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+--- Thread: Four Tasks for the Chosen (/showthread.php?tid=1161)
Four Tasks for the Chosen - Eileen the Crow - 04-03-2015
Two days of rest and relaxation had done wonders for the undead warrior's composure. Relaxing here in this small settlement, with his new friend Gilnor to show him around, help him settle in and explain how things worked. It had been just what the doctor ordered, and had been just such a bizarre departure from how things had gone in Lordran! People knew him, and had no intention of killing or fighting him, some asked for him to tell tales at the taverns, having heard something of his exploits from his first night here! Yet, in the end he had learned a few things, experimented with this messaging device Gilnor had informed him of, and just relaxed, preparing for what was to come. A goal was an important thing, and for undead like himself, it was more than just important, it was everything. An undead from his world, if they did not have a goal or purpose, would go hollow, and so his current goal, was Dwarfholm. He wanted access to that place, he didn't need to meet King Battlehammer, but just get there, see if he could do anything. At the very least, it would make a nice place to get another goalpost and continue on with his journey.
Even better, gaining access to the legendary Dwarfholm was not simple. It required one to accomplish a very carefully tailored quest, one that consisted of four specific tasks. Three of which must be completed out in the icy, frozen and unforgiving slopes of the Frozen Fields, and one that would be completed at the gates of Dwarfholm itself, after one had brought back the materials of the first three tasks. Those tasks could be accomplished in any order, so long as they were accomplished. The Chosen Undead had to go out and fetch the tusk of a troll, a chunk of cobalt from the high peaks of the mountains, and the hide of a Wampa, a strange, monstrous beast that prowled the mountains. If he brought all three to the gates, he would be allowed a fight with a strong representative of Dwarven warriors, to fight in a spar, if he bested this warrior, he would at last have access. So, well rested, well fed, and feeling on top of the world for the first time in what felt like years, what might have been years, he set off.
The doors closed behind him as the biting winds hit his armored form, chill snow whipping against his metal helmet, seeking a way through to hit the flesh beneath, but he ignored it. He had dealt with worse, and worse was likely to come on this task! So it was with a cheerful step that he set off through the mountainside, practically whistling as he went along. First things first, he was going to wind his way up to the higher peaks, where one could find Cobalt! That was the most stable part of the tasks, and hopefully along the way he'd find evidence of the passing of troll or wampa! Even if not, he would simply have to explore more thoroughly, patience was a virtue, especially when hunting.
Re: Four Tasks for the Chosen - Eileen the Crow - 04-07-2015
The way up was slow, but steady....and also dangerous. The slopes were slick with ice, and the mountains became narrower and rougher the higher up one went. There were more sheer walls of rock, and steeper slopes and when one went high, one eventually had to go down. Going down was even worse than going up it seemed like, it was harder to see where you were going, it was easier to slip and take a long, dangerous tumble. Yet, that just made it a challenge, a proper task, and the Chosen was no stranger to difficult tasks, he would persevere as he always did...and if he fell? Well, he would simply have to come back afterwards and try again, just as he always had. So he climbed, he scaled cliffs carefully, moving from handhold to handhold, his sword functioned as pick and stick, helping him with support and movement on slick surfaces. He made it to the top of the first mountain, and alas, there was neither signs of his two types of prey, nor of the bluish pigment that indicated cobalt, or the large chunks of meteoric iron that could also indicate it. Still that did not change the fact that the view was absolutely phenomenal! Here on top of the mountain, he could see for miles, the clouds seemed so close, as though he was just a short stretch from touching them...and he could see other mountains, that did in fact soar high enough to pierce the heavens. Ah, but what would the land look like from atop those leviathans? It was said that Cobalt could be found on high mountainpeaks, or in low valley craters, so, why not set one of those taller mountains as his goal?
His mind made up, the Chosen waited a few moments to appreciate the view further, a few entries made into his mobile dataverse device, a few warnings, a few comments. He was glad he had found that little device for sure, it was good to be able to leave messages for other wanderers. So he set off, and as promised, the way down was far more difficult than the way up, but that just meant one needed to go slower, to take their time, and that was exactly what the Chosen Undead did. The swordsman moved down carefully, traversing cliffs, sidling along ledges until he eventually got to the more gradual slopes, where trees actually thrust up through the snow, a sign of one being able to take things more easily. It made the journey a bit easier, but it was just the first step, there was no telling how long the Chosen would be wandering this frozen, windy landscape. In fact, he climbed another mountain, surveyed the landscape from there as well, and climbed all the way down, before he found something to indicate his quarry. A heavy, thick footprint in the snow, well a series of them, moving in a meandering line through the snow. They weren't big enough to be giants, and were too large to be the trolls, and they were not boots, that was for sure...so, could it be one of those Wampa, of whose hide he was to fetch? It very well could be.
With a possible lead in hand he began moving. The snows would obscure these tracks soon enough, so he could not waste too much time dallying about on a decision. So he moved, walking across the snows, following the large tracks of the beast, of what he could hope was a Wampa. He didn't blindly rush forward though, sword was drawn, the straight blade held firmly in his hand, and the shield of the silver knights engulfed his left arm from the elbow down, the elegant, ridged shield ready to block and defend. Although it would perhaps be less than useful if this beast was as large and fearsome as the dwarves had led him to believe. The tracks definitely gave an impression of big feet, but whether the beast itself was as large? He paused, his thoughts stopping as he halted next to a tree, helmet staring straight ahead to where the tracks led, a great, black hole in the face of the mountain. The tracks seemed to lead right into that, and Wampa were supposed to live in caves. The Chosen Undead rubbed the chin of his helmet slowly, producing a grating metallic sound. His eyes drifted above the cave to the face it was set into...and he wondered how sheer was that cliff...was there a decent ledge? It didn't look like the cliff face went that high before evening out to the more usual slope. So, he moved around, circling around the cave mouth and the cliff it was built into. He didn't want to just approach the cave, so he went to the left of it, giving it a wide berth as he approached the rocky wall. Then, he started to climb, gauntlet covered hands going up to it as he scaled it slowly and nimbly, moving up...and just as he thought, it wasn't too tall. He found himself on a good, snow covered slope after climbing for a few minutes, trees stretching around again. It was maybe...thirty, forty meters tall? Either way, it was perfect.
