Outsider Endgame -- White Harbor

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DwMcAliley
Posts: 53
Joined: Wed Jul 04, 2012 10:02 am

Outsider Endgame -- White Harbor

Post by DwMcAliley »

Ascher unrolled the carefully drawn map and studied it intently. His nightsight potion was starting to fade, and he let it. The hills and the coast line matched. He was getting close.

Darkness flooded over him as the last effects of the potion wore off. He closed his eyes tightly and counted to fifteen. When he opened them again, the night was much lighter. He could make out the thick, twisted trunks of the jungle trees around him, clawing desparately in a race for open patches of sky. Wrist-thick vines twisted around some of the trees, and boiled over the fallen husks of others, creating a writhing mass of vitality all trying desparately to strangle its nearest neighbors.

Ascher took a deep, steadying breath, and tasted the sea salt on the back of his tongue. The coast was, at most, half a league away. If he strained, he could hear the distant thunder of breakers rolling ceaselessly. Ascher closed his eyes again, rolled the map up and tucked it into a hidden pouch on the inside of his chainmail tunic.

Now that he had some solid vision of his own to rely on, he began moving again. The ground was moist and soft, and offered a great cover for him. He was as quiet as a snow leopard stalking a walrus. He timed his movements with the breezes, and seemed to flow over the ground.

Suddenly, out of the night, the solid stone walls of a keep rose before him, and Ascher stumbled to an awkward stop. The massive building seemed to have sprung from the ground and trampled its surrounding foliage into the dust beneath it. In a land of such constant, lethal combat for survival, this Keep was a statement of security and of power.

Ascher took a deep, slow breath. HIs grip tightened slightly on his spear. He paused and breathed in the night. He felt it again. That old pull that reached up sometimes from the depths of his past to tug at his conscience. The smell of the salt and the stone brought back a flood of memories he thought had been buried deep enough to be forgotten.

Suddenly he was standing in the depths of Wrong, battered and scarred. Thirteen fellow Keepers of the Cove lay dead around him. Two Ogre Lords were charging, and Lady Ilina, bloodied herself, refused to retreat.

"We have to find her!" Ilina kept yelling, her eyes wild.

The guildmate they'd come to rescue wasn't there, though. It was a trap. Ascher stood there, facing the Ogre Lords, and he knew it was a trap; deep and cold in his gut, he knew it. And he knew they weren't going to make it.

Ascher looked at the tattered recall scroll in his hand, and then to Lady Ky Teller, her tears streaming down her face. Ascher spun, and jammed the recall scroll into her hands. He grabbed her face and turned it to him. He kissed her hard, and foreful.

Her lips tasted like the sea.

When they parted, a heart beat later, they were both out of breath. Ascher whispered, "Abby's fine. She's home safe. We were set up, M'lady. I don't know who or how. But you have to find out. For me."

With that, he stood and turned. The Ogre Lords were still thirty feet away. Thank the fates they moved slow. Ascher screamed, "FOR THE COVE!" And he charged. He never looked back to see if she recalled out or not. It was enough to have told her.


Ascher coughed, and fell to his knees. He felt the pain in his left side where the last Ogre Lord had crushed his ribs. Ascher stubbornly ignored the pain, and fought the brief, overwhelming dizziness as he slowly walled that part of himself off once more.

Finally in control of himself again, Ascher stood, and there was a rustle behind him. Ascher spun, his spear raised and ready, one hand on the hilt of his Kryss. There, standing exactly in two of Ascher's own footprints was a woman clad all in white. She regarded him quietly, her face smooth as still water. He found her gaze oddly....intent.

"I was given a map," Ascher said after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

The woman nodded once, turned and started to walk away. She didn't glance back, so Ascher just decided to follow her. The woman walked around the edge of the Keep, staying among the trees. After a few moments, the two of them stood before a massive set of oak doors.

"Wait here, please," The woman said, and she entered the keep. The massive doors swung open silently as she approached, and closed after her, all without her touch.

Ascher shuddered slightly. He briefly considered running, but dismissed it with a shake of his head. Ascher touched his chainmail tunic, and thought about the map hidden within. Written on the back of the map was a note. It was a short thing, barely more than a handful of words all total. But some words were heavier than a mountain.

