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 Posted: Mon May 27, 2019 2:29 pm
- Will give more details -
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Posted: Mon May 27, 2019 2:30 pm
 Fillavandrel
A fresh morning dew lay like thick wool blanket across the sea of green gracing the grass with sustenance. The sun just under half-way to it’s peak in the sky told the mixed, though primarily high-elven, community of Ford’emain that the day was fresh and a full day was ahead of them. Through glee-filled cheers of children, adults began settling their affairs for the day ahead of them. Mothers with buckets of wood and steel gathering water for household needs, fathers and sons with axes and bows in hand to head into the woods for various materials, the humble village housed many simple souls. But just as many innocent and simple souls it harbored, it held nearly that many soldiers, off duty soldiers unaware their prince had declared war against the demons once again. The breaking of a binding agreement of peace with one bold action was bound to have a reaction.
A wind blew through the village, though there were none, a soothsayer or shaman may have noticed the winds intentions. An omen of danger, an omen of death, an ill wind blew that day. But the villagers thought nothing of it, wind was wind after all. Breaking the rooftops of the trees came a bat-like winged figure in a cloak, hovering with precise flaps of his wings over the trees to view the village, and if the elves had keen eyes, warn them of it’s coming. It seemed the peace had been kept for minutes at a time, exactly seven had passed before an elven child had pointed her index finger up at the cloaked figure off in the distance. The young ladies, seemingly in their early teens, at play all stopped to see what their friend had been so affixed on. As all the youthful eyes found their place on the shadow-hidden figure, one of them began to sprint towards the houses, and more importantly, the adults.
One child told one adult, and one adult told another, it wasn’t long before the entire village was up in arms and children were being sent off into the woods to draw back their fathers and brothers. The men of the village gathered towards the front facing the figure, a smile crept over Fillavandrel’s face as he watched them amass before beginning to float his way towards the village. The sway of his wings steady and graceful, his tall figure still and imposing as he advanced towards the melting pot village. He could see elves of a high variety, a dwarf or two, such a shame he’d have to take their lives as well. Fillavandrel liked dwarves, their large mouths and even larger hearts made them wonderful conversationalists, capable of making even the least eventful moment a story worthy of the greatest bards. Breaching the length of the treeline, he began to make his descent. His wings ceasing their movement and retreating to his sides caused him to plummet to the earth, and though Fillavandrel did not think himself a performer, he put a spin to his fall. His thin tall figure and cloak creating several great spirals before he extended his wings to stop him from crashing into the grounds below them, causing him to do a small frontward curve and land on his feet with a performer’s grace. Standing tall, even the figure of the general of Vosian was small compared to some of the wood elves. The descent relieved the cloak from his face, revealing the front-facing set of simple horns that spelled out his kind to the ‘Iilhi people. ”You’re a long way from home, demon.” The largest elf of the pack called out, surely a pillar of the community being the first to take a shot at the invader.
Fillavandrel did not comment back, merely giving them an expressionless, aside from the air of confidence that followed him like the wind, stare that was accustomed to his face. With fluid motions, the demon began to take the cloak from his form, they only slowed him down. Tension risen had begun to diffuse as the villagers watched him in a glint of confusion, though as he revealed more and more of himself to them, some of the soldiers began to panic. ”We must leave.” A voice crawled through the crowd, little more than a worried murmur. ”We cannot win.” Another panicked cry called out to those around him, the coat nearly entirely drawn from Fillavandrel’s figure. Through the disorganized unrest within the crowd, some men began to retreat back into the village, others grabbed at the men attempting to retreat. ”Calm yourself, lad. It’s just a stray demon with a deathwish.” An older farmer in the village spoke to the cowards, though their fear was certainly founded. Through a gulp and baited breath the cowards would call, ”That’s no demon, that’s a monster.” Though the coward spoke the truth, the men of the village showed no signs of retreating, rather advancing. Two men from the front, burly, for elves, began to walk towards the demon. Finally free from the restraints of the cloak, Fillavandrel took a moment to dust of his vest and pants to ensure that he was as presentable as possible. It was something he loved, dressing up for the slaughter.
