Post by Geneva von Einsburn on Apr 7, 2008 11:11:45 GMT -5
"We would leave here the root of our problems, to run crying home? Do you suggest we are cowards? Not only does this monster insult our intelligence with lies, but he insults our faith with accusations of cowardice."
A young woman, one of the senior hunters of the Black Forest Church, spoke out from among the crowd. She had listened with narrow eyes to the monologue that this megalomaniac shadow had spouted. She knew well this man's visage. He was one who worked with Fenrir.
She pulled from her back a black firearm with a body about as thick as her arm, and a stub were a handle extended from the front, and pointed it at Scorpius one-handed. With her other hand, she pulled out her wand, and quickly tapped the barrel of the gun, annunciating "constans!" She fired her gun at Scorpius, the recoil of the gun doing no more than shaking it a bit.
My Brawls are no longer inert! Add my code if you want:
Post by Marten Broadcloak on Apr 7, 2008 13:10:48 GMT -5
Sometimes, using something as impractical as a firearm was useless and counter-effective. In the time it took the hunter from the BFC to raise the gun, tap it with her wand, say the spell, and pull the trigger, Marten Broadcloak had enough time to react to the witch and erect a magical shield in front of the Count to deflect the bullet. And, as the bullet was striking the shield, Marten's wand made a move which was barely visible and sent the witch's gun flying high into the air.
"You see, witch," Marten began, taking a moment to attempt another disarming spell on the witch's wand, "This is our home, and it would be very kind of you to leave it."
He disappeared back into the shadows which he had just a moment ago appeared in. Passing through the shadow corridor he seemed to always be half in anyways, the Phantasm traveled from his space a few yards from Scorpius to directly next to the Count, behind the magical shield.
"Count, shall we destroy them all? Shall we kill them and send their bones to what is left of the ministry? Or shall we take an example from the fellow in the Tunnel and turn them into our undead minions, the first soldiers in an army to match that of any nation? I await orders."
Post by Geneva von Einsburn on Apr 7, 2008 13:44:24 GMT -5
The spell that the shadow had shot bounced harmlessly off of the shield charm that Geneva had kept placed on her gun. Her gun, kept back from the shield charm, and kept still by her stabilization charm, went nowhere except pointed toward the man who had fired that charm at her. More? She pulled her gun back over her wand, using it as a shield. Once more, sparks bounced harmlessly off, though she felt her gun tug at her arm. Maybe she should renew her shield charm. It seemed as if it had weakened. "Protego!" She whispered, pointing her wand once more at her firearm once more, "constans!"
"Mayhaps you should look at your enemy to see if they are actually disarmed, before striking conversation."
She pulled her gun forward, and pointed it directly at the man before her. Once more, she pulled the trigger, this time aiming for the new shadow. She tensed her body, waiting for the inevitable second attempt to disarm her, firing at the evil creature before her.
My Brawls are no longer inert! Add my code if you want:
"Or perhaps you will surrender, lay down your arms and come quietly." Spoke the voice of Maximillian Bismarck. "Do you see what I've done here? I've taken your list of completely ridiculous options and added one of my own. Just as ridiculous. Just as unlikely.”
Stepping away from the small group of ministry officials and Black Forest Church members was a man dressed in priest’s robes, with a great length of silver hair drawn into a ponytail and flowing down his back. At the moment, he also bore a wand in one hand, which was aimed at the pair of Shadows. “First rank senior hunter Einsburn! Stand down, yet do not drop your guard, diplomacy has not yet failed utterly.”
It was fortunate for the ministry that Bismarck disdained going through official channels or procedures that might bog down an investigation. For as it was now, a great portion of the Black Forest Church had been relocated from Triangle Tunnel directly to Diadem Fortress, acting on rumors that the shadows employed many dark magical creatures to their service. For this reason, the Church had largely been unable to act when news of Scorpius’ attack arrived simply too late.
“Now, before things get messy for you, I would kindly ask you to tell me if, when you recruited Fenrir for your nefarious schemes, he was accompanied by a small boy of a lycan. One barely of age to be attending school, who goes by the name of Marc Streampaw. Of course, I hardly expect you to answer, but it never hurts to at least attempt a civil conversation before you cause us to employ force to achieve our ends.”
