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Anka Seth - The Rise of the Hydra (New Update April 19, 2007)
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<blockquote data-quote="Fiasco" data-source="post: 2844874" data-attributes="member: 15187"><p>Argonne felt mildly excited as he scanned the ground for tracks. He had broken free of the strange confusion of intrigue and architecture that Port Warlock had woven around him. Now he was amongst familiar elements that followed a logic he intuitively understood. He had always taken pleasure in reconstructing the tiny stories left by those who trod the earth. Viewed from within the thrall of his Wodensense, each bent blade of grass, overturned stone with its dirty side facing upwards, or discarded refuse or scat spoke volumes to those with the skill and imagination to read the sign. </p><p></p><p>This day, the sign indicated a little used trail with the tracks of small groups of men leading in both directions. The path meandered along the cliffs overlooking the ocean, weaving around the more difficult outcrops and scraggy bushes that clung stubbornly to the unnurturing rocks. Enthused by his find, Argonne motioned for the others to follow as he confidently began to follow the spoor.</p><p></p><p>Alone at the rear of the party Morgan felt somewhat out of sorts. Marching in the wilderness on an island full of strange wizards while on a fools errand to find sorcerer’s coins seemed pointless. Even more frustrating was that although they sought the coins, it had been explained to him that they couldn’t let anyone know they were looking for them. This seemed patently ridiculous. How were people to help them if they couldn’t tell them what they wanted? Somehow he felt that they’d missed the point of the mission. Surely they should be killing pirates, not following rabbit tracks in the wilderness. </p><p></p><p>A familiar sense of guilt fell over him. Like most Fastendians when away their homeland, he felt oppressed by the feeling he was letting his people down. A stretch of wall protecting Avinal stood bare because of his decision to leave. Yet, by long standing tradition, fighting in the Halfast Games and showing the world the prowess of the Fastness’ warriors was considered a worthy occupation. When engaged in such a task, feelings of guilt for leaving the country were assuaged. A good showing at the Games showed the nation’s steadfastness in adversity, bringing attention to its desperate battle with the Dominion. </p><p></p><p>Morgan had left Avinal with the honourable intention of competing in the gladiatorial contest. Instead, he found himself lagging around an island with a group of strange and disorganised foreigners. “A wall stands bare”, he muttered to himself. It was the ancient mantra of the warrior away from home. Feeling no better, he kicked a small stone aside in a fit of peevishness and offered a fervent prayer to Thuus that this vexatious mission might soon be ended. </p><p></p><p>“Look Out!” Gerard exclaimed from his position near the head of the group. He grabbed desperately at Argonne’s pack to keep the woodsman from falling to his death. The sound of scrabbling feet and a stifled curse indicated that Moxadder had also found the edge of the precipice. The pair had been so intent on tracking that they had only seen the sharp lip of the crevasse an instant before plunging over it. The immediate danger averted, they took in the unusual feature that faced them. Through some freak action of wind and water, a thirty foot diameter sink hole had been worn through the cliff top down to sea level some eighty feet below. </p><p></p><p>Carefully leaning over, they could see right to the bottom of the hollow, where sunlight revealed the sparkle of water. A narrow fissure in the side of the cliff had been chafed into a ten foot wide channel by the action of a millennia of waves. This had led to the formation of a natural cove almost completely sheltered from both observation and the sea. To the Hydra’s wonderment, the edges of the harbour in miniature were ringed by wooden decking, allowing easy access to the water from all sides. A long boat was secured to one of the many mooring posts around the perimeter of the cove. They could see no sign of people below, but the call of human voices and sound of movement on the cliff top near their position alerted them to the fact they had betrayed their presence. </p><p></p><p>Moxadder reacted quickly, backing into the concealment of nearby shrubs while rapidly darting his eyes back and forth in an attempt to spot the enemy. Without knowing precisely why, Gerard followed suit, though it cost him dear for he tore the arm of his fine tunic on a thorn.