The air was still between them, the village devoid of life with its woman and children hidden within their homes and the men at the gates preparing to meet their end. Fillavandrel stood still, hands at his side and face forward, like a rattlesnake telling it’s victim that it was dangerous. But the elves were confident in their ignorance, and that would be their end. A quick shine of a smirk and a quick raise of sleeved wrists would send death to the elven advancers. Protruding from the demons sleeves were two chains, ethereal in form, while chain was normally silver from the simple shade it received by its steely nature, these were different. A darkened indigo entwined with a obsidian black mesh made the chains whole, each connection sealed shut as if it had never not been whole. A flick of his arms and the chains flew, behind them trailing a stream of radiant ebony energy that called hungrily for the touch of flesh. Reeling for a moment, begging their feet to halt, the elves skidded but not to a stop. The chains found their targets, wrapping their way around the two mens necks and quickly tightening around them like a snake does to its prey. Then with another slick movement of his arms, widely gesturing inwards the chains sought each other with deadly velocity, taking the elves with them. Instantaneously the two elves’ heads met each other in the middle body slamming body, necks bending with a sickening crunch as the flesh drums warned the other villagers the battle had started. Slumping to the ground, the two elves lay in confusion after their collision, the chains released from their neck and slithered to their legs, binding one of their ankles each. With another slick motion, Fillavandrel thrust his arms upward and the elves flew. Up and over his shoulders, the elves spun sickeningly in the air towards the treeline behind him, spinning like a helicopter seed falling from a tree. A sickening crunch and slam resonated through the air as the elves bodies collided with the treeline folding their bodies like a lawn chair inwards.
The chains slowly retreating from the mangled corpses of the elves slithered up his sleeves, Fillavandrel’s eyes never left the large group of villagers, now shaky in their resolve towards the demon. Returning to a neutral position, he took a step forward and within moments the crowd of villagers began to scatter, some crying out to their families to stop hiding and run. The demon pursued them swiftly, his wings extending to give him a swift burst of movement towards the scattering villagers. One large brush of his wings and Fillavandrel found himself next to a new set of villagers.Laying his hand on the shoulders of one, his chains found their way around the dwarves torso, it didn’t take much length or time for the dwarves stubby form. Raising his arms ceremoniously the dwarf with axe in hand was lifted in the air, and with minimal effort Fillavandrel whipped his arms around in a circle like a ballerina's pirouette taking the dwarf with him. Though seemingly an act meant to resemble thrashing, Fillavandrel did everything with precise intent. The dwarf’s arms extended, but clung onto his dwarven axe for dear life, as he was swung around his axe managed to find the throats of two of his own fellows, sliding clean through flesh like butter, dwarven steel was truly impeccable. With one last spin of the dwarf, the chains released him in the direction of another group of fleeing soldiers, loosing the dwarf into their ranks at violent speeds sending the lot of them tumbling. Before those men could climb past one another to their feet, they were met with a steely pain to their heads, leaving huge red gashes that revealed bone and blood. Drawing their last breaths as blood pooled below their heads from wound and mouth alike. Fillavandrel took a moment to look about the village turned battlefield and watched as man returned to their homes in attempt to save their families. Gesturing a hand downward towards the fresh corpses, a chain quickly whipped out to collide with the edge of the dwarven axe harshly, bouncing it up into the air with great force. His other hand spun a chain, turning his body to align himself with an elf entering his house, cowards died horribly. Loosing the chain from his grip as the axe formerly flung into the air aligned with the position he desired the chain clung against the hilt of the axe and sent it flying toward the homebound elf. Though one would think the elf fine, entering his home with a panicked cry to his wife and child, and closing the door pressing his back to it; the axe’s large blade penetrated the thin wood of the door to meet the back of the elves head in a tragic end, the body of the elf going limp and blocking the door with it’s still warm flesh from his wife and children.
A turn of the head, sharp enough to carve diamond brough Fillavandrel’s gaze to the next house down the line, the the second dwarf had retreated to his home. The executioner pursued him next, with another strong blast from his bat-like wings and he was sent flying towards the hand-carved intricately designed door. Something that surely would have made any dwarven father proud, now reduced to rubble as the general forced his way through it, a single chain rested in both his hands as he approached behind the dwarf whom had not but a moment to respond and could not. Wrapping the chain in both hands around the father’s neck, Fillavandrel quickly shot up into the air, taking the dwarf rapidly upward with him, suspending him in air by his neck. Ascending about fifty feet over the scale of a few seconds, Fillavandrel surveyed the grounds, knowing there were a few stragglers among the remaining houses, and several families cowering for their lives. Looking down at the family who cried and pled for him to drop the dwarven man, scratching blood from his neck to attempt to get a hold of the chain around his neck that would suffocate the very life from his veins along with the oxygen. But growing bored of waiting for the stubborn fellow with a staunch neck neck attached to his head Fillavandrel cracked the chain in his hands like a whip, sending a shock down the chain that would shake the dwarf violently by his neck, snapping it with a sickening crunch like a tin can below a freight train. Jettisoning the dwarves weight from his chains the body fell to the earth accompanied by the deafening scream of the newly widowed.
