Tale of the Tribe: Age of Blood Chapter One
 

The town square, normally busy with the coming and goings of the residents of the city-town, now stands mute witness to merchant's who sell not wares, but death. A tall, strong, and imperious man stands in the center of the square upon a raised dias. He addresses the assembled men and women who have volunteered to fight for their city, as well as the soldiers pledged to defend it. Unbeknownst to the majority of those assembled, many of these volunteers are not average citizens but men and women of the Tribe. Their skills, honed over thousands of years, have made them into legends among the common-folk of the seven realms. The man on the dias bears the markings of the leader of a mercenary company upon his legionaire-style tunic and skirt. He carries upon his left arm a thick round shield made of glimmering silver, with the image of the gorgan medusa engraved upon it. He is known as Perseus among his fellow Tribe-mates, but to the common people he is called Aurok of the Golden Plume, on account of the golden plume that sprouts from the top of his legionaire's helm. He carries in his right hand a shortsword engraved with runes that glow with a golden light. His breast plate of burnished bronze gleams in the sunlight and the pylums strapped across his back rise menacingly over his shoulder.

He speaks in a strong voice that carries well over the vast expanse of the square, now filled with men and women carrying tools of war. "Soldiers, warriors, brothers and sisters, You have come to this spot for one unifying purpose. To defeat the invaders and defend your homes from their indiscriminate torches. To save your families from their blades, already dark with the blood of the innocent. This, my bretherin in arms, is the final defense." Here he pauses, allowing for the anticipation to build before continuing, "If we should fail here, it is all over. Allow me to make this perfectly clear, if these vile defilers rout us from this stronghold, all is lost. Your sons and husbands will be slaughtered, your homes destroyed and your daughters adn wives taken to amuse the butchers." He again pauses to let the weight of his words to make itself fully felt, then presses on "But fear not, oh ye who would fight, for we shall not be defeated. Our blades shall dispatch our foes and send them fleeing back into the depths of hell from whence they came. Rejoice my bretherin for our finest hour is upon us. We are the final defense, the vile butchers shall fall before us like wheat before the scythe. So remember, brothers and sisters, when the enemy presses you back, when your comerades fall, as the vile enemy pushes you back, that this is your home, that to fall here is to fall forever and that in your love and strength you are invincible. For the gods have blessed us in our endeavor."

A hush falls as the last of his words ring out over the small army assembled before him. Suddenly, a roar of sound spreads over the square as the assembled soldiers erupt into cheers. Boasts and tales of heroic deeds past completed echo off the walls as the defenders revel in the strength of their commander. The heavy air of strength and dertimination remains even as a breathless runner bursts into the square. The noise only diminishes when Aurok raises his hand for silence. "Speak man, so that your comerades may know what you have traveled so hard to tell us."

"Milord, the enemy approaches," the runner gasps between deep panting breaths.

Aurok turns to the assembled defenders with an expression of absolute serenity upon his face. "My brothers and sisters, the time for brave talk has passed. It is time for bolder action. Move to your posts and prepare to defend the town until the last of the civilians have made it inside." Aurok leaps from the dias and moves toward the main road, where he and his small band of fellow Tribes-men prepare to hold the line. As he moves the army of defenders moves into position around them. Archers peer out form the windows of buildings as swordsmen and spearmen erect barricade and prepare themselves for battle. Shortly, the sound of hooves can be heard thudding towards the town. Aurok, serenity still intact, lifts his pylum to his shoulder. He releases as the first of the cavalry regiment rounds the bend, taking the man through the chest. He lifts his spear from where it lies across his back and takes a kneeling position, bracing the spear aginst the inside of his foot. "Pikemen in front, form the wall." As Aurok's bellowed orders fade, pikemen move to respond, forming a wall of spears and shields three or four men thick that spans the entire street. As the horsemen approach the archers rain arrows down upon their heads. "Be strong my bretherin. FOR BLOOD AND GLORY!" Aurok's battle-cry splits the air as the first horseman impales himself upon a spear.

The shrill whistle of an arrow in flight was the last thing one of the riders heard.

Then the one next to him suffered the same fate.

Then the next.

And the next.