After a few moments alone, the doors opened again, but there was no woman there this time. A tall, lean man stood in the doorway, framed by bright torch light. He was dressed head to foot in gleaming white, and his hair was the color of resh fallen snow. Despite his white hair, though, this man was far from old. He moved with a smooth, fluid grace that Ascher knew immediately.

This man was deadly.

"I am Emperor Necromancer," The man announced, nodding his head, "And I thank you for coming, Ascher Kraw."

"You know me, sir?" Ascher asked.

The Emperor titled his head to the side, as if waiting for something. When whatever it was didn't come, he gave a slight shrug, and began walking down the steps.

"I know of you," the Emperor replied, "I hear things from time to time. For instance, I've heard about your patrols in Paws, and your steadfast commitment to providing a safe village."

Ascher's head snapped up. The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly started to stand on end.

The woman was back in the doorway. He knew it without looking. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn't place it. Maybe he'd seen her on a patrol of the village.

"I wrote that note for you, Master Kraw," The Emperor said, "And I'm glad you answered it."

"If you wrote it, then what does it say?" Asher asked.

The Emperor smiled, "I need a man of Honor."

Ascher nodded, half to himself, and he relaxed a bit, "Okay, well you have my attention, Emperor."

Necromancer smiled, "I need someone to lead my Imperial Guard, Master Kraw, and I think you may be the man for the job."

Ascher paused, taken aback, "I'm flattered, Your Highness, but I don't think I'd do much good for you. I'm an outsider, without a home."

"Please, call me Necro," The Emperor said, reaching the bottom of the stairs at last, "And you don't have to remain an outsider forever. Come, let me show you something."

The Emperor cast his hand off to the side, and a shimmering gate appeared. He motioned for Ascher to go through, and with the briefest hesitation, he did. If this Emperor had planned to kill him, he'd have done it by now.

Ascher stepped out of the shimmering light, and onto the roof of the Keep. He looked around at the impressive view. To three sides, there was a sea of dark treetops that ended in the shimmering distant sea. To the North, the dark sea of forest stretched to the inky horizon.

Boots on the stone behind him let him know Necro was through. Then he heard the cold sound of steel being drawn.

Ascher spun, his Spear low and straight. Necro stood with a halberd in one hand and the other raised, his face a stony mask of concentration, his eyes burning with the power within him. He cast his raised hand forward and a ball of fire streaked through the night towards Ascher.

Ascher spun to the side, and the fire ball sizzled across the stone, leaving a black smudge. He darted forward, spear flashing, but Necro whireled a halberd from his robes and parried the thrust easily. He struck Ascher in the chest with the butt of the Halberd and Ascher barely rolled out of the way of a sweeping swing that would have taken his head off.

This was no game. Necromancer meant to have his head.

Ascher gritted his teeth, and tightened his grip on his spear. Man of honor indeed.

Ascher and Necro circled each other warily. Necro lunged forward this time, Halberd thrusting point forward for Ascher's heart. He stepped sideways at the last moment, grabbed the haft of the halberd and jerked Necro forward suddenly.

The Emperor's eyes went wide as he tried to brace himself too late. Ascher spun a dagger from a sheath at his belt, and slammed it hilt deep in the Emperor's left shoulder. He twisted the blade a quarter of a turn, locking it in the man's collar bone, and then kicked him hard in the chest, knocking them both backwards.

As they fell, the Emperor twisted his hablerd enough to get the blade across Ascher's thigh. Both men rolled awkardly backwards, wounded. Necromancer put his free hand over the dagger and healed the wound with the blade in place. He got back most of the use of his arm.

Ascher wrapped his thigh as best he could, and poured a yellow potion over it to try and stop the bleeding, but he knew he was in trouble if this fight lasted much longer. He struggled back to his feet, just as Necro cast his hands forward. The air around Ascher began to sparkle and sizzle, and he smelled the sulfurour smell of burning hair. He tried to run, but it did no good.

The explosion rocked him, jarring his chest and cracking one rib audibly. It scorched his face, and knocked him off his feet. He rolled as best he could, and only caught half of the energy bolt that came after him. Ascher staggered to his feet, and tried to lift his spear, only to find his left arm ruined.