He moved back, walking along the slope next to the ledge, and from there his hand went behind him. On his back was a simple item, an essential tool, and not very obtrusive. The Bottomless Box, capable of holding anything. From it he pulled forth his bow, visually it looked as if it just appeared in his hand, springing full form seemingly from nothing. The Dragon Slayer's Greatbow, a massive weapon, taller than the Chosen himself was! He planted it into the ice and rock, here at the edge of the cliff, one hand around the stave, as he settled down to wait, a quiver of the massive, short lance arrows resting on his right thigh now as he relaxed. It was time to play the hunter's game, which was largely a game of patience, of waiting. Once the wampa emerged from the cave, when it moved into the forest, the Chosen Undead would be in a perfect vantage to slay the beast with one well placed, dragon slaying arrow. First though...the beast had to emerge. So, the knight waited....and waited. Minutes ticked by, ticking on into an hour....two hours, the Chosen remained patient. He had a target, he had his quarry, he just needed to wait, wait as the winds swept against him, snow pattering into the steel of his knightly plate, bow held firmly as he continued to demonstrate his patience. Then, finally, halfway through the third hour...the beast emerged.
It was tall, it must be nearly three meters in height! It was covered in shaggy white fur, spots of it splotched with dried blood and viscera. Curved black horns emerged from its head, curling towards the head, and he could only imagine what a nightmare of fangs the face must be. If all went to plan though, he wouldn't be seeing the face until he was peeling the hide off this brutish beast. Thanks to the height of the cliff, the creature was already a ways away from the cave, this would be something of a tricky shot, fortunately, the Chosen Undead was no slouch when it came to technique. His right hand lowered, drawing forth one of those bulky 'arrows' the greatbow fired. Nearly three feet long, with a conical, lance like head, the arrow was placed against the stave, the shaft pulled back against the bowstring, which was drawn slowly. It took a great effort to draw this bow, the weight of the arrow, and the taught tension of the metal string both worked against the archer, but the Chosen persevered, drawing it back slowly, and with a great effort of will. The bow was drawn, he could feel the tension, ready to release and unleash hell upon whoever he aimed at, and right now he was aiming at the Wampa, watching it move between the trees. It was in no hurry at least, stopping to sniff and search, likely hoping to find a trail of some sort. It would find something else instead.
Satisfied with his aim, the Chosen Undead released the arrow, the string thudded with a hard snap, slapping into his metal bracer, it would have sheered his skin off if he wasn't armored so. The sheer force of the arrow departing the bow had an effect on him nonetheless, his body actually sliding backwards through the snow, the greatbow was no trifle or toy, that was for certain. The arrow itself hummed through the trees, a branch smashed aside as it rushed to its target, and slammed into the Wampa, currently on all fours. It slammed into its back, above the buttocks and sadly a few inches short of hitting the spine. The impact floored the great beast though, slamming it into the snow as the arrow embedded itself in the beast. There was a massive bellow of pain as the Wampa thrashed, showing its vigor and strength, not dead yet as it lifted itself up and thrashed around, doing nothing more than smashing its claws into the trunk of a tree, for there was nothing near it to attack! The Chosen Undead though, was simply drawing another arrow, beginning the painstaking process of drawing another arrow, and pulling the string back all the way. The Wampa roared, searching about for the creature that had dared attack it, and not seeing it, for it was looking in the wrong place. He aimed once again, and released, letting the arrow thunder through the landscape once again! It hurtled towards the beast, the thick twang echoing in the air as the Chosen was pushed back along the ledge once again. The arrow this time soared straight ahead...and slammed into the beast's skull. The Chosen didn't realize it, but if his aim had been off, if it had survived another shot, it likely would have realized a ranged assault was the culprit...but alas, a straight greatbow shot to the skull...few things could withstand that. Its head caved in, the arrow embedding itself, practically obliterating its skull outright as it crumpled lifelessly.
The knight stared down at it for a few moments, making sure it wasn't going to move, before he put his bow away, and began the climb down, scaling down the cliff quickly, eager to get to the creature, collect his hide, and get moving. The beast was indeed dead, and it was even more intimidating up close. The creature was massive! It made him all the more thankful that he had caught the beast unawares, fighting this beast in melee, having it know about your presence beforehand...that would be nightmarish. Such a creature could likely rip a man apart in moments. Fortunately he had caught it by surprise, and the sheer power of the Dragon Slayer had proved too much for it. Not for the first time, he was thankful that he had decided upon that bow, and not a lighter, quicker relative, such as the long bow, normal arrows would probably have been mere pin pricks to such a beast. Well, no time to lose, he needed a sturdy knife for cleaning this creature, and so he got to summoning, drawing forth the Omnillium for this purpose. One task was accomplished at least, and once he was done here, he could return to searching for cobalt and trolls.
Re: Four Tasks for the Chosen - Eileen the Crow - 04-18-2015
It took him all of the remaining daylight to skin the great, hairy beast. A couple omni forged daggers, and then a good half an hour cleaning the beast out, setting organs and meat aside while he went to work peeling off its hide, which was far more delicate work. That took a good couple of hours given the beast's size and the toughness of its hide. Yet, the Chosen persevered, taking a workman like quality to it, just doing a job. In all honesty it wasn't that bad, a tad boring perhaps, but it was far better than say, climbing along the rafters of Anor Londo's great cathedral. Eventually though, with the sun hiding behind the tallest mountains and casting everything in a great shade, the Chosen Undead finished. He looked up, and it was easy to tell that there was not much daylight yet, particularly not in a land with such great mountains. He needed to at least give the hide time to dry, stretched out and scraped...so he may as well make camp here, near the cliff and in the trees, where he would have at least a small amount of shelter. So, he created a Bonfire, the familiar, rusted and soot stained blade appearing amidst a ring of stones, a warm, comfortable blaze rising up around it, the flames licking and twining around it. Ah, it had him feeling almost homesick! Still, he continued about his work, a few stakes were conjured, and the hide of the beast was stretched out on four points, the greasy, glistening underside of the fur pointed up, slanted at an angle so that it could drip down into the snow. Then, a slightly flatter, straighter knife, and he went about gently scraping down the hide, removing much of the viscera and gore from the great expanse of fur. Once that was done, he let the knife 'fade' away, but there was one more thing to do before he could relax next to his bonfire.