Last Edit: Apr 7, 2008 13:55:13 GMT -5 by Bismarck
Post by Geneva von Einsburn on Apr 7, 2008 14:09:21 GMT -5
Geneva released the trigger, and brought her arm-guard across her chest. She wouldn't disobey a direct order from Father Bismarck. "Yes, Father." She pointed her wand at her gun, and began casting spells on the barrel and arm-guard of her firearm. Electricity crackled from the barrel of the gun as she wound her wand around the nozzle. When finished, she pointed her weapon at the men before her. This would do for preparation.
My Brawls are no longer inert! Add my code if you want:
Stepping out of the group of ministry officials and Black Forest Church members, Selena quietly walked to the side of her Master. Her straw-colored hair fell to the sides of her face, and her icy blue eyes were as cold and piercing as always. The Voice of the Church allowed herself total quiet for once, as her purpose was to speak on behalf of the Holy Father Bismarck, and as he himself was speaking for himself, she had no words to say to the invaders.
"Father," she whispered to Bismarck, "please do not allow yourself to engage in battle with these traitors. Should it come to that, please leave it to myself and Geneva." Her request was spoken with such a pure tenderness it was uncharacteristic of the sorceress, who, upon until this point, had shown no emotion whatsoever.
Go tell that long tongue liar Go and tell that midnight rider Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
Post by Ol' Gillespie on Apr 7, 2008 14:15:12 GMT -5
It was good to be free. The fresh air, polluted with smoke, screams and the stench of burnt flesh. Roger was out again! The age-old shackles gone. With the power of his wand he had found of a dead corpse, and the energy of a little kid who just tortured a poor helpless pidgin with a broken wing, Roger felt the need for a drink. Ah, a good old drink. Anything would do really, any pub, any flavor, anyone’s blood mixed in, he didn’t care much. People said he was crazy; they hadn’t met him when he was drunk.
The pub was nice and close by his place of departure of escape. He couldn’t apparate. Maybe he was too tired and weak, maybe some blasted spell wouldn’t let him. In any case drink first, escape later.
Walking up to the pub, Roger saw a horrid looking… creature blocking the entrance. He was about to shot him with some cruel spell for blocking his way to the pub, but then he noticed the creatures fingers. They were so thin and bony! The poor thing was starving, goody. Then, squinting to see, Roger realized that the fingers were not thin, rather just bone. The flesh had just fallen off to leave just bone. Smiling like a madman, Roger song to himself. “The hip bones connected to the… neck bone. The neck bone is connected to the… leg bone. The pinky bone is connected to the… the… the…” Getting distracted and forgetting his little ditty, Roger realized what was going on. The moment of revelation made him understand why the Inferi was there and everyone else gone. Walking out, with a ‘Pop!’ Roger teleported with the rest of the Shadows.
He happened to land in the same Ruins. The odd stone and the fire. What was that pain underneath his foot? Looking down, Roger saw a giant thorn had entered the sole of his foot, and protruded out the sidewall of the flesh. It had missed all the bones completely. With a yelp of pain, completely oblivious to everything else, Roger shot a string of spells at the thorn. The result was the thorn being removed and his body being rocketed up into the air on an angle. As his arms scrambled for the ground as he was airborne, the Shadow had unfortunately gotten in the path of the bullet.
Bullets.
Nasty things.
Falling to the ground, still wand in hand, Roger grabbed his bleeding shoulder. Looking around, Roger still was oblivious to where the bullet had come from. Looking at the man who he had just saved unknowingly to him, he shouted in his face. “What are you trying to do? Kill me! We’re on the same side idiot! Owwww! It hurts!” This was quite a shock seeing that this was his fifth bullet and seeing it hit a bone it felt like a knife in the eye.
He had no idea what was going on on the other side of the battlefield, only that he got hurt.
Post by Nicholas Grey on Apr 9, 2008 18:24:05 GMT -5
“Hellgates, man, he didn’t shoot yeh. You poofed to become freakish firing target, shot by that crazy lady there.” The voice was directed from a large heap of rubble, from which out came a man. He was handsome, but a coldness and evil air surrounded him, his face contorted into a strangely eerie expression. Blood stains were tattooed onto his ragged, dirty body, some dried blood, obviously not his own, trickling down his face. He was severely possessed by insanity, as his figure showed, but surprisingly he was particularly clear-minded today. The robed Shadow pointed a sinewy finger to the firearm-armed wizard, who stepped back to the apparent leader’s instruction.