So he stossed his spear to the side and drew his Kryss. Ascher stepped quickly and smoothly, darting over the stone tiles until he was almost on top of Necro. Before he could finish his next spell, Ascher was slicing away at his arms and face. He cut off two fingers on his right hand, ruining his halberd grip.

Necro tossed the poleaxe to the side, and growled low in his throat. He turned and darted away from Ascher, trailing blood the whole way. He cast a paralaysis net behind him, snaring Ascher and freezing him in place.

Necro stumbled, and leaned agaisnt the low wall along the edge of the roof, trying to meditate and rebuild his mana. He was drained to the point he could no longer even heal.

Ascher fought, struggled against the paralysis net, and worked two fingers free on his left hand, which was hanging next to a purple potion tied to his belt. He managed to work the stopper free, and the glass bottle shattered, spewing flaiming liquid all over him, breaking the net.

Ascher stumbled forward, his Kryss flashing. Necro's eyes flashed suddenly with a new burst of power, and he cast a poisonous fog over Ascher, and then struck him with spears of lighting from the sky. Ascher stumbled out of the fog, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and he fell forward, the kryss slipping from his hands.

Necro stood, breathless, and bleeding, watching as Ascher's last few breaths came in ragged gasps. The Emperor's eyes looked somehow sad beneath the pain. The last thing Ascher saw before the blackness took him was Necro collapse to the floor as well, a dark pool spreading beneath him.
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.
.
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Sounds slowly intruded on the darkness, and Ascher realized he could hear again. And then, in a rush, his breath filled his lungs once more, and he remembered what it was to be alive again. He often wondered if the process of resurrection was similar to that first breathe all mankind takes when we see this world for the first time.

If so, it's a loud, frightening, confusing time that he wished would be over. And then it was, and he stood, panting over his neatly folded belongings. He was alive again, and still on the roof of the Keep. Necro was on his knees coughing up blood a few paces away.

He stood, healed himself with a few soft words, and walked slowly and painfully back to Ascher.

"I'm sorry, but I had to know if you were strong enough."

"And?" Ascher asked, weakly.

Necro smiled, "If you had been able to take one more step, you'd have buried that Kryss in my heart. And I wouldn't have been able to stop you. You're strong enough."

"So that's what this is about? This has been a job interview?" Ascher tried to yell, but his ribs cried out with protest, and he ended up coughing painfully, "How dare you manipulate me, ambush me, KILL me, and then expect me to take a job!"

Necro's face suddenly grew cold, and hard as stone, "If you are going to lead my Guard, that means I'm putting my life, and the lives of my citizens in your hands. You're damned right I tested you. Would you do any less?"

Ascher stopped suddenly, and blinked. He hadn't thought of that.

"Well, you could have told me," Ascher muttered sullenly.

Necro smiled, "Then it wouldn't have been a true test."

Ascher shrugged. This man had just killed him. He did not want to like him. He had to keep telling himself that, over and over.

"You call yourself an Emperor," Ascher said, "A keep is nice, but it's just a keep. And if I had to guess, I'd say it' that woman's. You seem to be an Emperor without an Empire."

Necro's face turned serious again, "All an Emperor is, Ascher, is a man who decides one day to be an Emperor. And then he goes and either builds an empire, or takes one."

"Which do you plan on doing, building or taking?" Ascher asked, softly.

"Does it matter?" Came a clear, crystal voice behind him. Ascher spun, and came face to face with the woman from the jungle. Her golden hair was tucked beneath a broad, white hat that hid most of her face in shadow. She stood like someone used to being respected.

"Yes," Ascher said, "It matters."

"I could strike you down," The woman said, her eyes suddenly coming alive with a blue-white light of power, sparks of pure energy dancing and swirling above her outstreatched hands, "Or I could call my dragon down on you!"

The woman tilted her head back and let out a shrill call, and far overhead a massive shadow let out a gout of flame. The circling dragon bellowed, and belched fire again, but didn't attack.

"Who are you?" Ascher asked, more frightened than he wanted to admit.

The woman's eyes narrowed, and Ascher suddenly knew what a worm felt before it became dinner for a bird. Whatever she saw, the woman nodded once, and smiled

"I like him, Necro," The woman said.

The Emperor nodded, "I do too, Xandy. I plan on building my empire, Ascher. WIth these two hands, if need be. But I could use some help. I need a man of Honor. Is it you?"