With centuries of practice, Nathaniel calmly shot arrow after arrow with smooth, fluid motions. The string of Longcast hummed as it vibrated. The bow's matching gem, Farseer, lay in Nathaniels pouch.

He didn't need it. He had all the targets he could handle well within his view.

Almost like a machine, from his rooftop perch, Nathaniel rained a steady stream of arrows upon the raiders.

One with an axe, laughing as he raises his axe to strike down a warrior, falls gurgling blood. Another drops mid-run, not even knowing how he died. Another rider, riding hard to break the spear wall, widen's eyes in surprise as a arrow blooms in his chest.

Very few of his shots miss, as Nathaniel methodically dispatches one man after another, his quiver never seeming to empty...unseen to the others, has he was alone on this perch.

Nathaniel supported the pike wall as best he could...but, despite his skill and experience, he was just one man.

Dezo shook his mind away from the distractions of the screams, sealing them out, pretending they weren't happening. "Just make your ancestors proud Dezo, that's all you need to do..." Dezo breathed in deeply, brought the axe that was as tall as he was off of his shoulder, and stood a few feet behind "Aurok", ready to ambush the first person that broke through the lines. He focused his mind for but a brief moment, and his clothes turned a deep crimson. 'Just in case a fire breaks out.' Dezo thought to himself as he watched arrows fly over the wall and hearing the gurgling of dying men. Dezo sighed, "Grandpa always said that war was ugly. I'm beginning to wish I had listened." A horseman galloped wide of the defensive line and his horse threw him off in protest as his hoof got caught in a hole, a trap set by one of the others in preparation. The soldier stood, drew his sword and revealed his ugly, yellowing teeth at Dezo, thinking him to be an easy kill. He began to dash forward as fast as he could without pulling his injured leg more than he had to, his blood pumping furiously, and Dezo gasped with shock, knelt down and stuck out his leg, tripping the overanxious soldier. Dezo brought up his axe and severed the soldier's head from his shoulders, causing a steady stream of blood to flow from his neck. Dezo knelt down, his axe propping him up, as he vomited. 'Just....pretend it's a mock battle Dezo...you knew the time to fight would come sometime, and you must be ready, and not leaving such an easy target for your foes.' Dezo thought to himself as he wretched a second time, drew in a few ragged breaths, spit, and brought himself shakily up, shouldering his axe once more and preparing for any more soldiers that might break the line.

Aurok parries a blow aimed for the small "boy" wielding the axe behind him. His line had held the horsemen's charge but now the main body of the army marched into view. As they rounded the bend they began to pick up speed, moving faster and faster as the cavalry companies re-formed on their flanks. A roar went up form both lines as the foot soldiers plunged forwards in a seemingly never-ending stream of glinting steel. Aurok's commands ring throughout the crowd "Bring your weapons to bear my brothers adn sisters, for this is our finest hour. FOR BLOOD AND GLORY!" His battle cry rings out again as the two lines of soldiers meet. The line pushes back and forth, men being crushed between even more men. Even as the men of the line fall more men leap to take their place, and while the invaders sustain far heavier casualties, they show no signs of relenting.

Genzentaru did not look as if he belonged on the battlefield. It wasn't just that he was wearing blue robes, they were made so that it could be worn while fighting, it was that he did not carry the aura of a warrior. His look was not fightening and his calm emotionless expression seemed more suited to an aristocrat then a warrior in the midst of heated battle. His pale skin and frail frame also served to denote his status as a warrior. The only thing that bespoke the fact he was a warrior was the strange ruin etched katana in a scabbard slung across his back. However Genzentaru was in the battlefield and he intended to do his part. Parting the back of his hair with his left hand Genzentaru sighed and stepped forward [i]It always comes to combat, when will these people learn that solving issues with words works best?[i].