“Yer’ pretty stupid to not realize where the bullets were coming from.” Reaching into his front robe pocket, he retrieved a wand. It was darkly colored, a thin ash wand with a vampire fang core, surrounded by a mysteriously disturbing aura. For sure this wand had taken many lives. Pushing back a long, straight strip of brown hair, the wizard’s covered face contorted into a grin. “This will hurt a bit, mate, but don’t worry, ol’ Nicky got your back.” Pointing his narrow wand towards Roger, the wizard uttered a spell. “Accio bullets,” he muttered darkly, smiling twistedly. The bullets tore out of Roger’s already wounded skin and flew softly into the hands of the Shadow. Closing his bruised fists around the bloodied ammunition, the wizard stopped smiling, his facial expression changing into a grimace.
“Now, Roger, mate, let me heal ya. Sanaros rapidaum,” the young man said quietly, so that no one in earshot could hear him. His wand emitting a beam headed straight towards his fellow Shadow’s arm. (Sanare means heal, rapida means rapid or rapidly in this case. Heal rapidly.) The beam wrapped itself around the man’s arm, bringing together his muscles, draining the loose blood, mending shot body parts and welding together skin. It was a painless process, and before anyone knew it, his arm was completely healed. No one had heard the spell he had uttered.
“Good as new, Roger ol’ boy,” Nick wheezed, “You may feel a little bruised, but everything’s going to be all right.” The whole process had been relatively silent, and had not disturbed the High Count Scorpius, or was noticed by many in the BFC. Nicholas smiled, a crooked grin widening under the hood that concealed his true identity.
Post by Fate Ciel Dia on Apr 9, 2008 20:09:12 GMT -5
Somewhere in the darkness, the huntress lurked. She had been one of the first to arrive after being set free from the grips of the ministry. After having retrieved her wand, Fate lay in wait as the exchange of words and bullets then more words took place. Bullets? Good lord...only dumb people would use those. She thought to herself. Fate hadn't yet changed from her prison clothes, which was both a blessing and curse. Blessing because they hid her well and curse because if a fight did break out she couldn't move freely in them.
However, for the time being, clothes were not the worry of young Fate. Her lord had not yet replied to the stupidity that had been huddled at the ruins, and Fate got the feeling there would be more exchange of unfriendliness before the night was over. True the Shadows had destroyed the very heart of the ministry, but the small faction of their workers and the Black Forest out here now would likely not leave without a fight.
After months and months of the dire way Fate had been treated and taken care of at the prison had drained all but a few strands of her energy. Did she care? Hell no. If a fight is what it came too, she'd be the first to defend and help the Count. It was known the Count would most likely not require any kind of help, but who knows? Maybe he would...maybe he wouldn't.
Fate moved her gaze over the Shadows that were present. Vaguely she wondered where the others were at. Surely they had gotten the message that all were to report to the ruins? Oh well. Their loss if a fun little fight broke out.
So once again the attention of the woman was returned to the scene unfolding before her. Sticking to the darkness she watched and waited, keeping the tactical element of surprise on her side for the time being should it be needed. Despite the longing to shed the blood of those who helped make her life hell, the Lord's orders for bloodshed were needed first. No need to make a mess of things and cause inconvenience to the Count.
Post by Ol' Gillespie on Apr 9, 2008 20:20:36 GMT -5
Someone was actually helping him. Who? He knew the voice. Roger knew that voice. Who’s was it? Who? Duh! Nick! Fellow loco, Shadow and drinking buddy. Looong time since he had see that dude. Good old day, the drinking, torturing, killing, the usual. He missed it. Now he was out for ‘bout five minutes and he already collected another piece of the muggle metal trash. That stuff hurt!
