Post by Sir Caedric Moore on Aug 20, 2016 13:24:10 GMT -8
My Heroes Guild Journeyman 3 entry and the fifth installment of my part of the Rise of the Wyrms collab. This build takes place before my last GC entry and directly after my last installment in the collab here merlins-beard.com/thread/1386/lor-rise-wyrms-ballad-dragonslayer
-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-The Gilded Sword-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
Northwatch Caverns, northern border of Orevale Hold...
Brandishing the gleaming Zweihander in a deadly arc, Caedric dodged the lunge he predicted would come and sliced the dragon's neck clean through, sending its head spinning with the force of the blow.
A great cry erupted as the beast was slain - one of joy from the Rangers who accompanied the Commander of the Valeguard and another of rage from above. With the Echowyrm dead, the men turned their eyes upwards once more to the ceiling of the cave where dozens of the dragon's young still clung to the rough surface between the innumerable stalactites; judging by their renewed blasts of fire and the increased intensity of their cries, they were none too pleased at the death of the dragons who sired them.
"ARCHERS!!!" Caedric yelled to his men as he unslung his own crossbow from his back and loaded a quarrel, training his aim at the young dragons above. "FIRE!!!" the Commander bellowed as he fired his crossbow and the Valeguard followed suit, unleashing a barrage of bolts at the ceiling of the cave. Many found their mark, sending the young dragons screeching and plummeting to the surface of the dark lake below where they landed amidst plumes of water and gouts of fire, writhing as they drowned. Other shots missed or went wide, clattering against the rough ceiling and sending those dragons not hit from their perches as they detached themselves and took wing like great bats darting around the cave.
---------
Across the lake, Dean watched the chaos unfold as he crouched behind a stalagmite. Moments before he had all but given in to fear and doubt at the sight of the dragon's young lining the ceiling like some dark army out of the Abyss, but upon hearing the victorious cries of his kinsman at the death of the male Echowyrm Dean's vigor was renewed and he rose from his hiding place to a half crouch, knocking an arrow in his longbow. One of the Rangers unwilling to make the transition to crossbows, Dean swore by the bow he had trusted since his youth and as such was chosen as one of two Rangers charged with an important task: to circle the lake in secrecy and set up positions so that they might open fire on any young that attempted to flee to deeper parts of the cave. Signaling Ronald, son of Roald - the other Ranger chosen for the task - with a quick whistle, Dean stood and opened fire on the beasts that had only moments before given him such fear.
"I am a Knight, and I will fear no more."
---------
Some hours later, the Commander of the Valeguard walked with care through one of the many tunnels that branched off of the lake and twisted through the heart of the mountain, a torch in his hand held aloft to light the way. Half a dozen men followed behind - some bearing torches, others bearing crossbows - in one of a few search parties that the Rangers had split up into. Many of the dragon's young had been felled by the Valeguard along the edge of the lake, but many others had escaped even the vigilant eyes of Dean and Ronald - the two young Rangers the Commander had chosen to pick off any stragglers that attempted to flee - and slithered or flew into the shadowed corners and dark crevices that the cave boasted.
"How many?" Caedric Moore asked, shining the light of the torch he held aloft this way and that and throwing long twisted shadows against the walls of the cave.
"I can't say with any certainty, my lord, but I'd wager twenty - maybe thirty - escaped the cavern," Dean answered, looking this way and that as he followed the Commander through the winding tunnels. "I know it's a difficult decision ahead of you, sir - leaving any of these monsters alive could come to trouble in the future - but we don't have the provisions to stay here any longer. A day, perhaps - two, if we're lucky."
"Less than," answered a deep voice behind the two as Sir Layton Connors - Cedric's shieldman and second in command - rounded the corner and came into view, dark blood still glistening on his dented armor. "Much of what we had has been eaten already, and with the wounded in tow the journey back down the mountain will take at least a day and a half. Our provisions will barely last us that." The big knight set his spear against the cavern wall, running his hands through his prodigious mustache before wringing them together characteristically. "If we're lucky," he parroted with a morbid smirk.
"It seems I am outnumbered," Caedric sighed, coming to a halt and turning to his men, "but I suppose you are right. It would be best if we tended to the wounded and set out at dawn's first light." With that, Caedric made to head back the way they'd came but was stopped as a slight - but audible - gasp escaped from his shieldman's lips. Turning once more to see what had caught his attention, Caedric shone the light of his torch over the room as his eyes came to rest upon the desiccated body of an ancient Garhim slumped against the wall of the cave.
The Garhim - or what remained of him - was garbed in armor that was rusted by time, the cloth beneath it ragged and thread-bare. Its skin was grey and clung to its bones tightly, while empty eye sockets stared back at the party. At its side rested a round wooden shield that was all but rotted away, but upon its other side lay a sword that glinted and glimmered in the torchlight. Caedric made to reach out and grab the weapon, but a firm hand upon his shoulder stopped him.
"No," Sir Connors replied in a serious tone, his usual mirth having left him completely. "You mustn't disturb them - our ancestors - or they may rise and take vengeance. Dragons are one thing, my liege, but the dead are something with which I do not meddle. We must not wake the Draugr."
Caedric had heard of Draugr before - one of the maids who worked in the kitchens at Castle Moore often spoke of the legends of Garheim - but he chalked it up to nothing more than superstition. If he could slay a dragon, he could slay the dead. "Still," Caedric thought as he bent down and lifted the sword from its resting place, admiring the golden sheen it had in the torchlight and the ancient runes that ran along its length, "I would not envy the way this Garhim died - lost, alone, and in the dark." Motioning for the party to head back the way they came, Caedric patted his shieldman on the shoulder good-naturedly and flashed him a smile, ushering him back and away from the ancient Garhim and towards the dark lake and the rest of the Rangers.