Necro extended his right hand, and Ascher stared at it. He'd been here before, and he knew what it meant. He felt the weight of that word as it hung there between them. Honor. What was Honor, but making a commitment to a principle and seeing it through, no matter what the price.

Finally, Ascher nodded, and took the Emperor's hand.

"Welcome to White Harbor," The Emperor said.

"Welcome to the White Fraternity," Xandy said, placing her hand atop theirs.

"You're not an outsider anymore," Necro whispered.

DwMcAliley
Posts: 53
Joined: Wed Jul 04, 2012 10:02 am

OOC A note from the author

Post by DwMcAliley »

This post is a bit long, but it is the foundation for what those mentioned within are hoping will become a lasting and evolving plot line, guild, and player-run town. I hope you enjoy the story, and stay tuned to find out more....


PS: I can be found most days at Yew, Skara Brae, or Moonglow. Look for Ascher Kraw or anyone with the guild tag *F*.

Safe travels, and see you out among the ether...


Dave.

Esaule
Posts: 53
Joined: Sat Feb 12, 2011 11:41 am

Re: Outsider Endgame -- White Harbor

Post by Esaule »

Turbo lay in a soft cot recovering from the most excruciating pain he had ever willingly endured. He sat and recounted the previous day’s events that led him to his current recovery bed.

*******************************

“And for our next order of business, the coalition of stable masters will present their matters before the king,” the bureaucrat’s words droned on more than Turbo could bear. His disdain for this city life began he knew not when. It had gestated slowly until it matured into frequent thoughts of outright rebellion. He had sworn to protect the innocent lives of the cities across the land, yet despite his daily drudging among the mire of deviants, it seems there was no recognition; no – it wasn't the lack of recognition that gnawed at him – he wasn't bound to the praise of men – but the wanton disregard to acknowledge to any degree the true state of affairs.

He had tried to report the critical breach of security that he had witnessed countless times; always the same answer “The High Lord’s powers and magical barriers protect us from all evil. We are safe here. Why don’t you take your trouble mongering elsewhere?”

The current affairs of the stable-masters? The concerns of the provisioners? The worries of the Mage Union Reagent supplies? What would be next, “The tribulation of the tinkers?” These are the only topics that seemed to earn any matter of attention during the royal court’s hearings. Nobody cared that the forces of evil outside the cities could come and go as they please. Gates opened up daily to allow the minions of evil to fling explosive jars at innocent bystanders. But none of it seemed to matter before the court.

Turbo had almost finished counting the notches he had engraved in the table when he was ripped back into the meeting “Turbo? Do you have anything to report?” the official made no attempt to disguise his annoyance.

With a pit in his stomach his response was the same as it had been “No sire. We are safe here. The magical barriers and powers of His Majesty keep us all from evil.”

“Very well then! This meeting is adjourned.” With the dismal everyone began filtering out of the room.
Turbo had made up his mind a hundred times; and this would be the hundred and first. He would never come back to one of these worthless hearings. As he made his way out of the castle gates he had no clue where he could start. Being a guard was all he knew. He had devoted his life to a very select set of skills which, outside of law enforcement, had very little practical application.

But fate has a tricky way of presenting itself. This time, it did so by means of a glimmering light. The dancing light pulled his gaze from the ground up to the house crest of a man astride a strong and battle-worn horse. Clearly, this was he. If not he then there could be no other. Turbo had heard about this man in the taverns; the Blight of Ogres, the Ettin Entrailer they called him. Mustering his courage and resolve to follow this path wherever it would lead Turbo called out “M’lord Kraw a moment of your time?”

Looking down, Ascher spoke concisely, almost as if he had already deciphered Turbo’s intentions. “I've no time for men of moments. I need men who can contend with the ages. There is an evil afoot that is far greater than any one generation could pretend hold at bay, let alone defeat. Are you such a man? Can you face an enemy that you have no hope of defeating in your lifetime?”

*************************************

If he had known that his simple nod at that time would have led to the searing pain of white-hot metal against his forearm, he might have taken the time to ask perhaps a few more questions. But he would now have plenty of time to learn about this White Harbor now that he was sworn by oath to defend it. Oaths after all are not to be trifled with.

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