His eyes slid over, head turning to look at the great pile of skinned meat and organs sitting in a messy pile some meters away. It would very likely attract predators of some sort. Wolves, another wampa, there was no telling really, and it had a rank, unpleasant smell, and he did not much feel like sampling a cooked portion of it. So what he did was summon a great stretch of cloth, carefully slipped it under the great pile and scooped them onto it, hefted it up by the corners, and then carted it away, very far away from his fire, about a ten minute walk all considered, and then walked back, before using a torch, some fire, and some good old fashioned burning to cleanse the ground after washing his armor off with handfuls of frozen, chilly snow. With that done, he finally sat down next to his fire, his back against a tree as he stared at the flickering flames. The Chosen allowed himself to relax..but only slightly, his first night had taught him, that you couldn't let your guard down here, even when sitting at a bonfire. Thus, while he relaxed, he had to stay somewhat attentive, sitting here through the night. Not the most fun, but there it was, and eventually he drifted off, going into a light, fitful sleep. As luck would have it, nothing came after him this night, by some stroke of fortune, or perhaps anything that wandered by was content to feast on the meat of the Wampa, but eventually morning came, his hide was dry...and a bit crackly and frozen..but he was able to heat it up a bit, roll it up, and into his Bottomless Box it went. Then, he left a few light messages to warn everyone who might come through this world, about the Wampa, the trees, some advice about the cliffs...and then off he went. There was still much to be done after all! He had three more tasks to fulfill.
Re: Four Tasks for the Chosen - Eileen the Crow - 04-26-2015
The problem with a place as varied and twisted as this great, icy mountain range, was that finding things could be an absolute pain. There was every chance, with all the cliffs, mountains, trees, and great flurries of blinding snow, that the Chosen Undead had passed dozens of trolls, and hundreds of small deposits of cobalt, that could have easily been used to accomplish the next two tasks of his quest. However, he could only keep searching and keep going, climbing up the cliffs and forests. The hide of the Wampa was stashed in his Bottomless Box, along with most of his equipment, the small wooden box hung off his back, right at the waist. It had been two days since he had killed the thing, and despite all the trolls and giants he had encountered on his first day here, he was finding himself remarkably barren of targets or combat. It was a nuisance that he found...odd. He was getting annoyed about not finding something to fight, one would think he'd be grateful for some time without something trying to stick something pointy where pointy things ought naught go! Yet, if he was going to have a break, it should at least come when there was nothing to do! Two days of climbing in this great white landscape, of sliding along ice, slipping down cliffs, and trudging through snow was enough to wear on anyone's patience. He needed to either find some cobalt on a mountain top, or find another group of trolls to take down, and cut a tusk from, or he feared he might finally just go hollow from sheer boredom!
He pulled himself up over the cliff ledge, snow chilling the frigid steel of his breastplate and getting a violent shiver as he pulled himself up. Just because the cold couldn't kill him didn't mean it was any less unpleasant. Still, the Chosen Undead just brushed himself off and continued forward, heading down the slope he now found before him, half walking, half sliding, working to keep himself from slipping and just falling in a terrible, painful tangle. However, his presence was noted, the light shining off his armor was distinct after all, and so it was, that as the slope leveled out, something came whizzing through the air. It didn't quite hit him, rather it went right past him, ruffling the cloth covering his backplate, and hitting the snow. He stumbled, and turned quickly, looking back...to see the spear sticking out of the snow. He recognized that make, the trolls were the spear chuckers in these mountains! Now, normally the fact that someone was throwing at him, possibly multiple someone's, would be a cause for alarm, but it sent a thrill of excitement down the Chosen's spine. At last, he had trolls to face down! The next part of his quest was just waiting for him to reach out and claim it...and thanks to the fact that this was a spear sticking out of the snow, he knew the direction they were in! So he turned, slinging his silver knight shield from his back and holding it up...not in time to stop the next spear though. That one scored a direct hit, right on the head. It wasn't forceful enough to pierce his helm, but the impact was still quite noteworthy.
It was noteworthy enough to knock him backwards, falling into the snow with a grunt as the spear bounced off his helm and fell in the snow a few feet away. The Chosen was able to get back up quickly though, getting up and rolling forward, another several spears hurling over him, landing in the snow. Up ahead he could see them, a short ledge, and five trolls, probably a hunting party of some kind, or even scouts, well whatever they were, they had found something far more dangerous than they realized. With shield up he kept going, the Sunlight Straight Sword now drawn and out in his right hand. The trolls themselves, with only so many spears, soon drew forth the familiar, short handled axes and leaped down, rolling to their feet and charging at the Undead who was similarly charging towards them. One of the trolls pulled ahead, and he was to be the first to fall. His axe came up, and was caught on the shield, a shifting of the Chosen's shoulder deflecting the axe aside while his sword thrust in, going right through his chest and piercing the beast's black heart. He pulled free quickly, and then jumped backwards, sliding in the snow slightly as two trolls came around their brethren even as he collapsed. The last two were not far behind, and maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, this was a terrible place, so open, to fight a larger group. Yet, he had forced himself into this, and well, he could only see a few options here, and that was mainly, take the hits, eat them, and try to dish out more than he took. So he moved forward, he blocked the axe of a troll on his left, and deflected the strike of the troll on his right. Then, he deliberately turned his attention away from the right, and went at the left, his shield pushing into his chest, sending him staggering backwards. The straight sword thrust once again, and took the troll just below the ribcage, piercing through him...and as a result of this hard offense, three separate axes from three separate trolls slammed into his back and right shoulder.
He staggered, feeling the metal dent from the hard impacts, but not quite enough to pierce it. So, he released his grip on the hilt of his sword and rolled forward, his speed seeming to double as he flipped forward and over the snow, sliding up to his feet, down on one knee still. As expected, the three trolls were chasing right after him, bellowing as they waved their axes over their heads. The Chosen's now free right hand went behind him, to the Bottomless box. The lid was flipped open, and he reached in, the item he was after magically thrusting itself to the top and into his grasp, just as it always did. He pulled it out disturbing the snow with the trolls upon him, the leading one lifting his axe high for a strike. The undead's shield dropped as his left hand darted to join his right, both hands wrapping about the long hilt of a massive blade, longer than even his great bow. With a heavy grunt, the Chosen rose to his feet and swung the mighty Zweihander! The blade swung through the air, singing as it cleaved a great path, that took all three trolls hard. It smashed into sides, broke bones and split flesh. It didn't quite manage to cleave them all in half, but sent all three flying, landing in three separate heaps in the snow. One was immobile, the other two were groaning and squirming, and only one was getting up to his feet. One quick advance on him, and then two last swings of the Zweihander and those cries of pain were stopped.