</p><p></p><p>Despite Gerard’s strident warning and the sounds of other people nearby, Mortec felt compelled to approach the sink hole. Sneaking forward he reached the lip and peered cautiously within. His short stature made it difficult to see the bottom but he nevertheless sensed movement down below. A sense of someone approaching from behind distracted him and he turned and to see Stravarius move up beside him. The Black Elf began to laboriously crank his massive crossbow, clearly the demented cat killer was expecting trouble. Following suit, the gnome began to arm his weapon as well. Some way further back, Morgan cursed, then unshouldered his bow and began to hustle towards where he thought his companions were. It was just his luck, he thought, that when action did come he was stuck at the rear of the party.</p><p></p><p>While his companions hid or tried to spot the noise makers, Argonne pressed keenly towards where he had heard the newcomers. Moving to his right, he skirted the hole while freeing his massive axe from the straps that secured it to his back. </p><p></p><p>Suddenly, arrows hissed through some bushes to his left, but sufficiently wide of the mark for him to be confident he had not been the target. Ironically, the attack was a source of relief to him. That these strangers were willing to loose arrows on sight significantly reduced the likelihood they were people going about legitimate business. For the woodsman, the negotiations he carried out with axe or staff came far more naturally than those with words. </p><p></p><p>As Argonne probed towards the hidden enemies, Morgan reached Mortec and Stravarius. The whine of arrows passing through the air made the trio duck reflexively, but none were harmed. Guessing they had originated from his left, Morgan gestured for the other two to follow and began to cautiously pick a path around the left side of the hollow. They had not taken more than a dozen paces when Mortec caught sight of their assailants through a gap in the bushes. Carefully, he stepped around an obstacle and then loosed a bolt at one of the figures. He felt the familiar kick against his shoulder, then waited the customary half second as the deadly length of wood closed the distance towards its quarry. He felt a dark joy surge through him as the victim suddenly clapped hands to its ribs and then keeled over motionless. </p><p></p><p>Both sides could now see each other, albeit indistinctly amongst the concealing shrubs. The mighty twang of Stravarius’ weapon sang out almost simultaneously with those of the enemy. The Black Elf flinched as the flinders of a shattered bolt danced around his feet, leaving him miraculously unharmed. The Hydra’s reprieve was momentary for the next instant an arrow suddenly manifested high in Morgan’s side. The Fastendian collapsed bonelessly to the ground, too surprised to even make a noise. Mortec, seeing the depth to which the shaft had sunk and the chalk white pallor of the warrior’s face, moved urgently to give assistance.</p><p></p><p>To the other side of the crevasse, Gerard blustered and ducked his way through thick undergrowth while beginning to question the sense of his action. He had already lost sight of Moxadder and seemed no closer to sighting the enemy. Taking a risk, he stopped moving and stood up straight to get a view unobscured by the wretched growth he was forging through. In a sweeping glance, he saw some bowmen aiming in his direction and ducked back down. Thinking quickly, he cupped his hand over his mouth in a specific way and muttered a quick message intended for Argonne. With a snap of the wrist he hurled the ‘contents’ of his palm in the direction he believed Argonne to be. It had been a simple trick that Zmrat had taught him, but he could see the use of it now. </p><p></p><p>Through carefully manoeuvring, the woodsman had brought himself quite close to a pair of aggressors. Each was dressed simply in a plain shirt belted at the waist and dark leggings. They walked barefoot through the sharp rocks without any concern and evinced the rolling gait common to all who spent the majority of their lives at sea. Both were armed with bows, arrows loosely knocked in anticipation of finding a target. </p><p></p><p>As he watched, he saw one nudge the other and then draw back and take careful aim. Argonne leapt without hesitation amidst the two archers. Inexplicably, Gerard’s voice whispered “Argonne, where are you?” in his ear, causing him to start in surprise and spoiling the first mighty swing of his axe. He looked about wildly, but saw no sign of his companion. Fortunately the surprise of his attack compelled the men to abandon their bows and ready weapons more suited for close combat. As they warily tried to circle the woodsman, Argonne called out for Gerard to come to his aid, hoping to even the odds against the men he faced.