06-10-2018, 09:02 PM
Rain pounded on the small shack of the out posting. Wounded groaned around him, this was one of many medical stops for soldiers. His ears rang with the last blow he had taken. The little minions of the Great Ones packed a nasty punch. Gnolls always did. He stared forward at the wall, not really seeing it. War did that. You found yourself on the battlefield, and you never really left.
Thunder shook him out of his stupor and his hand drifted up to his head wrappings. He looked around, Varana of all kind laid on cots. Most weren’t big clans, he saw plenty of nameless. Which was a name for people who didn’t have a house name, like common people. However he saw the Silverclaws, Red-Blades, Stoneborn. All dead or dying. No one wanted to admit it, but they were losing.
He blinked slowly and saw as a doctor approached. Medics and Doctors wore head bands embroidered with the symbol of Madaroc, the god of healing. It was a a red and white fist. The medic was saying something with a worried tone, and Mordus saw the fear in his eyes. Yet he couldn’t muster the emotion, and the constant ringing? The only thing he could hear was the rain and groaning, it was the seven hells on Orla. He simply nodded and the doctor responded with a nod of his own. He hurried off to other wounded and Mordus went back to sitting down, wishing the war would end some day. That wish was granted, for him at least.
His world erupted and sound came rushing back to him, the night sky filled his view as he flew sideways, collapsing at the edge of the pillar they were on. Men and women screamed around him, sounds of agony and dispear. Thunder shook the sky and he saw a glimpse of his enemy. A Great One. It’s scaled Hand was winding back slowly. Probably normal speed for it, but he was so gargantuan that he lived at his own pace. Standing more then 300 tall, and the very sight of fear. Ancient beings that awoke for one reason. Destroy. His own blood pooled around him and he gasped for air as a deep cold settled over him. No. This wouldn’t be how it ended. Dying in a medic outpost mikes away from his family. His love. He placed shaky palms on the ground and forced himself up. His body shook but he called forth his ancient birth right. The rain and mud swirled around for a few seconds before a large golden feathered griffin stood. He cocked his head at him and seemed to beckon him forward.
You lie in your own blood? Pitiful. He seemed to say. He staggered over to him and shakily mounted him. He cast a look to the dying around him and said a small prayer to Aurial. Gods give him strength to charge this beast. It would be the last thing he’d do, maybe it would give them time. Maybe. Lirn kicked off the ground and flew through the rain. The occasional flash of thunder lit up the beast, and Mordus saw his target well enough. His cry echoed throughout the battlefield, and the head slowly turned towards him. Bright golden light enveloped him and he closed his eyes.
No smells. That’s what woke him up. He inhaled softly but there was no hint of rain, blood, or reptile. Odd to day the least. His eyes fluttered open and he saw the hard grey stone around him, but no sky. A large oak tree stood over a shallow pool of crystal clear water. He crawled over and looked deep in the water. His wrapping were gone, but a long white scar could be seen on his head, although his fur covered it up more or less.
He attempted to dip both hands in, but for the first time found he was gripping a small white orb. He studied it for a second. It brought fleeting memories of a wide lipped grin, and... instructions? No no, guides. Odd. His gaze followed the flat stone ground, and found that it met with blank, whiteness. The only thing he saw was the large tree, pound, and small patch of stone. What in the seven hells was happening?
Thunder shook him out of his stupor and his hand drifted up to his head wrappings. He looked around, Varana of all kind laid on cots. Most weren’t big clans, he saw plenty of nameless. Which was a name for people who didn’t have a house name, like common people. However he saw the Silverclaws, Red-Blades, Stoneborn. All dead or dying. No one wanted to admit it, but they were losing.
He blinked slowly and saw as a doctor approached. Medics and Doctors wore head bands embroidered with the symbol of Madaroc, the god of healing. It was a a red and white fist. The medic was saying something with a worried tone, and Mordus saw the fear in his eyes. Yet he couldn’t muster the emotion, and the constant ringing? The only thing he could hear was the rain and groaning, it was the seven hells on Orla. He simply nodded and the doctor responded with a nod of his own. He hurried off to other wounded and Mordus went back to sitting down, wishing the war would end some day. That wish was granted, for him at least.
His world erupted and sound came rushing back to him, the night sky filled his view as he flew sideways, collapsing at the edge of the pillar they were on. Men and women screamed around him, sounds of agony and dispear. Thunder shook the sky and he saw a glimpse of his enemy. A Great One. It’s scaled Hand was winding back slowly. Probably normal speed for it, but he was so gargantuan that he lived at his own pace. Standing more then 300 tall, and the very sight of fear. Ancient beings that awoke for one reason. Destroy. His own blood pooled around him and he gasped for air as a deep cold settled over him. No. This wouldn’t be how it ended. Dying in a medic outpost mikes away from his family. His love. He placed shaky palms on the ground and forced himself up. His body shook but he called forth his ancient birth right. The rain and mud swirled around for a few seconds before a large golden feathered griffin stood. He cocked his head at him and seemed to beckon him forward.
You lie in your own blood? Pitiful. He seemed to say. He staggered over to him and shakily mounted him. He cast a look to the dying around him and said a small prayer to Aurial. Gods give him strength to charge this beast. It would be the last thing he’d do, maybe it would give them time. Maybe. Lirn kicked off the ground and flew through the rain. The occasional flash of thunder lit up the beast, and Mordus saw his target well enough. His cry echoed throughout the battlefield, and the head slowly turned towards him. Bright golden light enveloped him and he closed his eyes.
No smells. That’s what woke him up. He inhaled softly but there was no hint of rain, blood, or reptile. Odd to day the least. His eyes fluttered open and he saw the hard grey stone around him, but no sky. A large oak tree stood over a shallow pool of crystal clear water. He crawled over and looked deep in the water. His wrapping were gone, but a long white scar could be seen on his head, although his fur covered it up more or less.
He attempted to dip both hands in, but for the first time found he was gripping a small white orb. He studied it for a second. It brought fleeting memories of a wide lipped grin, and... instructions? No no, guides. Odd. His gaze followed the flat stone ground, and found that it met with blank, whiteness. The only thing he saw was the large tree, pound, and small patch of stone. What in the seven hells was happening?