1st day of work is so..................
TIRING.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
ORD lo!
The long awaited day has arrived! Though officially it's tomorrow, but it being a Saturday means i get my pink ic returned today! Trust me, it isn't easy surrendering your pink ic twice. it gets kinda emotional.
i'm sure the hoo-ha will kick off soon, but i'll enjoy it while it lasts. :D
i'm sure the hoo-ha will kick off soon, but i'll enjoy it while it lasts. :D
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Act 1 Chapter 3 : Reckless
Word had it that the recent Loki dispatch to Visgaard consisted several high ranking mages. Grimthan's orders were to ambush any surviving Loki returning from the Visgaardi battlefields. Their heads were considered a vital advantage if Artemia was ever to go to war with Hyunea. However, to his delight, the patient wait yielded unexpected prey of much more value. He could see himself returning to the Artemian king with the prized skulls of the Zol'Nirs, claiming his reward in slabs of gold. The monetary incentive was all he needed as motivation.
"Hold, hold...", Grimthan coaxed the trap bearer, a shivering figure barely a man, dressed in oversized armour, hands trembling as he fought the urge of losing his composure to total fear, to be in control of the deadfall activating mechanism. Grimthan glanced at him, merely a boy, and his conscience screamed at him again for dragging innocent lives into his endeavours. But he did not have a choice, his people and so was he, were bounded to the king of Artemia as mercenaries who desperately needed a source of income. In Artemia, where necessities could only be found within the walls of the kingdom, there was no other option than to offer their services for survival.
All these years as leader of the Groth mercenary had hardened Grimthan's penitence, as he shut his eyes momentarily to erase all feelings of compunction. When he reopened them, they were burning with the initial intensity and determination to complete the task ahead. For the sake of his people, for the survival of his kin, he must continue in this seemingly endless journey of forsaking contrition.
"Hold... hold.............. now!" Grimthan yanked the noose and a hidden vine cracked into view from its state of near invisibility to rear itself like an enraged viper eager to capitalise on the surprise factor for the kill. Almost at the same time, the boy pulled at the tree branch. A loud dry crack echoed through the forest as thick logs fell from the canopy along the two sides of the entangling vine. The vine caught between the legs of the fourth mare, sending both rider and animal crashing to the dusty path clumsily. The second, third and fifth Zol'Nir fell under the weight of the heavy entrapment.
If there was anything of value throughout his service in the mercenary, it was the gleaming battle experience that Grimthan was proud of. To bestow ultimate chaos and confusion to a battalion travelling on a narrow path, disruption had to be dispatched through the middle of the contingent. This way, the leading half would be separated from the trailing half. The ambush would be completed by completely surrounding and eradicating the remaining disrrayed units.
Grimthan led the assault, emerging from his obscure hiding, brandishing his scimitar. Suddenly the forest is alive with the Groth legion abandoning their camouflage and charging into battle. The remaining standing Zol'Nir released a ear-piercing shriek as their mares reared around wildly in the confusion, kicking aimlessly at the intruders. "Aim for the horses' legs!" Grimthan ordered, as he swung his scimitar at the nearest equine, cleaving the leg cleanly at the joint, blood splattering over his armour. The beast howled and crashed into a thrashing heap, dislodging its rider onto the ground. The Groth resounded their leader's warcry and swarmed the remaining two horses.
A zealous Groth warrior leapt onto one of the fallen Zol'Nir, a smirk growing across his face as he inverted his grip on his weapon, raised his sword and plunged it deep into the heart. A deafening shrill escaped from the human and he clambered backwards unsteadily clutching his face. The wound in the Zol'Nir was spraying a greenish-looking liquid. The Groth legion stopped dead in its tracks and witnessed the horrific torment inflicted on one of their kind. What was once eyes turned into gaping blood-pouring holes. Flaks of armour were already starting to dissolve and thin wisps of acidic vapour rose from areas eaten by the decay. Some enraged Groth rushed forward to avenge their comrade but ended in the same fate.
Fear gripped the assailants hard. Grimthan could not believe what he saw when scores of his men fell to the terrible mutilations to their bodies. "Hold!" He had to reorganise his men to avoid any unnecessary losses. His impression of the Zol'Nirs, gathered from hearsay spreading in taverns across Artemia, was that they were corrupt mages hung for their tyranny but resurrected by their own desecrated lifeforce. Through the resurrection, they preserved every physical aspect of the human body but sacrificed the heads as an offering to the devil, leaving behind skulls to do the bidding of the Dark One. The only way to kill them, based on anecdotal rumours, was to plunge a weapon into their still-human heart. But why isn't that Zol'Nir dead?
The commotion gave the remaining Zol'Nirs, under the deadfall, time to dislodge themselves from the mess. Their orange eyes flared within the sockets of the skulls, anger seething like a bubbling cauldron. One of them raised a hand and muttered an undecipherable incantation. The bracelet wrapped tightly around its wrist started to glow pale green. The Groth was entranced by the artistry, partially eager to behold their first glimpse of magic and partially clamped by horror, totally rooted to the ground.
The pale green started to radiate frenziedly and streaks of purple maleficence surged from its fingertips, engulfing the Groth frontlines. Living flesh started to burn in a sick, unextinguishable purple flame. The affected humans writhed in agony silently, as their tongues were also caught in the combustion. Within a few minutes all that remained of the victims were charred skeletal corpses, still kindling with a purple aura, and their armour and clothing were unaffected by the gruesome scorching. Grimthan's eyes grew wide in surprise, terror, disgust and discomposure.