Another sweep and crack, another dead, another sweep and crack, a new corpse, another sweep and crack, the final male who Fill could deem a man fell dead to the floor. With one final swoop, Fillavandrel centered himself in the village, making a clearing for himself in the middle of the village with a circle of chains, a line no one should cross. Raising his head in finality he looked about the bloodied village, with deep black trails where life once called home on the floor, now shriveled up and withered to its foundation. A few former wives and children had found their way out of their homes to mourn their fallen husbands, hiding the eyes of their children from the slaughter that took place. Allowing the weak to grieve a moment, he grew tired of waiting and called out. ”Children and widows, come from your homes and kneel before me. Stay in your homes, and die in them.” He stated once, powerfully his words echoed through the open field once or twice, causing trees in front of him to shake and flow in the artificial breeze. Those that were outside their homes complied, and several came from their homes with heads hung low, faces shrouded in a layer of tears. They would crowd up in front of him, wife with child, child alone, wife alone, the village truly had a wide array of life, even a human woman stood among the ranks and he hadn’t seen a male human among the crowd at all. His gaze scanned the villagers before him, noting that there weren’t enough woman before him to account for the nearly hundreds of men killed. They were in their homes, groveling, hiding. Raising a hand to the sky as if he was about to command the gods themselves to obey his command, he snapped his fingers. Before his hand arose many small bouts of flame, one for each structure in his sight. With a second snap, each small bout was sent off at vicious speeds to find their mark, setting each house ablaze, the small blaze burning brighter than any fire an elf could create. From burning buildings came more and more widows and children, almost the amount he wanted to see to finish his display. Though some tried to run, he would answer them with swift impunity, death to those who did not listen, and their corpses would litter these grounds for some time.
Once the stragglers had been gathered, Fillavandrel peered through the villagers with his gaze, his eyes settled on the human among the crowd once more. It was clear his gaze, turned glare, brought her great discomfort, he cared not. Standing tall, he continued to scan the crowd. ”What we have here is failure to communicate. Last night, your crowned prince, prince Christof attacked my people. In our home. During a time of peace, signed and agreed upon by both ruling houses of Vosian and Iilhi. During his attack, he harmed the great demon queen Solaris, first of her name, and daughter of the Elf Carver. Then was saved by his mother, the queen of you filth, and brought home with a slap on the wrist. It is my duty to kick the young prince’s teeth in.” The demon stated simply, his creeping chains slithering about the ground during his speech, circling each elf and iilhi populace around an ankle to begin draining life from them subtly, ritualistically. ”This breach of agreement was unfounded, though cocky you creatures of dirt are, I never believed you all to be stupid. Until now.” The chains continued to slither and claim energy from the crowd, children began crying from the crowd to block his speech. ”You all will be kept here, the response of your royalty will decide whether you live, or die. Take a moment to pray to whatever god you’ve got, then prepare yourself to meet mine.” He said, head held high as he raised his arms to the sky and within moments great tremors began. Many large cracks formed in the earth around the crowd of remaining villagers splitting the earth in two. Below the feet of the crowd, the ground glowed black a sight rarely seen as Fillavandrel breathed in the black essence that emanated from his chains. Then lowered his hands as the black aura stagnated, holding the people in place, skeletal arms began to pierce through the cuts in the ground and climb their way up onto the continent.