Crouching low with sudden speed Genzentaru spread his legs into a fighting position as he reached over his head and grabbed the hilt of Natsudori. Drawing Natsudori out with a distinctive ring he brought her down so the blade was diagonal across his face. "Come Natsudori let free yourself" Genzentaru whispered even as the runes glowed in response. Leaping forward Genzentaru jumped into the midst of the enemy warriers. Rising out of a crouch Genzentaru held Natsudori pointed to the ground and said even as the warriors circled around him "Do we really fight, this is meaningless and will only result in uneedful death let us settle it with words". A warrier charged forward with a barbaric slicing his axe down at Genzentaru's back. Spinning with frightening speed Genzentaru brought Natsudori up to slice through the axe and leave a deep slash across the man's neck. As the blood spurted from the man's neck and splattered across Genzentaru's robes he brought his sword back into a defensive position after the cut and said simply "Guess not"

OOC: Well, it Irion's ok by Fuzzy, I'll make my first post.

IC: "Hmph, an exercise in futility..." Irion muttered to himself.

He thought Perseus would be up to better than this. Even if these people could be saved, thousands more across the earth were suffering. Irion had learned to stay as far away from these conflicts as possible, but this was a personal trouble.

Starting what looked like a long walk to anyone who would have been normal, Irion suddenly blasted off into flight from where he was in an explosion of force that seemingly came out of nowhere. He would probably be there in about five minutes at this rate, but there was no telling what kinds of obstacles he would run into once he landed.

"I hope you've gotten better Perseus, I want this to be at least slightly challenging," Irion thought as he saw his target start to get closer and closer. He wouldn't be landing right next to him, but it would be close enough.

Fateclaw leaned up agianst a tree as Aurok spoke. He was paying no attention to the man's words. Instead, he was tightening and loosening his grip on his claws as he tried to find the perfect fit. Using his scimitars in this battle would be overkill, so he left them sheated, one at either side of his waist. Aurok finished his speech and their army moved into position as the enemy force rounded the corner.

Horsemen barrelled around the corner and charged the army. Horses that were not devasted by the pikes had their riders shot off their backs. Any horse that tried to evade the pikewall got stuck in the traps that they had laid earlier. The infantry of the enemy army came into view. "I guess this is where I come in," said Fate nonchalantly. He ran headlong into the enemy ranks, killing as he moved in. Fate was stopped by the sheer momentum of the enemy at about the third row. Soldiers surrounded him, but he smiled. One foolish soldier charged right at Fate, only to meet Fate's deadly claws. At the same time though, another soldier charged from behind. Fate did a 180 air kick and dislocated the jaw of the soldier, who collapsed on the ground. A group of four came at him this time, and Fate used one soldiers momentum and threw him into another soldier. In a flash, he drew a scimitar and impaled both soldiers. He sheathed it, and spun a full circle that took out the remaining two. At this point, the soldiers decided to all attack Fate. He continued his display as soldiers dropped left and right.

Jason watched the bloodshed below from his perch upon the rooftop. He swayed the blade of the Dragons Tail back and fourth thoughtfully. Somewhere off to his right, he heard a thin, reedy whisper.

"You know, you really should get down there and help."
"I know, Raven. I am simply planning my next move."
"Ha!" said another voice, this one more gruff, yet with the same slightly echoing quality to it. "When was the last time you ever actually planed anything!"
"Oh shut up Alex. I know what I'm doing."

He looked back down at the battle field. He stares at the chaos for a moment and suddenly strikes upon an idea. He reaches into the enchanted bag tied around his waist, his Bag O' Tricks as he likes to call it, and pulls out a few choice items. A few smoke bombs, which consisted of nothing more then a metal container full of rags soaked in pitch, tar and a few other slow burning and high smoke producing materials, and a single firebomb, a glass bottle filled with lamp oil with a rag protruding from the top to serve as a fuse.

He took two smoke bombs and pulled a string on each, causing a rough piece of metal to strike a piece of flint rock, the sparks igniting the materials. He threw one into the midst of the invading army's soldiers. He raised his arm to throw the second and stops for a moment, remembering to light the firebomb, he dipped the rag into the slowly burning insides of the smoke bomb. He then proceeded to throw both among the enemy. The choking smoke and burning flames bringing confusion to some of the enemy soldiers. Jason then leapt amongst the enemy, using the temporary confusion to his advantage. He swung the Dragons Tail around his head and threw it at a near by soldier, impaling him. Two of the soldiers, who still had their wits about them and were aware enough to notice Jason, came after him from behind. But with a deft twirl of the blade he decapitated both of them. He continued swinging the Dragons Tail like a whirlwind of death, felling several more soldiers. Unfortunately the smoke began to clear. Jason quickly found himself surrounded by about a hundred very angry invaders out for blood, his blood. Fortunately he prepared for just such a situation. He took out the smoke bomb he saved, pulled the string and threw it at the ground. Within moments the area was filled with dense smoke. He ran through the invaders and threw the Dragons tail into a nearby building, anchoring it there, and climbed like his life depended on it. Which in fact, it did. He sat on the rooftop for a moment, regaining his breath. Thinking all the while. I'm not cut out for this kind of thing. Do I look like a warrior. No, I think not.