With the trolls taken care of, and the Chosen now having several new, choice bruises forming under his armor, and a goosegg forming on his forehead, he collected straight sword and silver shield. Then, he looked over the trolls, doing a simple check to see which one had the biggest tusks. He eventually decided on one and settled the corpse on its back, as a gauntleted hand wrapped around the tusk, tugging experimentally. After a few tugs he unsheathed his blade, and then slammed the pommel into the base of the item! Three more hard bashes followed before the tusk broke off...and was tucked away into the Bottomless Box.
That was two out of four tasks complete! Now all he needed was to find a chunk of Cobalt, and he could then head to Dwarfholm and face the champion they picked for him! Shouldn't be that hard, he just had to find and mine it on the mountain tops after all. Oh yes, he was almost there!
Re: Four Tasks for the Chosen - Eileen the Crow - 05-04-2015
The blade punched through the ribs and out the other side, impaling the last troll on the dull length of steel. The creature growled and scratched helplessly at the undead warrior’s ice slick armor, before he went limp. With that, the Chosen simply lifted a foot and pushed him off the Sunlight Straight Sword, letting him fall into the snow with the rest of his companions. Another scouting...hunting or whatever party of trolls taken down, the third since he had slain the first, four whole days ago. Four days, and he had still not yet found the Cobalt he was after. It was his last task that was uncertain, once he fetched a sizable chunk he could head down to Dwarfholm and complete the final task, duelling with one of the dwarven champions. He had slowly been moving closer and closer to the center of the Frozen Fields, where the mountains were tallest and the dragons supposedly dwelt in the peaks. Said peaks were where he needed to find his cobalt, but if anything that just made him more confident. Back in Lordran, by some strange twist of fate, all the most valuable and important materials, from chunks of titanite to great slabs of it, had been found only in the most dangerous of places, guarded by the most dangerous of creatures. So, as he had had no luck finding cobalt, he might as well follow what he learned in Lordran, and head to the most dangerous places.
He was even now on the slopes of one of those great mountains, he had been resting to observe and prepare for his journey upwards when the scouting party had attacked...and then been summarily executed. Still, with them taken care of, the Chosen Undead felt like he was sufficiently prepared for one of the tallest peaks around, well not the tallest, but the central ones were significantly higher than the outer ones. It would be a bit more difficult, and far, far more unpleasant if he slipped and fell...but well he would simply have to make sure that didn’t happen! Thus, confident, prepared and hopefully about to find his cobalt, the Chosen Undead began making his way up the mountain. It was slow going, but steady, comfortable work. He had long since adjusted to the cold, or perhaps his withered frame had simply gone numb? Either way, as long as he was attentive and careful, the cold was no real threat to him. The knight just continued on upwards, walking over slips, climbing along icy, rough cliffs, and goodness gracious this mountain was high! He wouldn’t actually be getting to the top of it before nightfall came, he would need to find a suitable slope to make camp. Not unusual, he rarely ever actually made camp in the lowest valleys of the Frozen Fields, most of the time it was a slope, a higher valley or something similar. Mountains were not just straight perfectly sloped spines after all, they went steep, shallow and could connect and disconnect randomly in such a dense, mountainous area. So there was nothing for it, about halfway up this mighty, massive peak, he stopped at a rather lovely shallow area, no trees here, but he was able to summon up a bonfire, and then just relax through the night. While he did not sleep, even he was not so foolish as to try and climb such a tall, icy mountain in the dark of night.
He spent this time simply thinking and contemplating as he always did, staring into the flames as they twisted and wrapped around the charred black blade that so typified the bonfires of his world. What exactly was he doing? He hadn’t the faintest idea, right now he was just trying to befriend the dwarves while he puzzled over why he was in the Omniverse. The dwarves, and presumably most others, seemed to believe that they were just here for the entertainment of Omni himself. Was that true? Did Omni just throw them into this clashing series of universes to sit back, grin and observe? He did not know, that seemed more like something to ask the god directly...if one could find him. The hours passed as the Chosen’s thoughts churned over the subject of the Omniverse...but eventually, the sun rose up, dawn shed its light upon the mountains, twinkling between two distant peaks. Thus, he shook off such perplexing, confusing thoughts, banished the fire...and began his climb anew. Morning wore on, the sun slowly climbing higher, until it at last became unfettered by the mountains that sought to hide it from sight, although that still left it fuzzy behind the constant clouds that rarely parted, and more often simply disgorged freezing snow and hail upon the mountains. However, while the sun was rising, the Chosen would at last find that which he sought, before it reached its peak in the sky. Fortune decided to smile upon him once again.
Up ahead, and to his left, was a great flat expanse of cliff, it looked...rough, not as smooth or as icy, as if it had been hewn into the side of the mountain, rather than formed naturally. It was lined with a rough circle of rocks, and they caught his eye. Something silvery, and so he maneuvered towards it, hoisting himself up and over, until he landed on the rounded shelf of rock. There...was not even ice on this stone, or snow...most strange, and very suspicious. Perhaps it would be better not to dwell here. So he moved to one of the great chunks of rock, twice as big as his head in fact, it had a silvery, grey sheen to it, rough and metallic...was this? It must be, he had been shown a piece of it before heading out. This was cobalt! He grinned beneath his helmet, and quickly moved it behind him, stuffing it into the bottomless box, where it vanished, despite the fact that the hole did not seem nearly big enough to fit such a great chunk of rock. Now, it was time to get out of here...but right as he turned around, there came a great sound, a solid thwump of wind, and one he knew well, he had seen creatures that flew before, one creature in particular came to mind. A creature that had brought him much grief back in the castles of Lordran, the Hellkite. This was not the Hellkite, but he still rushed forward, ducking behind a large boulder in preparation. It was for naught, there was no great sweep of fire, the cliffside was not doused in liquid flame to scour the flesh from his bones...and he may well have lost his chance to escape unnoticed. For the dragon swooped in, and then settled, landing with a heavy, crunching thump on the rocky surface. It was long, and sleek, about three times the length and bulk of the green drakes that lurked in the Valley of Drakes in Lordran. That likely put it at close to...thirty feet long, and thicker than he was tall.