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As always, comments and criticism are welcome and appreciated!
Ronin
-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-The Gilded Sword-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
Northwatch Caverns, northern border of Orevale Hold...
Brandishing the gleaming Zweihander in a deadly arc, Caedric dodged the lunge he predicted would come and sliced the dragon's neck clean through, sending its head spinning with the force of the blow.
A great cry erupted as the beast was slain - one of joy from the Rangers who accompanied the Commander of the Valeguard and another of rage from above. With the Echowyrm dead, the men turned their eyes upwards once more to the ceiling of the cave where dozens of the dragon's young still clung to the rough surface between the innumerable stalactites; judging by their renewed blasts of fire and the increased intensity of their cries, they were none too pleased at the death of the dragons who sired them.
"ARCHERS!!!" Caedric yelled to his men as he unslung his own crossbow from his back and loaded a quarrel, training his aim at the young dragons above. "FIRE!!!" the Commander bellowed as he fired his crossbow and the Valeguard followed suit, unleashing a barrage of bolts at the ceiling of the cave. Many found their mark, sending the young dragons screeching and plummeting to the surface of the dark lake below where they landed amidst plumes of water and gouts of fire, writhing as they drowned. Other shots missed or went wide, clattering against the rough ceiling and sending those dragons not hit from their perches as they detached themselves and took wing like great bats darting around the cave.
---------
Across the lake, Dean watched the chaos unfold as he crouched behind a stalagmite. Moments before he had all but given in to fear and doubt at the sight of the dragon's young lining the ceiling like some dark army out of the Abyss, but upon hearing the victorious cries of his kinsman at the death of the male Echowyrm Dean's vigor was renewed and he rose from his hiding place to a half crouch, knocking an arrow in his longbow. One of the Rangers unwilling to make the transition to crossbows, Dean swore by the bow he had trusted since his youth and as such was chosen as one of two Rangers charged with an important task: to circle the lake in secrecy and set up positions so that they might open fire on any young that attempted to flee to deeper parts of the cave. Signaling Ronald, son of Roald - the other Ranger chosen for the task - with a quick whistle, Dean stood and opened fire on the beasts that had only moments before given him such fear.
"I am a Knight, and I will fear no more."
---------
Some hours later, the Commander of the Valeguard walked with care through one of the many tunnels that branched off of the lake and twisted through the heart of the mountain, a torch in his hand held aloft to light the way. Half a dozen men followed behind - some bearing torches, others bearing crossbows - in one of a few search parties that the Rangers had split up into. Many of the dragon's young had been felled by the Valeguard along the edge of the lake, but many others had escaped even the vigilant eyes of Dean and Ronald - the two young Rangers the Commander had chosen to pick off any stragglers that attempted to flee - and slithered or flew into the shadowed corners and dark crevices that the cave boasted.
"How many?" Caedric Moore asked, shining the light of the torch he held aloft this way and that and throwing long twisted shadows against the walls of the cave.
"I can't say with any certainty, my lord, but I'd wager twenty - maybe thirty - escaped the cavern," Dean answered, looking this way and that as he followed the Commander through the winding tunnels. "I know it's a difficult decision ahead of you, sir - leaving any of these monsters alive could come to trouble in the future - but we don't have the provisions to stay here any longer. A day, perhaps - two, if we're lucky."
"Less than," answered a deep voice behind the two as Sir Layton Connors - Cedric's shieldman and second in command - rounded the corner and came into view, dark blood still glistening on his dented armor. "Much of what we had has been eaten already, and with the wounded in tow the journey back down the mountain will take at least a day and a half. Our provisions will barely last us that." The big knight set his spear against the cavern wall, running his hands through his prodigious mustache before wringing them together characteristically. "If we're lucky," he parroted with a morbid smirk.
"It seems I am outnumbered," Caedric sighed, coming to a halt and turning to his men, "but I suppose you are right. It would be best if we tended to the wounded and set out at dawn's first light." With that, Caedric made to head back the way they'd came but was stopped as a slight - but audible - gasp escaped from his shieldman's lips. Turning once more to see what had caught his attention, Caedric shone the light of his torch over the room as his eyes came to rest upon the desiccated body of an ancient Garhim slumped against the wall of the cave.
The Garhim - or what remained of him - was garbed in armor that was rusted by time, the cloth beneath it ragged and thread-bare. Its skin was grey and clung to its bones tightly, while empty eye sockets stared back at the party. At its side rested a round wooden shield that was all but rotted away, but upon its other side lay a sword that glinted and glimmered in the torchlight. Caedric made to reach out and grab the weapon, but a firm hand upon his shoulder stopped him.
"No," Sir Connors replied in a serious tone, his usual mirth having left him completely. "You mustn't disturb them - our ancestors - or they may rise and take vengeance. Dragons are one thing, my liege, but the dead are something with which I do not meddle. We must not wake the Draugr."
Caedric had heard of Draugr before - one of the maids who worked in the kitchens at Castle Moore often spoke of the legends of Garheim - but he chalked it up to nothing more than superstition. If he could slay a dragon, he could slay the dead. "Still," Caedric thought as he bent down and lifted the sword from its resting place, admiring the golden sheen it had in the torchlight and the ancient runes that ran along its length, "I would not envy the way this Garhim died - lost, alone, and in the dark." Motioning for the party to head back the way they came, Caedric patted his shieldman on the shoulder good-naturedly and flashed him a smile, ushering him back and away from the ancient Garhim and towards the dark lake and the rest of the Rangers.
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As always, comments and criticism are welcome and appreciated!
Ronin