Welcome to Gaia! ::

The sky was a deep crimson as Torvil looked over his shattered spear. His left arm hung limp by his side, mangled by his enemies death blow. Shaking his head he threw the weapon aside, it was useless now, the tip lodged deep in the heart of his foe, a large black drake. Looking out over the horizon, he sighed deeply as he took in the ruination of the land. This war had been costly, even more so than the last one the cliffs had faced, less than a year before. But the Raven Clan had been a much smaller threat, and the Cliff Dragon Tribe had had many more allies during that war. Now it was just the Tribe on it's own, ill fit for a war so soon, perhaps to their foe's benefit.

Torvil knew some of his people's history, not as much as he'd liked, and not as much as many of the elders. But what he did know was that the dragons that were currently massing in the North-lands had once been a part of the Tribe. What had caused the schism between the two tribes nobody was quite sure, but it was deep, and the Northern Dragons held a grudge like no other. Granted, Torvil knew that there had never really been peace between the two tribes, the Cliff Dragons had been hunting the Northern Dragons for well on three hundred years as part of the right of passage for youngsters seeking to earn their warrior totems. Now they had chosen to strike back, and in full force. Torvil worried that the Cliffs might not make it through this war.

They'd have to see...

He turned away from the carnage of the fight, rolling his good shoulder. His body had changed since the start of the war. Gone was any hint of flab from his frame, his core and muscles had toned out quite well due to the pure physical exertion brought on by warfare. His frame had bulked up considerably, he was no longer the one hundred and fifty-six pound scholarly weakling he'd been at the start of this war. No, no, Torvil now stood, at five feet and seven inches, weighing a decent one hundred and seventy-two pounds. Two months of almost constant bloodshed and exertion had hardened his body. His eyes, or rather, his eye were a bit harder now, at least on the surface. His right eye was a deep amber yellow-gold, while his left was just a mass of scar tissue. Torvil had lost it early on in the fighting, and he did nothing to hide it. He'd made a stupid mistake and it had cost him his eye, and he intended to keep that a lesson well learned. That mistake had cost him more than his eye, it had cost him the lives of three of his very good friends and fellow warriors. Torvil had not asked for command, but it had been foisted upon him anyway. Morgana was indispensable in that respect, she was his right hand, his equal, his mate and confidante. They had given up much to be here, their daughter had been taken to her cousin's to be safe. He missed her, as he missed the peace that had once held the land. Growling deep in his throat he looked up at the sky, wanting to shout curses at whatever foolish god thought it necessary to torment such a peaceful place, but he let it go, his now lengthy locks of brown fell down around his eyes once more. Huffing he ran his hand through his hair and pushed his bangs out of his eyes, before rolling his shoulders and heading towards camp.

It took him about a half hour to reach the encampment, and about ten minutes to clear all the security checks to make sure he was who he said he was. When he finally reached his tent he took a moment to brush the dust off of his tunic and pants, knowing it was a lost cause due to all the dried gore. Slipping into the tent he stripped down and changed into a new set of clothing, and pulled another spear from his weapons rack. He sat lightly on the edge of the cot he shared with his wife, and let his thumb run along the haft of the spear.

"There's not going to be an end to this war until one of these tribes are wiped from the face of the earth, I can feel it in my bones," Torvil rumbled, letting his voice drift off to the back of the tent.

"Considering this past month has been a perfect stalemate, I would be inclined to agree," The voice was old and wizened full of bitter resentment at the world at large. It's owner was a short hunched man his skin wrinkled with age, his eyes milky and incoherent. He leaned heavily on a gnarled cane, a large ghostly wolf stood beside him giving him added support, it's eyes sharp and bright gold against its pale fur. While the old man did not look at Torvil, the wolf did. "I'd like to see it end before I die," the aged shaman grumbled, moving into the tent, the wolf walking beside him in perfect time. The shaman raised his arm, exposing the black scales on his elbows, which were beginning to flake and molt, showing white underneath. "Doesn't seem like I have much longer,"

"I know Yuan, I know," Torvil sighed, his own scales had grown considerably darker these last two months, almost to a jet black hue, they were so deeply purple. Torvil had noticed other changes too, but had chosen to keep them to himself... and Morgana. He was sure Yuan knew, but he wasn't about to give it away to the shaman. Not yet. "We'll see how it goes in the next few days, with any luck Morgana and I can push them back. She's smart about these sorts of things, and her powers are only getting stronger with each passing day... I'm sure if I could buy her the time to go finish her training..." Torvil sounded hopeful. "She could help me end this once and for all."

