending. The war must go on.


The battles raged on. One day, Leire was found by our scouts, lying almost lifeless not ten minutes from Nottmoore. The brave Ranger was revived in the keep. When his eyes opened, he looked frantically around him. I was standing near him, his head cradled in Zlara's caring arms. He tried saying something, but all that came out was a croak. I put my flask at his lips, allowing some water to slosh into his mouth. "Bring me to Shelter." He whispered. Yurgi bent towards Leire and picked him up as if he was a rag doll. He climbed the stairs to the Lord's room, where Shelter was conferring with Lunahopper about our next steps. When we entered, Shelter was pacing back and forward, agitated. Lunahopper was standing on the table, near the maps, his hands clasped. They seemed to be having an argument. Yurgi placed the Elf on one of the chairs and Leire whispered.


"I saw them coming. I was patrolling at Svasud Faste, at Shelter's command. And then I saw them. They started coming out of the keep, and they just kept coming out, a never ending procession. I counted one hundred and twenty and still more there were more. Almost each and every one of them was holding Treb's parts and Ram parts. I got away to a safe spot and then ran all the way here. I out-ran them, but they can't be more than two days out. I am afraid Midgard wants to puke us out of it's frontier. I am afraid this time they will succeed."


Yurgi helped Leire down to the Barracks so that he can rest. Zlara said that it would take him at least four days to get his strength back. What he didn’t say was that he ran all the way from Svasud Faste to Dun Nottmoore without stopping. An eighteen hour run for a ranger in a hurry. I stayed upstairs, doing my best to meld with the shadows as to not interrupt the decisions that must come. Shelter and Luna looked at each other for a very long time. "The Brits. It's our only hope." Shelter said. Luna was pacing back and forth on the table. "I would rather die first." He said to the hulking Bolg. Shelter looked at him and with a soft voice he said, "ou will, if they are not at our side." Again they were standing there, looking at each other. The keen as big as Shelter's stretched palm. Luna lowered his gaze. "So be it. Let us hope we do not regret it later."


"Who shall we send?" asked Luna. Shelter looked thoughtful. "Tigarian." I whispered. "Tigarian speaks their language. He knows their customs. He can go." They both looked at me. "ou hate that Celt so much you are sending him to his death, Elf?" Shelter asked me. "I have nothing but love for him." I replied. "But if anyone can do it, he's the one. They hate him enough to know that if he's coming to them, the need is dire." Again Luna and Shelter exchanged looks. Luna nodded. Shelter went to the balcony at the Lord's room and called down below "Tigarian is needed at the Lord's room. Call Tigarian."

"Llava's high-pitched voice shrilling in the setting sun."


/slap

A few minutes passed with Shelter and Luna discussing who to send with Tigarian, when the Warden appeared at the doorstep. He saluted, and stood there, waiting to hear what was needed of him. "Tigarian, I need you to take Loon with you and go to the Albion Portal Keep to ask the Brits for help. I will give you the signed papers that will allow you to talk in the name of Brigit. We are also willing to give the Brits back their relic if they help. I trust you can do this job?" Tigarian was taken aback. He looked at Shelter and Luna and took a deep breath. "es. If that's what's needed, I can do that. Just.. Just tell Loon to have his good shoes on. I am not sure if they will let me live or even speak before they kill me." Shelter went to where Tigarian was standing and put his huge hand on his shoulder. "I know, my friend. But the armies of Midgard have united to take us down. A horde of Trolls is coming this way as we speak. They outnumber us five to one. Four to one if the reinforcement I am expecting will actually arrive. We need that help." Tigarian smiled. "I was not bulking at this mission Shelter. I just think it is better to lose one than it is to lose two. When do we go?" Shelter nodded. "ou leave three hours ago. As it is, I have no idea how you are going to make it."


I descended the stairs with Tigarian, both of us not saying much. At the bottom, Tigarian turned to me and said "ou gave my name Elf." It was in the form of a statement rather than a question. I lowered my head and said that I did indeed do that. He smiled. "It's warming to know you have so much trust in me." The Celt then actually put his arms around me and hugged me. What an alien feeling it was. Running to where Loon was sitting, tuning his lute, Tigarian whispered in his ears. Loon stood up and took his backpack. Then, playing his lute, they both ran out of the keep and went west towards Odin's gate.


I went to the walls to watch them go, Saorise was standing near me. She looked south and east, towards Svasud. "A storm is coming, Elf." She said.