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Fiasco, post: 2844874, member: 15187"] Argonne felt mildly excited as he scanned the ground for tracks. He had broken free of the strange confusion of intrigue and architecture that Port Warlock had woven around him. Now he was amongst familiar elements that followed a logic he intuitively understood. He had always taken pleasure in reconstructing the tiny stories left by those who trod the earth. Viewed from within the thrall of his Wodensense, each bent blade of grass, overturned stone with its dirty side facing upwards, or discarded refuse or scat spoke volumes to those with the skill and imagination to read the sign. This day, the sign indicated a little used trail with the tracks of small groups of men leading in both directions. The path meandered along the cliffs overlooking the ocean, weaving around the more difficult outcrops and scraggy bushes that clung stubbornly to the unnurturing rocks. Enthused by his find, Argonne motioned for the others to follow as he confidently began to follow the spoor. Alone at the rear of the party Morgan felt somewhat out of sorts. Marching in the wilderness on an island full of strange wizards while on a fools errand to find sorcerer’s coins seemed pointless. Even more frustrating was that although they sought the coins, it had been explained to him that they couldn’t let anyone know they were looking for them. This seemed patently ridiculous. How were people to help them if they couldn’t tell them what they wanted? Somehow he felt that they’d missed the point of the mission. Surely they should be killing pirates, not following rabbit tracks in the wilderness. A familiar sense of guilt fell over him. Like most Fastendians when away their homeland, he felt oppressed by the feeling he was letting his people down. A stretch of wall protecting Avinal stood bare because of his decision to leave. Yet, by long standing tradition, fighting in the Halfast Games and showing the world the prowess of the Fastness’ warriors was considered a worthy occupation. When engaged in such a task, feelings of guilt for leaving the country were assuaged. A good showing at the Games showed the nation’s steadfastness in adversity, bringing attention to its desperate battle with the Dominion. Morgan had left Avinal with the honourable intention of competing in the gladiatorial contest. Instead, he found himself lagging around an island with a group of strange and disorganised foreigners. “A wall stands bare”, he muttered to himself. It was the ancient mantra of the warrior away from home. Feeling no better, he kicked a small stone aside in a fit of peevishness and offered a fervent prayer to Thuus that this vexatious mission might soon be ended. “Look Out!” Gerard exclaimed from his position near the head of the group. He grabbed desperately at Argonne’s pack to keep the woodsman from falling to his death. The sound of scrabbling feet and a stifled curse indicated that Moxadder had also found the edge of the precipice. The pair had been so intent on tracking that they had only seen the sharp lip of the crevasse an instant before plunging over it. The immediate danger averted, they took in the unusual feature that faced them. Through some freak action of wind and water, a thirty foot diameter sink hole had been worn through the cliff top down to sea level some eighty feet below. Carefully leaning over, they could see right to the bottom of the hollow, where sunlight revealed the sparkle of water. A narrow fissure in the side of the cliff had been chafed into a ten foot wide channel by the action of a millennia of waves. This had led to the formation of a natural cove almost completely sheltered from both observation and the sea. To the Hydra’s wonderment, the edges of the harbour in miniature were ringed by wooden decking, allowing easy access to the water from all sides. A long boat was secured to one of the many mooring posts around the perimeter of the cove. They could see no sign of people below, but the call of human voices and sound of movement on the cliff top near their position alerted them to the fact they had betrayed their presence. Moxadder reacted quickly, backing into the concealment of nearby shrubs while rapidly darting his eyes back and forth in an attempt to spot the enemy. Without knowing precisely why, Gerard followed suit, though it cost him dear for he tore the arm of his fine tunic on a thorn. Despite Gerard’s strident warning and the sounds of other people nearby, Mortec felt compelled to approach the sink hole. Sneaking forward he reached the lip and peered cautiously within. His