The creature snorted, and its head turned, to look right at the Chosen crouching behind a boulder. He looked at it, and it looked at him, and he knew exactly what was coming, he didn’t need to see its head draw back, and hear the loud hiss of inhaling air. The knight sprang into motion he had faced drakes and dragons, from the Hellkite to even the great black dragon Kalameet, the one thing you needed to remember was that distance was rarely your friend, closer could often be safer! He jumped up, and went into a roll, his speed seeming to double as he rolled and landed on one knee and a foot, the dragon’s flaming breath spraying over him, harmlessly washing over the rocks, while he was right between its forelegs! He did not hesitate, out came the sunlight straight sword, drawn in one smooth motion, and then thrust sharply upwards! It did not go as intended though. It hit the scales of the belly, paler than the dark blue of the dragon itself, colors he had never seen on a drake, it dug in slightly...but then slid clear, unable to pierce its tough, formidable hide. That was bad, his Sunlight Straight Sword might not be able to hack it here, and he did not fancy his chances of parrying a dragon. That left...three tools in his arsenal, one of which could tire him out if used recklessly, and the other two required good distance! More importantly though, the dragon reared up, feeling the attempt to pierce its scales, it let out a thunderous bellow, as one of its clawed forelegs sweeped towards him. He could not recover in time, and the great talon bashed into his side, sending him sprawling!
The scraping of his metal armor on the rocky surface was horrendous, but he quickly rolled, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow as the dragon brought a talon down with nearly all its weight, cracking the stone! With no time to lose he got to his feet, and ran for the edge of this flat outcropping of stone. The surroundings were steep, but not sheer cliff, if he could control his slide down perhaps the beast would lose interest. At worst he would at least have distance to prepare his great bow, or even the far more devastating Lightning Spear! He dove and hit the snowy surface, snow spraying up as his body rolled. He ground his teeth and brought his sword up, slamming it into the side. It scraped and bit, but managed to slow him down, managed to keep him from rolling just enough that he was able to gain a slight modicum of control. He levered his feet downwards and began to slide. It was brilliantly cold, so perhaps he hadn’t gone numb after all! From above him, came the bellow of the great beast as it took off from its lair, evidently it was not going to simply let him leave! However, he did not look up, he kept his gaze down, he needed somewhere to land, somewhere stable to bring out his greatbow! The beat of the dragon’s wings filled the air as the Chosen kept sliding down, and then he heard the sharp intake, and sharply twisted his body left, pushing into the ground with his sword. It managed to do it, he started sliding to his left, racing across the snow. A great gout of flame hit the mountainside, snow hissing and flashing to vapor upon the reach of it. He could feel the heat from here, narrowly avoiding taking the full brunt of it, which would be far from pleasant! More importantly down ahead the slope leveled out, getting shallower, was it stable enough to use the greatbow? He would have to try! The Chosen angled himself further as the dragon swooped ahead of him, soaring up above to turn around for another pass. Once again he dug his sword in, but also tried to dig his heels in, slowly halting his slide, it came close to the edge, where it did turn to cliff...but he managed to stop himself, bringing a sigh of relief. The Chosen got up, and there was the dragon, coming at him again! The Chosen stepped back, and then hurled himself left, coming up in a crouch again as flames torched the mountainside...it cleared the snow at least, and melted the ice, the harsh, rough rock was exposed now, more stable ground to fire from! His sword was sheathed and the dragon slayer’s great bow was pulled from the bottomless box, along with the quiver of great, massive, lance like arrows. He stepped onto the wet, solid rock, and planted his feet, before he slammed the stabilizing spike of the bow into the rock. The long arrow was pulled free and placed against the bowstring, and the Chosen inhaled slowly as he drew. The great metallic weapon groaned and creaked as the string was drawn taut, the knight’s body straining, every muscle going taut as he struggled to maintain the draw.
He turned slowly, carefully rotating the bow to keep up his aim. He watched the dragon fly off up the mountainside. It was going to be turning soon, coming around for another pass. That would be the opportunity, that would be the delay in its forward motion that would give him a clean shot! He waited, maintaining the bow...and then the dragon began to turn, forming a large curve around to sweep back and...he released the arrow! The force of the great spear launching was enough to send him skidding backwards, nearly knocking him on his rump. Only long days of experience with the thing stopped him from sprawling and just skidding. Yet his eyes quickly lifted up, moving to the dragon, had his aim been true? Had he provided enough of a lead? The answer was yes, the arrow flew through the air, hurtling along with a low whistle, and then the dragon cried out, a bellow of pure fury and pain as its left back leg twitched and jerked. Had the arrow hit the leg, or just near it? The Chosen couldn’t see, but while the great drake fumbled in its flying, its wings flapped, and it recovered, roaring as it swept by. Its attempt to sweep by him for another bout of flame ruined as it hurtled past him fruitlessly. The Chosen however, still had his bow, and turned around, once again he planted it, once again he drew the arrow back, his body straining as he prepared another great arrow to bring pain to the creature. He drew back, he aimed...and then he fired! The arrow whistled through the air once again as the beast turned around..but it was not stupid, and this time when it turned it went into a dive at the same time, before swooping back up!