He looked down at the battle below. "I can still help from here." he mumbled to himself as he reached into the folds of his clothes and pulling out several throwing knives. He began throwing them quickly and accurately, most of them striking their mark.

As "Aurok" was spouting words to the legions of defending armies, Thomas was hidden beside a tree, the hood of his cloak covering his head. He was coughing hard, and his eyes were bloodshot. Through the hacking and heaving, he managed to sort through a bag he carried on his back. It was filled with small disks the size of nickels. He would take one out, and look at the symbol on the disk. He was deciding which would be best served in this situation.

"Archer? No, Nathaniel has that covered. Mage? No, Perseus said no special effects. Maybe....heheheheeee."

Thomas took a small disc with a strange symbol on it.

"The berserker. This should do nicely."

He took the disk, and placed it on his tongue. He felt it melt, and it's magical juices slid down his throat. Almost immediately the popper took effect. He grew another two feet in height, and gained large amounts of muscle mass. His jaw jutted out, and the bloodshot eyes turned to normal. He stopped coughing. He reached into another bag and took hold of a small metal cube. After feeling the effects of the popper, the cube changed until it took the form of a giant battle-axe. Thomas gave out a small chuckle.

"Hrrmmhrmhrmmm. Let's crack some skulls."

With a new speed and strength, Thomas the Berserker rushed out into battle, swing his axe randomly into the fray.

There was two simultaneous screams and the hiss of water as two soldiers fighting Fateclaw met their ends. As Fateclaw turned to regard his sister briefly, his crimson eyes met the cool blue glow of Syren’s. He didn’t need to look down to know that the corpses of the soldiers shriveled dry as Syren’s water ability drew the very moisture from their dead bodies and into a twisting, writhing serpent of pure water.
“So many lives wasted,” she murmured in her oddly lilting voice that reminded those who could hear her of the roaring ocean waves. She turned from Fateclaw and his deadly circle of dancing to face her own opponents. Opponents that have yet to discover what several thousand years of blades training can do.
Like her elemental power, she flowed into combat, unresisting to the slicing blades that hacked at her, bending away effortlessly while her own blade, sheathed, drew out briefly in a spray of blue to cut down her enemy, sword, armor, and all.
The water serpent grew larger, feeding off the liquid of corpses. It opened its watery jaws, hissing audibly as it writhed around Syren like a protective guardian. A dozen soldiers dared to challenge its might, and were swept away by a powerful blow from its growing tail.

Two soldiers charged at Syren from behind. Like lightning, her whip cracked around, catching them right across the bridges of their noses. As they clutched their faces in pain, Syren impaled them with her legendary Sea Blades. Her blue, irisless eyes bled light as they creased slightly. Her lips thinned into a tight smile as she drew back her right arm and made a motion as if she was flinging something. The watery marks on her thin fingers writhed and foamed.
The water serpent charged forward like a herd of wild horses, writhing like a flood through the ranks of soldiers. Those that didn’t get out of the way were crushed under the horrific pressure of the torrential rush of liquid death, and felt the watery jaws of the serpent tear into their bodies like a solid beast. No one could fight what was elementally untouchable. Their blades sliced through the water serpent like it wasn’t there. It left a swathe of destruction in its path, before arcing high into the sky and dissipating into rain. The blood that dyed the pure water red rained down upon enemy ranks.

As cool as the calmest ocean, Syren swept on relentlessly, her blades felling even the bravest and strongest of soldiers with their keen edges. The Sea Witch was back.