"My offer still stands to teach her what I know of the elements, you know, she need not travel all the way back to wherever it is she must go," Yuan said impatiently. "I probably know more about it then some lithe tree humping pointy eared hobnobs."

"And I told you no already, her powers and ours aren't alike, they compliment each other but they are not the same." Torvil shook his head and then stood, leaning on the spear and moving over to the wolf, looking down at it. "Besides, she'd probably be too much for you to handle old man,"

"Hah, hardly," Yuan laughed, the wolf's eyes tracked Torvil as he moved. Then suddenly it lunged, clamping Torvil's mangled arm in it's jaws and growling deeply, tugging Torvil to the ground.

Torvil swore and yowled in pain, punching the beast hard in the head, but it was to no avail, it remained latched onto his dead arm. Torvil rolled out of the tent with the monster, biting and clawing, stabbing, punching, kicking, doing all that he could to try and dislodge the wolf from his arm, which was now flayed to the bone. Howling in pain and rage, Torvil summoned all of the magic in his body, forming a spear of air around his right fist and slammed it hard into the side of the wolf, finally able to puncture the beasts enchanted flesh. The wolf yowled, but did not let go. It bleed a deep black, thick and sticky, almost like a brackish ink. Torvil growled again, driving his magicked spear again and again into the wolf's frame. Finally with one last desperate yell, he drove it into the beast's skull, splattering the dark ink against his flesh and flayed arm. Suddenly the beast vanished, and Torvil rolled to his feet, looking about.

Then the world suddenly became fire.

Torvil fell to his knees, his mouth open in a silent scream, his face to the sky as his left arm re knit, the black ink forming into an intricate tattoo of a running wolf bound in a tribal band of dragon's fangs. His right eye grew wide as Torvil suddenly understood what was going on. "Yuan... You b*****d,"

Like I said, I'd like to see the war end before I died, but I knew it would not be so. My time is done Torvil, you knew as well as I this was your path as soon as this war started. You saw the signs as well as I did, and you told your wife... if not the whole truth at least the part you knew, and I commend you for that, not many of our kind do. Yuan's voice resonated in Torvil's skull as Torvil panted, trying to catch his breath. I pass the torch to you Torvil, as Morgana will soon receive hers. Just as it was my time to pass, so soon will it be my counterparts, and her daughter will be looking for a successor.

Torvil remained silent, waiting a few moments as he felt the spirit of his oldest teacher and friend leave the mortal coil. Finally, when he felt the time had past he rose, his right eye glowing a slightly brighter amber-gold, almost like melted gold laced with brass and copper, with some flecks of cobalt giving it a bluish tint. He flexed his left arm and looked to the moon, letting out a long low howl for his friend and mentor. Deep in his soul, he felt the stirring of the land around him, and he knew he had done right.

Turning he headed back to his tent. When he got there, he saw no sign of Yuan's old frame, and picking up his spear he sat down once more on the cot. Holding out his left hand, he snapped his fingers, a bit of flame came to life between them, and began to dance from fingertip to fingertip.

"Born Torvil, son of Korvil, son of Trohal. Child of the Hawk, under the Lion's sign, holding the totem of the Dragon. If my fate is to be a Shaman, then so be it," Torvil watched the flame dance across his hand and shook his head.

This was going to be a very, very long war.

She comes, she comes, the wind whispered to him, not in words but in feeling. Torvil smiled and looked to the south, towards the cliffs, towards what would be home once more. Once the war was over. Torvil closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I will see you soon my beloved," He gave his words to the wind, letting it carry to her along it's ebb and flow. He knew she was ready. He was ready too.

His eye cast out along the northern horizon, as he kept a wary watch on what would probably be the worst attack yet to come. Sprinting he ran to the farthest point in the camp's defenses, a small earthen wall covered with a light palisade. It wouldn't really keep the enemy dragons out, but it was peace of mind his soldiers needed.

"Be ready, they'll probably attack as soon as the last of the light fades from the sky,"

Torvil couldn't have been more right.

Right as the sun fell off the earth they attacked in full force, screaming out of the dark sky, spouting flames from their maw as their land bound counterparts crashed through the flimsy barriers into the camp.

"Hold the line!" Torvil bellowed, his spear weaving and darting about as he stabbed and slashed. He knew that this would be it, one false move now would cost him his life. There were so many... So many.

Spinning he stabbed one drake through the eye, letting out a howl of rage. He let his voice call out to the creatures of the earth, and he heard them cry back in reply. They would come.

He stomped his foot, and the ground rumbled, it too felt his cry for help. Shards of rock broke up from the ground in a violent eruption around his body, skewering more than a few of the earth bound dragons trying to take him down. He roared with the rage of the earth.