The arrow sailed harmlessly over it thanks to that clever maneuver, and it was coming for him...but it was swooping too low. Its wings would be nearly touching the slope when it came past...that was the idea, it wasn’t going to try to burn him, it was going to try to bite or grab him! The bow was dropped, it fell from his hand as he reacted quickly, with a weapon he could only hope had the force to take the beast down, or at least stop this. His hand went back to the bottomless box yet again, diving into it, and gripping the long sturdy handle, he drew it free, the Zweihander seeming to appear from nothing. Taller than he was, perhaps taller than the Dragon Slayer’s Great Bow, it was classified as an Ultra Greatsword in Lordran, and it fit the title! The dragon came towards him, its jaws agape, preparing to bite into his body. Both his hands gripped the hilt of the blade, squeezing it firmly as he braced himself, one leg going back, the foot planted down, before he swung the gleaming, shining steel around in a great arc! The metal hit the creature in the side of the head! The impact was tremendous, the force of it vibrating down the Chosen Undead’s arms, making them tremble and his body shake and slide, but the dragon felt it too! Its head rocked to the side, the Zweihander pushing it along, the blade cracking the small narrow, flexible scales along the head and near the lips. Blood oozed out, but it didn’t quite sever the creature’s jaw, just knocked it aside. There was a squawking bellow as it slid aside and...its wing slammed right into the Chosen’s body! He felt his breastplate cave in from the sheer force of it as he was sent hurtling backwards, fortunately, away from the ledge. The undead warrior went sprawling, the Zweihander falling from his grip as he slid back, the dragon sailing over him further, crashing through the snow and ice, sprawling upwards. Its tail was level with him, the tip just past his feet in terms of location, but the rest of it had gone over him. With a wheezing groan he rolled over and pushed himself up to his knees. In front of him, the dragon was slowly getting up, fangs broken, a shallow gash on the left side of its head...the Zweihander...it wasn’t close enough, the beast was right there, it was stunned...alright, he was ending this battle now! At least, hopefully he was. He pushed himself up to his feet, his left hand going to run along the great dent on his breastplate. He could feel the metal pressing tightly to his chest, but he ignored it. Instead, he brought his right hand up, holding it up to the skies as if beseeching them, and that wasn’t too far off. He was calling upon the sun.
In Lordran and the countries that surrounded it, there were three great powers that affected them and bolstered them. In Astora, the great power there, had been miracles, bolstered by its strong religion and worship of the Old Lords. Miracles were great feats of incredible power, from healing the most horrific of wounds, to creating barriers against the hated Sorceries. Every Miracle was a tale, a story and it was from the memorization and recital of these stories in one’s head that gave the miracles their strength, faith in the tale resulted in the manifestation of the miracle. The tale that sprung to his mind was of the old Silver Knights, and of Gwyn the great Lord of Sunlight, ruler of Lordran in the prime days of the Age of Sunlight. The tale of his knights fighting the arch dragons, and of the manifestation of sunlight into a single, solid spear...a spear of lightning to peel apart and pierce their stony, nigh impenetrable hides. Within his up thrust fist, lightning crackled, it formed from the sunlight itself, crackling and flicking into a long spear, twice as long as he was tall, shining brightly and crackling with pure, unfettered power. In his home, lightning was the bane of dragons of all forms, it was time to see if that was the case here.
Before him the dragon was turning around, growling slowly as it turned to confront this interloper that had so repeatedly hurt it. Distantly he noticed that it was limping, hobbling on its right leg, the left truly had been struck by that first arrow...but this wound, this would would do far worse! With the Lightning Spear in his grasp, his right leg slid back, going into a stable position, his right arm drew back, bending and pulling back, before he heaved forwards! His arm flung forward, it streaked out of his grip, lancing towards the dragon like the pure beam of sunlight that it was! A great high pitched crackling arose as it rushed towards the dragon. It rushed past its head...and struck into its chest. There was no pause, no delay, no flash of light, it simply hit the dragon’s chest...and pierced through, emerging out of its back as the creature let out a shocked bellow. Its head rose up as its reptilian eyes went wide, a great charred hole now in its torso...before it fell down, collapsing as it began to slide down the mountainside. The Chosen simply stepped back to keep from getting tripped down after it, and sighed, sitting down on the cleared rock and groaning as a hand went to the concave dent in his breastplate. That had been...quick, quick but very painful. Still, he had it, Cobalt, a chunk of Cobalt. Once he had had a few hours rest to recover from that, why, he’d be right on his way...this particular quest, was nearly done.
Re: Four Tasks for the Chosen - Eileen the Crow - 05-19-2015
Two days had passed since the death of the dragon, and the acquirement of that great rock of cobalt ore. A full eight days, a full week since he had first set out on this task after rescuing those dwarves from the grasp of the trolls. Eight days, and at last, he was in Dwarfholm! It was a place that had a rugged, fine beauty all its own. It was a massive subterranean fortress, a great stronghold carved out of multiple mountains, that had been expanded, altered, and shaped in a beautiful way. Safe works and beautiful but sturdy craftsmanship characterized the whole of the place. The dwarves here, they were also relaxed, happy, and truly the Chosen Undead felt lucky to have even been allowed in this city, even if he did not yet have permission to the great palatial Mithril Hall, where King Bruenor himself lived and gave audience to his peoples. However, that would be fixed shortly.
Eight long days of travel for this, and it felt well worth the reward. His description had been passed to the gate guards after he had signed up for the quest. So when he had emerged from the blizzards, wandered in with his armor set back straight, they had questioned him, made him remove his helmet for sure..but ultimately let the Chosen Undead in. Some had seemed very suspicious of his title, but the fact was, what an undead was in whatever universe they had been from was likely not the same as an Undead from Lordran or Astora. He had been brought back just past the gates, to a small guard post, where those just off duty or about to go on relaxed, drank or gambled. The officer in charge had met with him, and the Chosen had handed over all the items he had acquired. The tusk of a troll slain in a hard won battle, a great rolled up wampa hide, dried and scraped and ready to be used for clothing or rugs, and then a great chunk of cobalt, bigger than the Chosen's own head! All items had proven sufficient, and thus a guard had been sent with Chosen, to lead him to dwarfholm to the place where he would meet his final challenge...a duel with a dwarven champion.
As he was led through the straight, narrow streets, the city arranged like a grid, buildings of great stone on all sides. He could not help but wonder how this duel would go. He rather doubted that it was going to be like the duels back in Lordran, of summoning up someone from a completely different version of Lordran through a red sign placed upon the ground. Odds were, his opponent would be waiting without a summoning and, would it be to the death or not? Well if it was another Prime it might well be...if not, then the dwarves might not take kindly to their champion dying. Hopefully he would get an explanation upon arrival at wherever they would be fighting, but for now, the armored undead simply followed, getting some looks from the dwarves wandering the streets, going about business or leisure. It was good that he had been to that smaller village earlier, or the presence of so many people who weren't hostile in the slightest might have left the Chosen awestruck after his months long journey through the lethal landscapes of the ancient lords. Then, his escort stopped, in front of a large building, built roughly circular and very close to Mithril Hall itself. "Welcome to tha battle hall, whar warriors of Dwarfholm and dwarfkind, an' honored guests like yerself, frequently fight an' spar for entertainment, glory an' fun!" The burly dwarf spoke up as way of explanation. Then he strode forward, nodding to the guards at the two double doors, tall enough for the Chosen to walk through in fact, and carved from good, solid granite! "Word's been sent ahead of us Chosen, so I'll hand ya over to the fine folks here. Good luck in yer battle, an' may Moridin shine on yer hammer." It had the feeling of a religious phrase, much like Praise the Sun, and Chosen nodded back.