As Nick drew near, Roger could only roll his eyes at how well Nick (the scaredycat smart one) was calling Roger (brainless bomb) stupid. So? Maybe one to many spell hit his thick head, didn’t mean he was a retard or anything. Maybe he was, who cares? If anyone, unless they were Nick, would tell him so he’s just find some cruel thing to do back, like removed a toe nail and implant it in the poor blokes brain. Magic was fun.
The bullet being removed. A painful process that basically took the pain of the medal devil going in, and doubled it coming out. It hurt like hell, but it must be done. As it shot out into the misty air, Roger really wished he had a nice large bottle of firewhiskey in his had. Magic couldn’t do everything. The healing was worst. And Nick always claimed that his magic was ‘harmless’. Riiiiiiigh…
As the demented Shadow got to his feet he turned to see Nicks odd wand. “Watch where ya’ point that thing… bad things come out of it, and I sure don’t want to be on the bad end!” Cracking his neck, Roger looked down awkwardly at his red shoulder. “Thanks an’way Nickyboy…” Looking out first to see the bunch of monks looking fierce, Roger then looked at his long awaited master. “Uhh… what now?”
Tapping his wand in the air, it flickered on like an old light that had need to be changed months ago. The dull yellow glow flashed on and off but still gave a lot of light. It even had an annoying buzz. Not even moving his wand, Roger raised the old orb about his head and let it zip off towards the enemy to see them properly. What good was fighting your enemy if you couldn’t even see the blasted parasitic creatures? Or Humans. Or Inferi, Dragons, Bartenders, et cetera.
Within the shadows, another shape existed, but did not shift with the others. It stood stark still, staring at the members of that Church, unmoving, hardly breathing, almost a statue in and of itself. He'd left a full year ago, not long after the fall. He'd gone at behest of the Unknown one, and had only looked back once...to hide some possesions of the Count which had been in the possession of the Lady Raven. But then...it'd been back to France. Back to that lost home of his. Alone. With the Society had gone his purpose, and without purpose, what was left for him in Spain?
School? Bah. He'd learnt more fromt he Shadows than any teacher.
Friends? The Shadows were his friends.
...Her? She'd forgotten about him...he hoped.
But now....his purpose had returned. The Count. And so he had come. He stood still in the shadows, dressed in a very stylish black outfit consisting of black slacks of some nice material, black dress shoes, a white shirt covered by a snug-fitting black jacket. His hands were hidden by black gloves, one of which was up holding the drawstring of a sack slung over his shoulder, containing what belongings he actually needed. Around his waist were two diagonally slung belts, one ebony wand tucked on either side.
He'd styled his hair some whilst in his homeland...replacing his blond hair with a rich, well-groomed yet lengthened black color. The only thing that had apparently remained the same, were his eyes. His narrow, piercing, hazel eyes. They were trained not on the surrounding mild chaos his bretheren were creating, but on the members of the Church in his home. Still, he made no move, just stood there stoicly, awaiting his Master's word...
A voice shot through the young dark wizard's mind, painfully. It was clearly weak, wispy and without hard sounds, though it resounded loudly. In Tobias' mind shot images, those of the encounter in the Chamber of Secrets a year ago. Images of Unknown dueling Scorpius, images of the chamber collapsing, and finally images of Unknown's death. Then, images of Unknown's rebirth in the Tunnel, followed immediately by images of Ras Alawhara and his family.
"You must turn and leave now, Tobias. If the Count sees you, he will surely kill you. You were sworn to me once, Tobias, and I hold you to that oath. You owe me your life. Come to me in my Chamber, Tobias, the Chamber of Serpents.
Post by Atra Alveus on Apr 14, 2008 19:56:31 GMT -5
The mysterious Broadcloak had taken her to an “in-between,” as he had described it. There he had healed her to the best of his abilities. After all, it was hard for a dark wizard to perform the lighter magic needed for healing. His style was completely original, though, for never before had the young woman seen the shadows manipulated in such a way. He had mentioned they would probably never meet again, and she had the distinct feeling this was because he would be vanishing back into the shadows. Maybe his, she was guessing, many years in the shadows had made him more a part of them than anyone could truly understand.
Then he was gone.
