Funeris
First Post
Chapter 9: Death in the Family Concluded
Yes...final part of this extremely long chapter.
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Motega sheathed his blade as quietly as possible and leaned forward to loose his bow and draw a few arrows. He shifted the group’s haversack carefully, sliding it over a deep laceration on his shoulder. The Rorn placed one arrow in his teeth as he nocked the other and stood, still leaning against the tree.
Carefully, he peered around the edge, just catching the silhouettes of the dwem on the road standing above his comrades. The rage welled up within him again as he pulled back on the bow and loosed the arrow. A dull thud and groan followed the impact as he had already gripped the tree for stealth again.
Undercommon floated to his position on the summer breeze. Quickly he slung the bow over his back and climbed up into the oak. He stopped after traversing a few boughs and balancing precariously he nocked the other arrow.
The two smaller dwem were rummaging in the edge of the wood, heading slowly toward his position. He took aim and then changed his mind. Lifting the arrow slightly he targeted the leader. The large dwem was holding his axe above his head again to brain another victim. Motega released the arrow.
The tiny spear plummeted downward catching the dwem in the throat. The axe dropped as the dwem grabbed the shaft; a raw gurgling sound escaped his mouth. The Rorn slung the bow over his shoulder again and leapt off the branch of the tree. He stiffened his legs, all of his force going into the fall as he impacted one of the lesser dwem. The creature’s body crumpled beneath him and he went into a front roll.
Branches and vines lashed his body, opening new wounds, as he struggled through the brush trying to find another hiding space. Quickly he spun around on his stomach, the bow again in his hands and another arrow nocked. Just ten feet away, the dwem he had midget-stomped groaned and tried to stand. Ten feet farther away, the other dwem lackey turned to aide his companion.
An eerie red incandescent light lifted from the forest floor. Motega unleashed the arrow, spearing the dwem through its eye. The bulk of the dwarf slammed into the hard earth. The Rornman stood and darted through the brush, trying to move out of the remaining dark dwarves’ sight.
He ran fifty feet through the forest before catching a branch and swinging up into a tree. Perched on a branch, he stretched the stiffening muscles in his body. He inventoried his wounds, most of which had stopped bleeding. A few, including the laceration on his shoulder, still spewed their life-fluid. He readied another arrow, hearing the rumblings in branches not too far away.
Slowly the silhouette of the other dwem came into focus among the fronds and leaves of the wood. Motega’s breath paused as he took his aim. Slowly the dwarf waded through a dense bush and it stopped, lifting its head. The shiny red eyes glared out of the underbrush; Motega’s breath slowly released along with the arrow. The dwarf dodged, the arrow catching and shattering against his armor.
Two crossbow bolts slammed into the tree where Motega had been, but the Rorn was airborne. His strength carried him upward a few feet before his weight kicked in drawing him back toward the earth. His feet slammed into the shoulder of the dwem; bones popped and cracked under the force. Both collapsed in a heap of flailing arms and legs.
The dwem’s shoulder was shattered if not out of place. The wound allowed the Rornman the time to draw a dagger and open the dwem’s throat from ear to ear. The blunted black fingers twitched as they released their grip on life and the Rorn. Motega roared, dipping his hands into the blood of his victim. He wiped the blood in streaks across his own face. Then taking only a finger of blood at a time, he etched Rorn symbols on his already blood covered body.
The Rorn grabbed his bow, nocking the final arrow he would use for the night and proceeded toward the road. As he emerged from the brush in a brisk trot he loosed the arrow. The shaft found its mark in the leg of the last dwem, the largest dwarf, the leader.
Motega screamed with all his rage in the direction of the beast. He drew his sword. The black dwarf ripped the arrow out of its leg and lifted its axe. They screamed at each other, fifty feet of space in between. Then panting and wounded, they both charged.
The two monsters clashed, blade to axe. Motega’s forward momentum was the only thing allowing him to stand the shattering blow of the deep dwarf. The might of the wounded creature was unimaginable and frightful. For a moment, Motega doubted the survival of any of his friends.
Then the axe bit deeply into his flesh. Motega cried out in pain; the pain transformed to fury and he drove his own blade through the gut of his foe. Lifting his foot, he kicked off and crashed into the ground five feet away.
The flap of the haversack loosed itself, contents spilling over the open road. Motega slammed his hand down for leverage to stand. His hand closed on a vial when he stood. Ripping the stopper out with his teeth, the Rorn downed the potion in one fast gulp. Wounds began to knit themselves together when the dwarf stepped in with a devastating blow.
The axe crumpled Motega’s arm and he fell backward again. He kicked and flailed backward trying to escape the deep dwarf. He brought his blade forward as a protective shield only the blade wasn’t in his hand. He looked back at the dwem sergeant, his blade piercing the beast’s bowels. The dwem stood unwavering but clearly dead on its feet. Motega stood, ripped the blade out of its gut and watched the corpse hit the ground.