Fillavandrel found himself distracted, through the screams and cries of the victims he still found himself compelled by the human among the crowd. Taking a moment to ascend, flying his way into the crowd he landed before the human widow and examined her. Placing a hand on her cheek which she attempted to avoid with all she could before he used his other hand to hold her still, he sighed. ”It always hurts me to see you humans get involved with the filth. You would have made a wonderful bride if you had not chosen a man of dirt blood.” He whispered to her, face close to hers before he released her. Fillavandrel was moderately fond of the humans, they were cute, weak, fragile beings with little more to their existence than that. He flew again to return to his place, stopping only again when he found what he deemed the cutest child among the crowd, or the one with the most pitiful face. Through tears and pleading from child and mother, Fillavandrel ripped the child from her mother’s arms and brought the child to the front where he had stood before, the child trashed and pleaded as he transported her. Bringing her to the front and stiffly holding her in place as she continued to attempt to break free from him, he snapped his fingers once more and the from below the crowds feet the ground came out, replacing it was a number of spectral coffins equal to the number of people. As the screaming rose in volume, chains similar to those he wielded shot from each coffin, wrapping themselves around each of their new inhabitants. Once the chains firmly grasped their targets they reeled them in like fishing rods to firmly plant them in their new homes. Struggle, though they did, would not help them escape this situation. The skeletal entourage began to chatter and crackle in joy at the sight of so many coffins in one place, the earth itself seemed to bellow, a sign that Jomutoth was happy to see so many sinners embraced. From the each of his sides came a skeleton, one male, one female with quill and stacks of parchment in hand. Fillavandrel bowed deeply. ”It is good to see you again, Mother and Father.” The skeletons tilted their heads in a way that only he would be able to interpret as sweetly the remnants of his family still with him in this ritualistic capacity. ”What judgement does Jomutoth seem fit for these sinners.” Through skeletal jaw clattering, a whimsical voice that seemed part of the sky pierced his ear, a feminine hint to its tone. Mostly minimal, though there are some tremendous sins among this group, a majority of them will receive the minimum sentence.” Fillavandrel smiled as he held the child in his arms and chuckled. ”Good, send them under.”
When he gave the order, the skeletons went to sign their papers, and after John Hancock's had met paper, the many coffins began to sink into the earth, their slow descent accompanied by the final screams of the damned by the villagers and child still above ground. The demon soaked in the agony as he nodded his head to the newly sentenced. ”Thank you, Mother and Father.” And just like that, the two figures descended into the earthen pit along with the rest of the skeletal spectators. Within moments the earthen floor founds its way back to normal as if nothing had ever gone wrong in the crust of the ground… Besides the minimal carnage from the fight before. The child never ceased screaming, her voice hoarse and scratchy like she was finally nearing her limit, but he didn’t have time to wait until she got there. Releasing the child momentarily, he struck the child across the face with his palm. ”SILENCE, CHILD!” He yelled louder than the child would have ever dreamed of reaching, every tree within a mile radius began to shake and tremor at his call. Though unwilling, the child obeyed, finally shutting it’s DAMN trap to listen. From his jacket pocket, he pulled a letter, sealed by his personal seal, and addressed to Christof. ”Take this, and run. Run as fast as your little legs can carry you to your main castle. Run into the courtroom and demand the entire royal family be present for the reading of this letter, and read it in your own voice. Warn them, every minute they squander is another life ended, so they better show haste.” He smiled to the young one, his smile could only be defined as devious, and sinister. Then he released the child’s arm and threw her to the ground, standing to his full height to watch her leave. ”Now run.” He demanded, watching the small figure squirm to its feet and run as fast as it could into the treeline. When he could no longer see the child, he chuckled lightly to himself. It mattered not how fast that child ran, there was no way she would make it to the monarchs in time to save the buried victims, they would hastily dig and dig in hopes of finding their civilians within an inch of their lives, only to find their corpses become food for the worms. Fillavandrel extended his wings satisfied as he began to ascend, leaving behind nothing but gore, viscera, lifeless plants, lifeless bodies, and a frayed cloak.
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LordJaxTheSadistic Vice Captain
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Posted: Wed May 29, 2019 6:33 pm
A cloud of shadow blankets and over takes the sky. This shadow adorned in glittering and gleaming specs of light. Rising from the shadows and falling from the sky, Dark Elves appeared. Armored and ready to do what was needed to be done to save what remained of this village. It also seemed as if the glittering and gleaming specs of light began to fall from the sky. As each spec of light touched the ground they began to take a new shape. Forming into spectral animals of holy and divine might. Together, the lunar guardians and the divine spectral animals moved hastily throughout the village. Digging up any villager they could. Killing off any lingering demons that seemed to find their way to this dark and blood filled village. Much to their surprise, the lunar guardians who took station here were able to save more than they thought they would. Quickly doing what they could to heal and mend of the villagers and their home.
Divine and spectral animals took position around every entrance of the village. Accompanied by a group of lunar guardians. This was their High Mothers will. This was the power of the woe their High Mother felt. It was divine. It was holy. But sadly in the end? It was sadness that gave them their power and call to this village in need.
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