Atra stared blankly from her place on the floor. The room, or space, was pitch black. She turned her head from side to side to see what could be seen. Nothing. Her hand reached out for where she had heard the box land. There it was. Instinctively she reached in and pulled her own wand out. Within moments the in-between was illuminated by a gentle glow from the instrument’s tip. Her eyes adjusted quickly and began scanning her environment once more. Everything was truly bland and dismally dark outside the ring of her light. Glancing down at her appearance, she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
It only took a wave of her wand for her appearance to change to something more fitting of her personality. A very light purple silk wrapped around her in the draped form of a long dress, replacing the dingy shirt that had been her attire for so long. Her shoulders were bare, the dress having sleeves that sat more toward the middle of her upper arms. The dress flowed down her thin figure, hitting what little curves remained nicely and falling to the ground. She turned in a gentle circle to see how easily the fabric moved, perfect. It amazed her how a dress that had been in her closet for so long was the most appropriate for the coming occasion. Her black diamond pendant on the white gold chain secured itself around her neck after floating out of the box of personal effects. Also, the vine of sapphire and opal she had worn around her right arm returned. Even her makeup had applied magically, eyes and lips accentuated by natural shades of light browns and rich raspberries, respectively. Atra had gone from dirty prisoner to the image of a Greek goddess.
It was time to go.
Carefully, she dug through the box on the floor and found her dagger. A devilish grin slipped across her lips. The blade was still polished like it had been the night it was taken away. She summoned a black belt around her waist and returned the familiar object to its place on her hip. Holding the silver handle of the heirloom, she cast first the box and then herself into the darkness. When she reappeared, she would be in the ruins, where she knew Scorpius would return.
-
The box landed silently somewhere in the ruins before Atra had even completely decided on where to appear.
Mademoiselle Alveus stepped forward from the shadow corridors into the ongoing drama below. Her position was directly across from Scorpius but at least twice as far back on the other side of the grouping of Black Forest Church members. She twisted her wand in her grip and flicked it to loosen her stiff wrist. Her other wrist was twisting also, fingers never moving too far from the handle of her dagger. Feline senses sprang more to life within her than they had been escaping the prison, her strength and energy having returned partially. Dark raspberry lips parted in a silent growl, exposing elongated canines. Dark blue eyes narrowed as they began to change shape.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself.
Scorpius was asking for a peaceful turnover. He was even volunteering the Shadows’ to help the Black Forest Church. Apparently the Count was very serious about obtaining his former home without further confrontation. Alas, earwax. Atra had been looking forward to a fight. Shaking her head, she disappeared back into the shadows before anyone could notice her.
Within seconds the panther was standing just behind the shadow mage but more toward his right-hand side. The box of assorted accessories had moved with her and now reappeared in front of the gathered allies. She glanced back over her shoulder to see who all had arrived in more detail. Some of the faces were familiar from the prison, but the rest were strangers. Maybe she would learn all of their names but most likely she would not, her preference to be left alone by those aspiring to be dark and dismal wizards.
“Been some time,” she whispered to Scorpius, her attention turning back to the front. “Thought you were going to leave me.” There was a grin on her face as her eyes shifted to look at the Count for a moment. Then, once again, her gaze moved back to watch Bismarck and his following. Her wand twisted in her hand some more, wrist finally becoming loose enough to defend herself should the need arise.
((damn, i am just having way too much fun writing for grendel be warned, it is lengthy. I have a bit to catch up on, so bear with me.))
Hunter Rose had never had such fun.
Never being part of any sort of organization devoted to dark deeds, he hadn't ever experienced the simple pleasures of mass chaos. How blind he had been! Sure, he was no stranger to bloodshed but it was so much more fun and less efficient done on such a large scale. Once Miles Landon was properly disposed of and Grendel had taken command of the Skoll Wolfpack (which Miles simply refused to take responsibility for so it fell onto Hunter to become the alpha) he would have more fun like this. Really, he had never killed so many people in such a short time since that first night. Of course nothing could match the first night...yet.
First it had been a couple of Aurors and MLE officers downstairs. That had been boring because the other Shadows kept taking his kills. He had then snuck upstairs ahead of his fellows while they were preoccupied with freeing their comrades. He emerged near an area that appeared as your typical cubicle/office area. He started his massacre by slashing the throat of what he presumed to be an incompetent guard. He had his back turned to a possible point of attack during an assault on their charge. His precious crimson claret painted a beautiful scene, spurting across the faces of his stunned friends and staining the ceiling with a thick red splatter. The howling of dogs spurred him forward and he howled with them. Then he started with the rest of the guards. They were armed with vast magicks and he with but a humble knife. A very big and very sharp knife.