"Re.. retreat!" The bellowing was quavering and the orders given was stung with a tinge of panic. Suddenly the invasive horde was reduced to a whimpering bunch of cowards scampering for dear lives. But none could blame them for the second Zol'Nir had raised its hand by now, a shiny black ring shimmering with malice.
"Hold, hold...", Grimthan coaxed the trap bearer, a shivering figure barely a man, dressed in oversized armour, hands trembling as he fought the urge of losing his composure to total fear, to be in control of the deadfall activating mechanism. Grimthan glanced at him, merely a boy, and his conscience screamed at him again for dragging innocent lives into his endeavours. But he did not have a choice, his people and so was he, were bounded to the king of Artemia as mercenaries who desperately needed a source of income. In Artemia, where necessities could only be found within the walls of the kingdom, there was no other option than to offer their services for survival.
All these years as leader of the Groth mercenary had hardened Grimthan's penitence, as he shut his eyes momentarily to erase all feelings of compunction. When he reopened them, they were burning with the initial intensity and determination to complete the task ahead. For the sake of his people, for the survival of his kin, he must continue in this seemingly endless journey of forsaking contrition.
"Hold... hold.............. now!" Grimthan yanked the noose and a hidden vine cracked into view from its state of near invisibility to rear itself like an enraged viper eager to capitalise on the surprise factor for the kill. Almost at the same time, the boy pulled at the tree branch. A loud dry crack echoed through the forest as thick logs fell from the canopy along the two sides of the entangling vine. The vine caught between the legs of the fourth mare, sending both rider and animal crashing to the dusty path clumsily. The second, third and fifth Zol'Nir fell under the weight of the heavy entrapment.
If there was anything of value throughout his service in the mercenary, it was the gleaming battle experience that Grimthan was proud of. To bestow ultimate chaos and confusion to a battalion travelling on a narrow path, disruption had to be dispatched through the middle of the contingent. This way, the leading half would be separated from the trailing half. The ambush would be completed by completely surrounding and eradicating the remaining disrrayed units.
Grimthan led the assault, emerging from his obscure hiding, brandishing his scimitar. Suddenly the forest is alive with the Groth legion abandoning their camouflage and charging into battle. The remaining standing Zol'Nir released a ear-piercing shriek as their mares reared around wildly in the confusion, kicking aimlessly at the intruders. "Aim for the horses' legs!" Grimthan ordered, as he swung his scimitar at the nearest equine, cleaving the leg cleanly at the joint, blood splattering over his armour. The beast howled and crashed into a thrashing heap, dislodging its rider onto the ground. The Groth resounded their leader's warcry and swarmed the remaining two horses.
A zealous Groth warrior leapt onto one of the fallen Zol'Nir, a smirk growing across his face as he inverted his grip on his weapon, raised his sword and plunged it deep into the heart. A deafening shrill escaped from the human and he clambered backwards unsteadily clutching his face. The wound in the Zol'Nir was spraying a greenish-looking liquid. The Groth legion stopped dead in its tracks and witnessed the horrific torment inflicted on one of their kind. What was once eyes turned into gaping blood-pouring holes. Flaks of armour were already starting to dissolve and thin wisps of acidic vapour rose from areas eaten by the decay. Some enraged Groth rushed forward to avenge their comrade but ended in the same fate.
Fear gripped the assailants hard. Grimthan could not believe what he saw when scores of his men fell to the terrible mutilations to their bodies. "Hold!" He had to reorganise his men to avoid any unnecessary losses. His impression of the Zol'Nirs, gathered from hearsay spreading in taverns across Artemia, was that they were corrupt mages hung for their tyranny but resurrected by their own desecrated lifeforce. Through the resurrection, they preserved every physical aspect of the human body but sacrificed the heads as an offering to the devil, leaving behind skulls to do the bidding of the Dark One. The only way to kill them, based on anecdotal rumours, was to plunge a weapon into their still-human heart. But why isn't that Zol'Nir dead?
The commotion gave the remaining Zol'Nirs, under the deadfall, time to dislodge themselves from the mess. Their orange eyes flared within the sockets of the skulls, anger seething like a bubbling cauldron. One of them raised a hand and muttered an undecipherable incantation. The bracelet wrapped tightly around its wrist started to glow pale green. The Groth was entranced by the artistry, partially eager to behold their first glimpse of magic and partially clamped by horror, totally rooted to the ground.
The pale green started to radiate frenziedly and streaks of purple maleficence surged from its fingertips, engulfing the Groth frontlines. Living flesh started to burn in a sick, unextinguishable purple flame. The affected humans writhed in agony silently, as their tongues were also caught in the combustion. Within a few minutes all that remained of the victims were charred skeletal corpses, still kindling with a purple aura, and their armour and clothing were unaffected by the gruesome scorching. Grimthan's eyes grew wide in surprise, terror, disgust and discomposure.
"Re.. retreat!" The bellowing was quavering and the orders given was stung with a tinge of panic. Suddenly the invasive horde was reduced to a whimpering bunch of cowards scampering for dear lives. But none could blame them for the second Zol'Nir had raised its hand by now, a shiny black ring shimmering with malice.