"FIGHT MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS! PUSH THEM BACK!"

Torvil could feel her as she neared him, she was almost a force amongst herself. A star amongst the barren night sky, a beacon of hope, perhaps salvation. He fought his way towards her, his spear arcing and cutting and stabbing. Fire flew from the edge of it, ice formed in the wounds it left. The very air around him cut and flayed scales and flesh from bones. The earth stung where he commanded.

From the wastelands came bears and wolves and lions. Animals of all shape and size answering the call of their shaman brother. Hawks and eagles dove from the sky, harried the land bound and molested those that still flew. Torvil paid particular attention to those now, buffeting some with air, trying to mangle their wings.

He didn't see the attack until it was too late...

The claw came from his blind side, and struck him full on in the chest, sending him flying. He rolled and bounced a good ten meters, his spear snapping in half from the impact. He tried to soften the earth to lessen his injuries, but he was weakened, the dragon had bled him, his ribs were cracked and he could feel his left lung was punctured.

His breath came ragged as he rose shakily to his feet.

"For the cliffs..." His blood dripped onto the soil as he fell to his good knee. His good eye watching the battle as he prayed Morgana would be alright. Catching his breath, he formed a spear of stone, and charged.

He just had to hold out till the battle was over!

There she was, and hurt, damn this wasn't looking good. Torvil slashed and stabbed his way through the carnage, before tossing the spear into the side of another dragon and vaulting over the body of another as he reached his wife. Reaching down, he used his good arm to help her up away from the body of her recent kill and to her feet. He stomped his foot sending a ripple through the stone, which was followed by more shards. He was getting tired, he was drawing too much too fast from the elements, and he would have to end this soon.

Turning to his wife he brushed her cheek before turning to look around the battle field, they only had one chance. He hoped Morgana wouldn't hate him for it.

"My beloved, heart of my heart. Are you ready?"

"FALL BACK!" Torvil bellowed at the top of his lungs, and shifting his wife's weight just a tad, forcing it all on his back, he kicked off and started to run full tilt back to the cliffs.

This was their only chance. He could feel his body weakening with each step, he was pushing himself too hard, pushing the elements too much, asking too much, taking too much. It was a risk he was willing to take, to end this here and now.

But it wouldn't end here or today. Already he could see his fellow soldiers running dead on with him, as their foes followed behind them, trying to catch up.

"Thank you," He whispered, to all the creatures that had died today in his name, for his cause. They had given freely, and he was great full of that. The cliffs soon came into view, and he knew it was now or never.

"OPEN THE GATE!" He cried, watching and hoping they knew it was him.

Slowly, very slowly, the gates wheeled open, and the troops darted in as quickly as they could. From the tops of the cliffs, from the gate itself, arrows flew out into the darkness, closing the path behind Torvil and his wife, forcing their foes back.

Torvil didn't stop running until they reached a healers hut, once he was sure Morgana was safe... That's when he passed out.

Torvil had fared no better, at least as far as his injuries. The only thing that probably had saved him from spending the next week or so in a dream state was the feeling that something was off. He had awoken a few hours before dawn, that Torvil was beside his wife, holding her hand as once more the healers had to restart her heart.

So Torvil took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and did something he'd seen Yuan do only once.

Yuan had told him it should only be reserved for emergencies, and Torvil believe him.

He reached out with his mind and body, into Morgana and the Elements, and slowly, very, very carefully, began to bolster her with his own body.

Little did he know what that actually entailed.

Torvil looked down at her, holding her hand. His brow was caked with sweat. "Be still," He murmured to her, brushing her hair with his free hand. His good eye held both love, adoration... and anger. Yes he was mad she'd come to help him in such a weak state, but he loved her so much he had fought so hard to see her alive again.

Torvil was still channeling his life into her, knowing that it was possible to overdo it. After all he only had so much himself.

"Be still," Torvil's voice was full of command. It wasn't loud or harsh, but it demanded obedience. He didn't like using this tone, but he had used it so much in the last two months that it was almost second nature to him now when he was angry.

And he was furious.

One thing however, these two months had given, was a patience with his emotions. He didn't fly off the handle anymore, no, when he got angry he planned around the anger, using it to his advantage. He admitted he was angry, knew the reason, but he wasn't going to let that affect his decision on his course of action.

That would be stupid.

"You need your rest, the gate and archers will only hold our foes back for a few weeks, maybe a month at most, they'll figure out a way to penetrate our defenses and I want to make sure we're all ready by then, and that means you rest." His voice radiated command, not just that of a military commander, but as a mystic as well.