They never stood a chance.
By the time he was done, the stink of blood hung heavy in the air and he was still unsatisfied. He would never be satisfied. Thus was his existence. He moved his little party on out to the Triangle Tunnel at large and found himself faced with something he'd often dreamt of, but never thought he get to enjoy.
An army of zombies.
Oh joy! Oh rapture! The thought of dead yet mobile flesh excited him. All of the slashy-slashy action with none of that horrible blood. He honestly had no problem with blood, but dammit if it didn't get everywhere and he often had to go to extraordinary lengths to avoid getting it on him. Also you could slice em' up a lot more before they re-died. He tested his theory on a nearby creature. He gutted him like a fish, from navel to neck. Intestines and bodily fluids, including blood, came sloshing out, creating quite a stink. But no spurts, no grand torrents of red. It all seemed to remain stagnant and perhaps pooled in there as some horrid soup o' guts. Hooray! Grendel silently cheered himself on. The undead fiend just moaned. "Mrrggggh...." He seemed entirely unperturbed by the loss of his insides. Grendel frowned, now this would not do! He took his big knife and sliced across the zombie's neck, decapitating him in one blow.
The previously attacking creature merely seemed confused now, and wandered about looking for his head. Which, although comical, did not provide Grendel with that tiny bit of satisfaction he got when he killed something. Short lived as it was. Well that's no fun. They don't die if you cut them up! Damn, there sure a lot of them. And they're all sort of coming for me and the others. Hey look, everyone's leaving. Maybe I'll just hitch a ride with one of my "buddies"...
He stepped through a Shadow Corridor created by one of the departing Shadows. And for a split second found himself mingling with the darkness. For that split second, he felt...complete? How very odd. He then he found himself among some ruins somewhere, in a confrontation between the Society and some sect of the Ministry. He quietly stepped off to the side, joining the ranks of the Shadows near two fellows, one of which was being patched up by the other.
He observed the exchanges between the Black Forest Church and the Count. He had to control his feelings regarding his new leader. This man had begun their professional relationship quite unprofessionally. He had destroyed Hunter's antique pistol (his absolute favorite because it made him feel like a cowboy) and had attempted to subdue Grendel and present himself as his alpha. This had humiliated Grendel in a way he had never been. Hell, Grendel had never been humiliated. The Count was so damn arrogant! Damned wizard-master-race-mofos! He especially did not appreciate having to listen to the Count's very formal, almost Shakespearean manner of speech. Who did he think he was? Doctor Doom? So lame.
Besides that, he found himself growing to dislike this Black Forest Church. They hunted lycans? And they were after a pup? This would not do. He smiled as he began imagining how he would kill each individual member. He murmured softly to himself as to not disrupt the proceedings, but loud enough for the two men to hear him. "That one with the gun, she looks like an uptight bitch. I'd do her in the belly, nice and sloooowww. Make her feel the damn knife. Him, the head honcho, he looks like he'd be a good fight. Long as there were no surprises, I'd give him a chance to defend himself. Now that guy over there, he's a red shirt if I've ever seen one. A quick slice across the throat and he's done..." He wondered at his pure venom, and found himself utterly surprised that as well as ending Miles Landon he had a new goal. The destruction of the Black Forest Church.
Even if he had to do it one at a time.
Last Edit: Apr 16, 2008 10:27:12 GMT -5 by Grendel
Another self, so dark and true, Another game to win. Angel of death slith'ring through The avenues of sin. "Mercy," they cry, every one, But he's got none of that. Left a trail of blood and tears 'Til King of Hell, he sat.