short stature made it difficult to see the bottom but he nevertheless sensed movement down below. A sense of someone approaching from behind distracted him and he turned and to see Stravarius move up beside him. The Black Elf began to laboriously crank his massive crossbow, clearly the demented cat killer was expecting trouble. Following suit, the gnome began to arm his weapon as well. Some way further back, Morgan cursed, then unshouldered his bow and began to hustle towards where he thought his companions were. It was just his luck, he thought, that when action did come he was stuck at the rear of the party. While his companions hid or tried to spot the noise makers, Argonne pressed keenly towards where he had heard the newcomers. Moving to his right, he skirted the hole while freeing his massive axe from the straps that secured it to his back. Suddenly, arrows hissed through some bushes to his left, but sufficiently wide of the mark for him to be confident he had not been the target. Ironically, the attack was a source of relief to him. That these strangers were willing to loose arrows on sight significantly reduced the likelihood they were people going about legitimate business. For the woodsman, the negotiations he carried out with axe or staff came far more naturally than those with words. As Argonne probed towards the hidden enemies, Morgan reached Mortec and Stravarius. The whine of arrows passing through the air made the trio duck reflexively, but none were harmed. Guessing they had originated from his left, Morgan gestured for the other two to follow and began to cautiously pick a path around the left side of the hollow. They had not taken more than a dozen paces when Mortec caught sight of their assailants through a gap in the bushes. Carefully, he stepped around an obstacle and then loosed a bolt at one of the figures. He felt the familiar kick against his shoulder, then waited the customary half second as the deadly length of wood closed the distance towards its quarry. He felt a dark joy surge through him as the victim suddenly clapped hands to its ribs and then keeled over motionless. Both sides could now see each other, albeit indistinctly amongst the concealing shrubs. The mighty twang of Stravarius’ weapon sang out almost simultaneously with those of the enemy. The Black Elf flinched as the flinders of a shattered bolt danced around his feet, leaving him miraculously unharmed. The Hydra’s reprieve was momentary for the next instant an arrow suddenly manifested high in Morgan’s side. The Fastendian collapsed bonelessly to the ground, too surprised to even make a noise. Mortec, seeing the depth to which the shaft had sunk and the chalk white pallor of the warrior’s face, moved urgently to give assistance. To the other side of the crevasse, Gerard blustered and ducked his way through thick undergrowth while beginning to question the sense of his action. He had already lost sight of Moxadder and seemed no closer to sighting the enemy. Taking a risk, he stopped moving and stood up straight to get a view unobscured by the wretched growth he was forging through. In a sweeping glance, he saw some bowmen aiming in his direction and ducked back down. Thinking quickly, he cupped his hand over his mouth in a specific way and muttered a quick message intended for Argonne. With a snap of the wrist he hurled the ‘contents’ of his palm in the direction he believed Argonne to be. It had been a simple trick that Zmrat had taught him, but he could see the use of it now. Through carefully manoeuvring, the woodsman had brought himself quite close to a pair of aggressors. Each was dressed simply in a plain shirt belted at the waist and dark leggings. They walked barefoot through the sharp rocks without any concern and evinced the rolling gait common to all who spent the majority of their lives at sea. Both were armed with bows, arrows loosely knocked in anticipation of finding a target. As he watched, he saw one nudge the other and then draw back and take careful aim. Argonne leapt without hesitation amidst the two archers. Inexplicably, Gerard’s voice whispered “Argonne, where are you?” in his ear, causing him to start in surprise and spoiling the first mighty swing of his axe. He looked about wildly, but saw no sign of his companion. Fortunately the surprise of his attack compelled the men to abandon their bows and ready weapons more suited for close combat. As they warily tried to circle the woodsman, Argonne called out for Gerard to come to his aid, hoping to even the odds against the men he faced. [/QUOTE]
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Anka Seth - The Rise of the Hydra (New Update April 19, 2007)
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