"Thank you for your guidance, and may the Sun ever guide your way." He replied in kind as the two guards hauled the doors open. On the other side was another dwarf, with a beard separated into two braids going down his chest and broad belly. He gestured the knight forward, and thus he did, walking up the steps and through the open doors.
"Welcome traveler, ye may call me Thorin, how are ye likin' Dwarfholm?" He asked, turning to walk along a stone corridor, torches providing a bright, warm light to it, showcasing tapestries and great examples of dwarven weapons hanging upon the walls.
"It's beautiful, there was never anything like this in my own world, at least not that I ever saw." He replies, his sword hand clenching, in anticipation of what was to come.
"Hoho, yer world sounds dreary then if it don' have no great works of dwarfkind. Ah well, ye haven' even seen the best of it. In Mithril Hall is where some of the true beauty and works lie, an' iffen ye can defeat Reunoc Lightningforge, ye'll even have a proper item of dwarvish make of yer own."
"Ah, yes about that." The chosen spoke up quickly. "In...my own world duels were...generally quite lethal, I take it that's not the case here?"
"Hahaha, a dreary and dangerous world then. No, this isn' to tha death. This is a spar, if ye knock out yer opponent, or they give up, that makes ye the victor. However, if they knock yerself out, or you surrender, that's yer own loss." The dwarf says, chuckling.
The knight just nods, and then they stop, the dwarf turning towards him. "Now, do ye want some time to rest? I heard ye've only just arrived after all."
"No, thank you. Rest is...not something that does much for me, and I was able to recuperate from my last encounter on the journey here."
The dwarf nodded, not too put out. Primes could be strange, and well this armored swordsman was described as an undead. "Alright then, this here is a kind o' waiting room. It's connected right to the arena through that door. Iffen ya like, you can jes' wait here and prepare yerself for yer duel." He said, opening up a door for the Chosen to head through, it led into a decently sized room, there was a bench, a table, simple really.
"Ah thank you, I would like that actually. There will be plenty of time to explore your wonderful city afterwards right?" The Chosen says stepping through.
"Heh, fair enough. Well, don' worry we'll let ya know when it's time ta start, fer now relax and prepare Chosen, an' good luck to ya!"
With that, Thorin left the Chosen to his own devices, which was basically sitting on the bench. His Sunlight Straight Sword was drawn, and laid across his metal clad knees, laid simply as he simply let the minutes tick on by. A good solid hour was more than enough time for him to rest and recover, and he could only grow more eager about the duel. Ruenoc Lightningforge, the name of the dwarf he would be fighting. What weapons would he use, how difficult would he be? Just how would the duel go? In the end, he could only wait to find out, and he was resolved to win this, and well he had a great track record for accomplishing the things he set his mind to. Eventually the hour passed, and his door opened again, and there was Thorin. “Alright Chosen, ye ready fer yer duel?”
The knight looked up at the dwarf, and then nodded, standing up, “I’m ready.” He says, his blade hanging from his right hand, picking up his shield in his left.
“Excellent, then, jes’ right through here.” He walks across the room and to the door on the opposite side, unlocking it and opening it. “The arena’s right through here, an’ good luck to yeh!”
The Chosen Undead simply nodded before striding through the door, ducking slightly, to find himself in a wide, circular stone arena. The walls were about five feet taller than his head, and the footing was good and stable, and up on the walls on stone benches, several dozen dwarves had gathered to watch the fight. Not a large crowd, not as much as it could fit, but a great amount for certain! On the other side of the arena, which was maybe...twenty five meters across? He wasn’t so good at eyeballing distances, but it seemed like an okay guess, another door had opened. Through it strode a dwarf, maybe just below Chosen’s chest, who was covered head to toe in heavy metal armour. Helmet, greaves, gauntlets, breastplate, he looked more metal than flesh! He also had a massive axe in his hands, double sided, with a thick haft that his fingers were wrapped around. Thorin himself reappeared in a booth to the left, higher up than the other dwarves, and announced in a great booming voice, the contestants. “Welcome dwarves of Dwarfholm! Today we our here to observe a battle for entrance into Mithril Hall. The challenger, The Chosen Undead! Defending, and forcing him to prove his worth and will, Ruenoc Lightningforge! May both fight well!”
Then, Thorin sounded a great gong, and Ruenoc began striding forward, covering the ground with a surprising speed as he moved towards the swordsman. The Chosen Undead began moving as well, his shield coming up as he started moving forward, but to the left, circling around as he so often did when fighting the other Undead in Lordran. Ruenoc though just kept up his forward advance, adjusting to ensure he was still coming straight on for the Astoran Knight. His axe came around as he finally got close enough, sweeping low to go towards the warrior’s feet, well below the protective range of his shield. Fortunately, that great axe was a heavier weapon, and gave the Chosen Undead time to leap back, narrowly avoiding the sweep, and then stepping forward again, one knee going low as his straight sword went back, and then came around. Normally one would thrust with such a weapon...but well a successful thrust here might do more harm than it was supposed to in a match like this! Thus it came around, and slammed into the helmet of the dwarf, hitting it with an audible clang, and rocking the dwarf...slightly. Unfortunately it also left the Chosen Undead exposed as the axe came around and hit him from, fortunately his left side. The shield absorbed some of the blow, but the force of it still sent him sprawling onto the ground! He rolled right quickly, narrowly missing an armored boot that would have landed on his back, and sprang to his feet, shield coming up, the knight on one knee.
