Magic Rising; Chapter 1. Magic is a lake...
 

Smoke drifted lazilly over the barren landscape. Grey, chipped up, battered, and dusty rocks formed the plains, and thick grey clouds blotted out all light. A single pebble that fell caused an echo that lasted for hours, and the only life out there, a fly, finally curled up and died after one day out there.

Then the echoes came. Coming from the city of Karamar, hundreds of miles away, a marching group came. They didn't march to impress, they didn't march for discipline, they marched to hurry their attack.

Then the flashes of scary orange light began. The came from a collection of stones, but continued, gradually becoming more frequent. Then it halted, and stayed open. Something with skin as red as blood, fanged teeth, and a gruesomely crafted sword walked out. More followed.

The dust was barely clearing, but you could make out the forms of Men. They wore golden armour, with black leather buckled onto it to appear ceremonial, they carried longsword, and shields, with scale mail, and helmets.

There were thousands upon thousands upon thousands. Amongst their ranks were golden clad elven An'Kalon, and Citadel Guards. Thousands of citizen militia marched amongst the force, Ogres, dwarves, even a few halflings.

The orange lights were flaring uncontrollably now. A man sheathed in green robes raised a hand and yelled a single syllable. The sky snapped open and lightning came down and blew the creatures apart. But some healed.

More mages joined in, tossing more and more spells into the gathering army. Then the two battle lines collided. Steel echoed, primal roars deafened, and death cries were heard all along the battle line.

But the creatures kept standing up, even after being stabbed, hewed, and gashed repeatedly. The mages tossed more and more spells with less effect. Then there was a swirl of the blue powder that always was there in the after-math of a spell, and when all of it met, it formed. Into a giant dragon of bone. It crushed man after man, and the mages couldn't harm it. An old High Mage of the elves cried out, "STOP! THE MAGIC IS WHAT CREATES THEM!!"

Mages fell silent across the battlefield. But it was too late. The winds of magic had been called on. Their herald arrived. He didn't seem like much. A single man, clad in black mail and blood red winged armour, carrying one sword. Then he begun to fight, and they saw that they were doomed.

His skill was unparrallelled. Then Addrimyr, the son of the High King of all Men stepped forward, his armour shining. His sword glew blue, though he did not know it, and the two warriors met in a clash. The battle slowed around them, as everyone turned to see this fight.

The herald laughed as he beat aside Addrimyr's guard, and plunged his sword into Addrimyr's gut, the armour doing nothing to stop the blade. But Addrimyr was not dead yet. Even though a sword was through him, he still managed to bring his sword, Glamatil, around and behead the herald. The creatures shrieked and vanished almost simontaneously, and the warriors collapsed.

One young member of the King's Guard tossed aside his sword and shield, and ran over to the dying prince. His Time Magic could not save the Prince now, and all he could do was hold his Prince while he died. The boy was named Rabryn. He'd been at the frontlines, he'd survived. His Prince had not however. Silently, Rabryn vowed he would stop magic from ever causing this damage again.

OOC: This is a two part post, so let me finish pwease.

The galla was approaching full swing. Almost all of the guests had either come from their rooms, or had arrived. The doorman announced each one as they entered, and groups formed.

The dancefloor was full of swirling nobles, and some of the characters who had been invited who didn't know why they were there were in their own groups by the walls and corners.

There was gourmet food, a full orchestra, everything anyone desired.

Up on his seat, Duke Theodric gave himself a really big pat on the back. This was going according to plan. For too long, he'd been cooped up in his castle doing the paperwork neccesarry for running his small nation, and this was exactly the kind of thing he needed for him to relax and enjoy life.

At the age of 53, he wasn't what he used to be, and this was what he now lived to experience. People being happy. And if some of them wanted to join his nation, so be it. No complaints from him.

He sipped his wine, leaned back, and sighed. This was going to be a night to remember. He didn't know how right he was.

OOC: MINGLE-TIME!

Quil just stood in an empty corner, watching everyone. He hated crowds. Leaning against the wall with his trusty sythe, he waited.

A young nobly girl, most likely drunk, noticed Quil moping in the corner.

She ran over, and tossed his cloak away, then dragged him out onto the dance floor.

OOC: Aha! I am the anti-kill-joy for this chunk!

This took Quil by surprise. Not a very good kind. He quickly got out of the girl's grasp and got his cloak back. He went back to his corner, hoping the girl wouldn't follow him. And he still hated crowds.

The girl ran back, and tore the cloak off before tossing it into one of the fire places.

"You're not going to have much fun moping aruond like that." She said, and yanked him back out onto the dance floor. And unfortunately, she managed to get him into the smack damn middle.

One of the guards pointed and laughed.

Luthien sulked at her table. She hated dresses, parties, and especially at this moment, her father. He gave her a glare out of the corner of his eye to go find a man to talk to, but she ignored him and kept staring off into space.

OOC: Ouch... I'm guessing this is dressy, and we would be out of our weapons and armor...

Dezil was chatting and laughing with a group of fellow dwarves at a table that had smuggled in a flask of strong Dwarven Whiskey. Drinking it straight would be enough to knock out most normal humans, but the dwarves added some drops of it to the stongest drink they could get in the party and found it worked wonders. They chatted about times of yore, adventures, and the goings on in the Dwarven Kingdoms.

OOC: Ack, enough angst in this RP so far to make an FF protagonist...

Quil slowly started to get angry, which was unusual, he had never gotten angry before. At least, as far as he could remember. The guard laughing and the girl swinging him around only added to his anger. 'Why the middle? Why do you torment me? Cursed or not why?'

Quil tried to keep his anger level down; he didn't want to suddenly break out in the midst of a huge party.

Aelis was somewhat dressed up... most unusual for someone like her, but she was used to going to places in disguise for a chance at meeting a few rich victims... er... people.
Slinking around by the walls, trying to stay unnoticed, she looked around, looking for a gullible party-goer for her to pilfer from. Earlier, she had told herself that she was just going to go to the party and be a regular person, not a theif for once, but the money lust was too strong and she found herself looking for potential victims rather than dance partners.