Post by Julian Forbes on Apr 20, 2008 12:11:12 GMT -5
Drakborough: thirty minutes prior to this point
Head Auror Forbes had returned from Firefox to where the Remnant's forces had gathered in the center of Drakborough and quickly surveyed what he had available to him. About a hundred wizards and MLE agents that could still be useful in a fight, and over a hundred that were too wounded to be moved. It would have to do, for he was certain that Scorpius didn't have more than 50 members with him and the Black Forest Church was still encamped at Diadem, which only made his numbers grow. He sent Aurors through the encampment, spreading the word that all able-bodied Aurors were to meet with Forbes in the square in fifteen minutes. After the alloted time had passed, Julian Forbes walked out into the center of the square of his men.
His plumed hat of black felt was still on his head, but his other garments had been changed. He wore over his chest a metal cuirass that had been enchanted by the wand-makers of his Isle with charms that would deflect minor spells back at foes. Beneath the cuirass was his usually garments, but draped of his shoulder was a cape of crimson red, the same color that graced his surcoat. His rapier was clipped to his side belt and his wand was in his hand as he stood among his troops, like Henry the fifth before his famous St. Crispin's Day speech. "Men! We are at an impasse this day, stuck between two titans that would seek to crush us in their struggle for power. Scorpius and his escapees have forced us here, and now the self-proclaimed Minister Azrael demands that we leave this town, or he will attack with no mercy."
"So this day was must make a choice men! Either we stay here and await the Inferius Lord to make his move, or we strike at the progenitor of all our troubles." Julian took a moment to look at all those gathered with his foggy eyes, as if trying to understand every emotion that was running through their minds. "This day we take the fight to Scorpius! No more shall we await his move, moved by fear and worry to act in indecision! We one hundred will sally forth on this day to drive Scorpius from this land, and to save our compatriots, the Black Forest Church, from a possible slaughter!. The odds are in our favor, but either way we are still mark'd men. If we are mark'd to die, we are enow to do our cause loss; and if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honour. And if it be a sin to covet honour, then I am the most offending man alive!"
"And whether we live or die it matters little! For we shall be remembered! We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in Drakborough now-a-bed shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon this day!" roared Julian as he rose his wand into the air as the shouts of agreement rung from those gathered at his words. Turning aside to an elderly wizard, Head Auror Forbes nodded and the old practitioner began a low dirge as he read off the parchment that Forbes had saved during the retreat from the Tunnel. It was the incantation of an apperition spell for multiple users, like flu powder but an ancient spell that only a few members of the Ministry were privy to. There was a flash of blinding light...
Diadem, present time
And the entire force was transported to the ruins of Diadem. What greeted Forbes' grey eyes was a standoff near the Ruins: the Black Forest Church and Ministry workers on one side and Scorpius and his followers on the other. It appeared that they were conversing in a civilized manner, but Forbes would broker no parleying with known criminals. With a wave of his hand, the Aurors and MLE agents formed into a line with their wands aimed at the Shadows and they advanced at a slow walk. Once they were about fifty feet away, he signaled them to halt and walked a few feet further to separate himself from the rest.
"You'll never be allowed to have Diadem again Scorpius, and you are in no position to broker any deals at this point," said Julian harshly at the Count, "You might think yourself a powerful wizard, and that numbers mean little in that regard, but now you are outnumbered. And I don't care how powerful you and your lot claim they are: no living being can dodge a hundred spells or absorb of all them in a shield without perishing. Have you been trying to poison the good Father's ears with your snake's tongue Count, in order to gain something for this debacle? For that approach will not work with me. Either you surrender peaceably now to the Ministry or we'll open fire."
Teagan Offline: This board is full of nostalgia.
Aug 22, 2020 8:39:09 GMT -5
Missing the old MH: gotta say missing when MH and all that was around.
Nov 6, 2019 0:02:30 GMT -5
Willow_lazy: why tf are there 400 posts about adidas
Sept 6, 2018 17:35:57 GMT -5
Azrael: I'm not hard to find, since I'm the only one there who goes by "Azzy", I'm pretty sure. XD
Feb 10, 2018 16:44:41 GMT -5
Azrael: Dunno if anyone still pops by here from time to time, but if any of you mofos do and still feel like gettin' yo nerd on, I've been hanging around this here place a bunch recently: www.roleplayerguild.com/
Feb 10, 2018 16:44:10 GMT -5
Azrael: hold onto your pantaloons
Jul 25, 2016 5:16:43 GMT -5