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Motega had taken the dozen healing potions and tended to his party. Fitz was the first to wake and assisted in bringing Magnus back from the brink of death. All sat in a state of disbelief around the body of Tobias. The warrior’s brains were spilled all over the ground. His empty eyes stared upward into the dark sky, a stream of blood staining the skin around his mouth.
Lovingly, Motega wrapped the body in a wool blanket tightly, to help prevent decay. Fitz murmured a few divine words over the corpse to also assist in keeping the body fresh. Magnus wept openly.
Once the body was wrapped, a makeshift stretcher was made for the corpse. Also, a sled was built to haul the looted bodies of the dwem. Once everything was gathered, the three Heroes headed toward Marchford.
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They stood at the edge of the Town of Marchford. A terrible thunderstorm had erupted in the last leg of the journey, bringing relief to the scorched earth.
“The world weeps for you, my friend,” Fitz whispered at the corpse they bore.
“Not just him.” Motega grunted. He pointed toward the Town and the few buildings that remained. Most of the homes had been burnt down, were still burning. An angry sneer was carved on the Rornman’s visage.
The sounds of fighting echoed out of Oggut’s bar. Dwem could be seen entering and exiting the stone and wood structure. Sounds of joy poured out of the tavern and inn. Meanwhile, guards stood watch from inside the small keep. Figures could be seen moving about the battlements, tending to the torches that could barely hold their light in the downpour.
"I will kill every last one of them,” Motega swore.
“Not yet,” Fitz laid a comforting hand on the savage. “If we hurry, we may be able to bring the warrior back. We do not have time to fight a pointless war. We must go.”
“Fine. For Tobias, we go. But first I will leave them a warning.” Motega quickly piled the corpses of the five dwem on the ground in a pile. He quickly removed there heads, setting them to the side. Then he lathered the bodies in torch oil, a malicious gleam on his face.
He bent to light the bodies but the flames sputtered and died. He looked heavenward as if challenging the gods to kill the fire again. Then he attempted again. The flames caught and sputtered and then burst upward, screaming into the oncoming rain, screaming at the heavens.
Quickly Motega dumped oil into the fleshy black heads and set those ablaze as well. With three swift kicks, the flaming dwem skulls bounced and crashed down the hill toward the tavern. Motega roared a Rorn curse into the air. Then the Heroes of Marchford turned and left. Behind them, Marchford slowly burned away to ash despite the storm.
Yes...final part of this extremely long chapter.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Motega sheathed his blade as quietly as possible and leaned forward to loose his bow and draw a few arrows. He shifted the group’s haversack carefully, sliding it over a deep laceration on his shoulder. The Rorn placed one arrow in his teeth as he nocked the other and stood, still leaning against the tree.
Carefully, he peered around the edge, just catching the silhouettes of the dwem on the road standing above his comrades. The rage welled up within him again as he pulled back on the bow and loosed the arrow. A dull thud and groan followed the impact as he had already gripped the tree for stealth again.
Undercommon floated to his position on the summer breeze. Quickly he slung the bow over his back and climbed up into the oak. He stopped after traversing a few boughs and balancing precariously he nocked the other arrow.
The two smaller dwem were rummaging in the edge of the wood, heading slowly toward his position. He took aim and then changed his mind. Lifting the arrow slightly he targeted the leader. The large dwem was holding his axe above his head again to brain another victim. Motega released the arrow.
The tiny spear plummeted downward catching the dwem in the throat. The axe dropped as the dwem grabbed the shaft; a raw gurgling sound escaped his mouth. The Rorn slung the bow over his shoulder again and leapt off the branch of the tree. He stiffened his legs, all of his force going into the fall as he impacted one of the lesser dwem. The creature’s body crumpled beneath him and he went into a front roll.
Branches and vines lashed his body, opening new wounds, as he struggled through the brush trying to find another hiding space. Quickly he spun around on his stomach, the bow again in his hands and another arrow nocked. Just ten feet away, the dwem he had midget-stomped groaned and tried to stand. Ten feet farther away, the other dwem lackey turned to aide his companion.
An eerie red incandescent light lifted from the forest floor. Motega unleashed the arrow, spearing the dwem through its eye. The bulk of the dwarf slammed into the hard earth. The Rornman stood and darted through the brush, trying to move out of the remaining dark dwarves’ sight.
He ran fifty feet through the forest before catching a branch and swinging up into a tree. Perched on a branch, he stretched the stiffening muscles in his body. He inventoried his wounds, most of which had stopped bleeding. A few, including the laceration on his shoulder, still spewed their life-fluid. He readied another arrow, hearing the rumblings in branches not too far away.