This proved to be wise as the axe slammed into his shield with a great clang, the force of it nearly sent him flying back, and he could feel his arm bruising behind the grooved metal device. Yet, he had learned something important as he got to his feet and sprang back, avoiding a repeated slam from the axe. Ruenoc Lightningforge was very strong, very sturdy...but he didn’t have the Chosen’s speed, and possibly not his skill either. He would need to use those to his advantage, and avoid repeating the heavy blow he had opened with. So he once again began circling again, while the dwarf watched, hands flexing around the haft of that great axe he wielded. The problem here was the Chosen’s weapon, he wasn’t sure he could trust himself not to seriously hurt Ruenoc if he actually went all out. His hand flexed on the hilt of his straight sword as he thought this over, he could keep going for quick swipes along the sides of the body...or, he could sheathe his sword. That was an idea, and he did so, sliding it into his sheathe, and leaving him with shield and fist? It took Ruenoc by surprise that was for certain, but the Chosen was confident in his decision. If what he had learned of the Omniverse was true, his fist strikes would not be nearly as weak as they had been in Lordran, but still faster than the straightsword, and safer.
Then, the Chosen rushed forward again, moving towards the dwarf once more, only instead of a punch, as the dwarf lifted his axe, the Chosen’s knee came up. It slammed up into the helmet, the heavy blow had most of the Chosen’s weight behind it, and made him stagger backwards, almost losing his balance. It did though, give the Chosen an opportunity to leap behind him, spin on one heel, and while Ruenoc was just trying to go around, go for the Backstab. The term was sort of a misnomer here, a move in Lordran that simply referred to getting an attack on one from behind, but its effects in the Omniverse were much the same. A critical blow due to how hard it usually was to land, but in this case, the Chosen lucked out. His fist slammed into the back of the Dwarf, shoving and nearly toppling him. Ruenoc took a step forward, trying to keep from toppling, and then the Chosen jumped, and brought his steel covered fist down on the back of his helmet! It floored Ruenoc, sending him sprawling, a terrible scraping ringing out as he slid a few inches on the floor. That was the thing back in Lordran, the heavier and slower you were, the easier you were to parry, to backstab, but the more painful you were if your opponents missed those opportunities. Of course, the fact that it could take four to five backstabs or parries against such tough opponents was...something he was well aware of. However he did not have to kill Ruenoc, merely make him give up.
Thus, he did not wait for Reunoc to stand up, but rather reached down to grab him by his helmet and hoist him back up, just so that the edge of his shield could slam into his face, and send him staggering backwards again. Then he stepped back, shield coming up patiently as Reunoc shook his head and recovered, bringing his axe up to try and cleave right through that shield! After all, no shield was indestructible, and he had a great deal of strength on his side. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a matter of strength, but of skill. The axe came down, it made brief contact with the shield, before the Chosen shifted his arm to the side, pushing hard...and making it swing outwards! Ruenoc was left wide open as his body rocked to the side unexpectedly, before the Chosen came in again, and smashed his fist into the dwarf’s perfectly positioned face! Once again the dwarf stumbled back, just for the Chosen to leap forward and slam that heavy metal fist into the helmeted dwarf’s head and slam him back down onto the ground! Then, the Chosen got up onto him, resting a knee on the dwarf’s chest and slamming his fist into his helmet again, and again, and again! Repeated heavy clangs and thumps rang out as he pounded at the dwarf...but even that was not quite enough. Ruenoc threw Chosen off, managing to get his arms up and heaving, the act throwing the knight onto his back with a heavy crash of metal. He rolled to his feet and backed off, watching as Ruenoc got up himself, bringing his axe up and to the ready.
It was clear to see that while the Chosen Undead had gotten several hard, solid hits in, Ruenoc was tough enough to take it, at least for now. The battle resumed again as Reunoc began advancing, at a slower, more steady pace, his axe raised a bit higher. He was watching, waiting for the Chosen Undead to try something, and playing more defensive..not the most ideal situation for the Chosen. Ruenoc would be watching for parries, might even try faking him out, and would be more watchful and ready for attempted backstabs. The two circled around each other, both more wary now, waiting for the slightest opening, the slightest give. Eventually, after half a minute, the Chosen made a risk. He rushed forward, dashing towards the dwarf, who stepped back. Rather than attack, Ruenoc was going to defend, which was the Chosen’s hope, that he would not attack someone charging for fear of another parry and riposte! Instead, the Chosen’s free right hand moved forward...and grabbed the haft of the axe, going for the gap between Ruenoc’s hands. He gave a hard, terrible heave, and Ruenoc was unbalanced. He was not prepared for that action, and he stumbled forwards again, and the Chosen stepped forward and spun around once again.
Once more his fist smashed into the dwarf’s helmet as the first unbalancing blow before the more brutal blow of the backstab...but the second blow did not come. Instead he brought both hands around and ripped the helmet off, exposing Ruenoc’s bright yellow hair, matted from the helmet! He tossed it away, and then slammed his fist into the dwarf’s head as hard as he could! Ruenoc staggered from it, nearly falling over, but the Chosen had wasted the Backstab opportunity. It did not have the damage of one of those critical blows. Still he now had a weak spot to capitalize on and boy did he, with Ruenoc staggered he hit him again, and again...and the dwarf backed up, throwing up a hand. “Uncle! Uncle! yeh got me, haha...urgh…” The Chosen stopped as he heard those words, the dwarf had...submitted right? Yes he clearly had, and thorin clarified.
“There it is! Ruenoc submits, and the Chosen Undead has won!”
Now...this was a feeling of satisfaction, the feeling of a task accomplished, of a goal met. The Chosen had completed all four tasks. It was time for his reward, which would hopefully lead to more duties. These dwarves were fine and honorable folk...speaking of which. He walked over, picking up Ruenoc’s fallen helmet, before handing it to the dwarf. “Thank you for the match Lightningforge, it was a most entertaining bout.”
“Ah? Heh...hahahaha. Well thank ye.” He said, taking the helmet back. “It sure was, even if I do feel like I spent tha night soakin’ in a mead barrel. Now, we can’ talk later, yeh should go claim yer rewards. We’ll meet after fer a drink. Anyone who can fight tha’ well deserves one!”
“Ah, I look forward to it. I’ve sampled your ale and it was very refreshing. Until then Lightningforge.” The Chosen said cheerfully. Yes, these people were definitely the type that anyone would be proud to count as a friend!