Slowly the silhouette of the other dwem came into focus among the fronds and leaves of the wood. Motega’s breath paused as he took his aim. Slowly the dwarf waded through a dense bush and it stopped, lifting its head. The shiny red eyes glared out of the underbrush; Motega’s breath slowly released along with the arrow. The dwarf dodged, the arrow catching and shattering against his armor.
Two crossbow bolts slammed into the tree where Motega had been, but the Rorn was airborne. His strength carried him upward a few feet before his weight kicked in drawing him back toward the earth. His feet slammed into the shoulder of the dwem; bones popped and cracked under the force. Both collapsed in a heap of flailing arms and legs.
The dwem’s shoulder was shattered if not out of place. The wound allowed the Rornman the time to draw a dagger and open the dwem’s throat from ear to ear. The blunted black fingers twitched as they released their grip on life and the Rorn. Motega roared, dipping his hands into the blood of his victim. He wiped the blood in streaks across his own face. Then taking only a finger of blood at a time, he etched Rorn symbols on his already blood covered body.
The Rorn grabbed his bow, nocking the final arrow he would use for the night and proceeded toward the road. As he emerged from the brush in a brisk trot he loosed the arrow. The shaft found its mark in the leg of the last dwem, the largest dwarf, the leader.
Motega screamed with all his rage in the direction of the beast. He drew his sword. The black dwarf ripped the arrow out of its leg and lifted its axe. They screamed at each other, fifty feet of space in between. Then panting and wounded, they both charged.
The two monsters clashed, blade to axe. Motega’s forward momentum was the only thing allowing him to stand the shattering blow of the deep dwarf. The might of the wounded creature was unimaginable and frightful. For a moment, Motega doubted the survival of any of his friends.
Then the axe bit deeply into his flesh. Motega cried out in pain; the pain transformed to fury and he drove his own blade through the gut of his foe. Lifting his foot, he kicked off and crashed into the ground five feet away.
The flap of the haversack loosed itself, contents spilling over the open road. Motega slammed his hand down for leverage to stand. His hand closed on a vial when he stood. Ripping the stopper out with his teeth, the Rorn downed the potion in one fast gulp. Wounds began to knit themselves together when the dwarf stepped in with a devastating blow.
The axe crumpled Motega’s arm and he fell backward again. He kicked and flailed backward trying to escape the deep dwarf. He brought his blade forward as a protective shield only the blade wasn’t in his hand. He looked back at the dwem sergeant, his blade piercing the beast’s bowels. The dwem stood unwavering but clearly dead on its feet. Motega stood, ripped the blade out of its gut and watched the corpse hit the ground.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Motega had taken the dozen healing potions and tended to his party. Fitz was the first to wake and assisted in bringing Magnus back from the brink of death. All sat in a state of disbelief around the body of Tobias. The warrior’s brains were spilled all over the ground. His empty eyes stared upward into the dark sky, a stream of blood staining the skin around his mouth.
Lovingly, Motega wrapped the body in a wool blanket tightly, to help prevent decay. Fitz murmured a few divine words over the corpse to also assist in keeping the body fresh. Magnus wept openly.
Once the body was wrapped, a makeshift stretcher was made for the corpse. Also, a sled was built to haul the looted bodies of the dwem. Once everything was gathered, the three Heroes headed toward Marchford.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They stood at the edge of the Town of Marchford. A terrible thunderstorm had erupted in the last leg of the journey, bringing relief to the scorched earth.
“The world weeps for you, my friend,” Fitz whispered at the corpse they bore.
“Not just him.” Motega grunted. He pointed toward the Town and the few buildings that remained. Most of the homes had been burnt down, were still burning. An angry sneer was carved on the Rornman’s visage.
The sounds of fighting echoed out of Oggut’s bar. Dwem could be seen entering and exiting the stone and wood structure. Sounds of joy poured out of the tavern and inn. Meanwhile, guards stood watch from inside the small keep. Figures could be seen moving about the battlements, tending to the torches that could barely hold their light in the downpour.
"I will kill every last one of them,” Motega swore.
“Not yet,” Fitz laid a comforting hand on the savage. “If we hurry, we may be able to bring the warrior back. We do not have time to fight a pointless war. We must go.”
“Fine. For Tobias, we go. But first I will leave them a warning.” Motega quickly piled the corpses of the five dwem on the ground in a pile. He quickly removed there heads, setting them to the side. Then he lathered the bodies in torch oil, a malicious gleam on his face.
He bent to light the bodies but the flames sputtered and died. He looked heavenward as if challenging the gods to kill the fire again. Then he attempted again. The flames caught and sputtered and then burst upward, screaming into the oncoming rain, screaming at the heavens.
Quickly Motega dumped oil into the fleshy black heads and set those ablaze as well. With three swift kicks, the flaming dwem skulls bounced and crashed down the hill toward the tavern. Motega roared a Rorn curse into the air. Then the Heroes of Marchford turned and left. Behind them, Marchford slowly burned away to ash despite the storm.
