The Last Baron

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The Last Baron

The corpses stared toward the stormy sky unblinking, their glassy eyes forever locked on the dark clouds above. Steam arose from the fresh, warm blood around them- billowing up in small, white clouds as the culprits of the murders let the pouring rains clean the red stains from their blades. One of the butchers, in a rather un-butcher-like display, went about closing the eyes of the slain men, muttering a brief prayer to the Fates before moving onto the next one.

"There were more here than we thought there would be," a Villen piped as he went about his work, drawing the stern gaze of the eldest member of the assassins. While the smallish man was still relatively new to the whole scouting thing, he had learned rather quickly that earning one of Geoffrey's cold stares was less a sign of animosity and more just how the old man looked at people.

"More still if we don't get moving," Geoffrey scoffed, turning to the blackened skies. "Dorn will not be pleased with the news of a slain scouting troop."

The other three men nodded solemnly amongst each other. Dead scouts meant whoever had sent them out wasn't going to be getting whatever information they had been sent out to find, and that meant that whoever lead these men would know that someone else was within their area of control.

One of the murderers cursed. When Dorn was displeased, bad things tended to happen.

Villen stood up from the last body, clasping his hands in the symbol of Repentance and muttering another short Prayer of Sending before shaking his head and sheathing his sword. "Doesn't much matter how pleased he'll be about it. Dorn knew there were enemy troops wandering about up here- and that we would potentially have to fight them. He'd incite dissent were he to reprimand us for protecting ourselves.

The other men stood, nodding amongst each other. "The small one has a point," grinned Jerred, a dark-skinned bear of a man. He had been found in the wilds by Dorn three years prior- and had supposedly bested the warlord in single combat until Dorn had decided to reveal that he was actually left-handed instead of right. "With any measure of luck, he'll give us all medals for wasting these sorry bastards."

"Well-" Villen interjected as he relieved the dead men of their possessions, "Better we chat about what Dorn could do to us while we walk. I want to get out of here befo--" he stopped momentarily, rifling around in a small purse he had picked off of one of the cadavers before pulling out a small, red gem and whistling in awe, "Damn, that's nice..." he muttered to himself before continuing. "Before more of these guys show up. Six was nearly too much for us, and these wild men can chase us down like no tomorrow. Best leave before it becomes possible to track us through this storm again."

A general consensus of agreement followed this statement, followed by the sheathing of swords by the men who had not done so already. With a final glance over the corpses, Geoffrey nodded and lead the way back to Dorn's warcamp- bounding across the waste and rubble with as much speed and grace as the young men behind him.

*

Some called swirling storm clouds and winds that could pull a full-grown man's feet from under him a bad omen. Sheets of rain so thick one could hardly see before himself and so loud one could not hear himself think were often considered to be less-than ideal conditions to work in. These- accompanied by rolling columns of lightning and tremendous clashes of thunder would usually send the most hardened of men packing without the slightest regret in his mind.

Dorn, however, simply saw it all as good sport.

They had been traveling for nearly two days now- traversing the ruined city of Medius as swiftly and silently as their feet would allow them. It was difficult to lead an army of one thousand men through miles of rubble and destruction- yet it was nearly impossible to do so with the stealthiness of a shadow. One simple mistake could lead to detection- a single error could lead to a failed ambush or the alert of any number of terrible monsters within the area.

But Dorn did not tolerate mistakes. Mistakes often lead to examples. Examples tended to be rather messy.

xp: 847 # 847 xp
+1 TEXP (250 EXP Post)

Intern Rep! : 12 Location : The Living Room Couch

The steady thrum of consistent, heavy rain made the inside of the Commander's tent louder than normal. It made it almost possible to overlook the rage in Dorn's voice as he listened to the news of the scouting group that had been slain a few hours before.

Almost- but not quite.

"You've alerted the enemy to our presence and possibly brought an end to this entire campaign single-handedly," he growled menacingly, his dark, uncaring eyes never leaving the scouts. "I've half a mind to crucify you right here and now- if it weren't for all of the goddamned rain. And making an example of you here would simply be a waste of time..." Dorn stroked his thick, black beard for a moment and his gaze went elsewhere, as if he were contemplating some grand idea. "I did not traverse thirty miles of ruination and rubble over the course of three long days and nights just to lose the element of surprise and call off this assault. While we are in position, I'd prefer we had time to set up some fortifications before inciting the brigands to strike..."

"With all due respect, Milord," Villen squeaked, averting his eyes from his muscled commander, "We could attack them now- while we still have surprise on our side. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch for a lot as stupid as the bandits to think that their wildmen were simply being held back by the storm. These aren't the most ideal of conditions- but," Dorn turned back to the three scouts, cutting Villen off at a glance. A sly grin formed about his features.

"Tell your men to prepare for battle. I'll round up Gilgalam, Helgath and Alicia and have them do the same. Looks like we'll be attacking now rather than waiting to be attacked."

At that, the Commander turned away from his men- signalling it was time for them to leave. The trio bowed in unison before reciting "For the Glory of Dorn" and turning on their heels.

"One more thing-" Dorn didn't bother turning to look at his men- and instead drew his cruel, jagged blade from it's sheath and began to study it- appearing to be disinterested in the situation entirely now, "You three and your men will be on the front lines." Geoffrey nearly turned to protest before Jerred clamped a stern hand around his arm. Protesting would only incite the rage of their Chieftain- and one crucifixion took much less time than three. It wasn't beyond Dorn to use men and their crosses as flags and banners to relay messages across the battlefield either.

Within less than an hour, Dorn and his three generals had broken camp and amassed their forces. Everyone aside from the Chieftain himself, his Knight and Daughter Alicia and Helgath the Berzerk seemed miserable within the rain- especially Blademaster Gilgalam- who protested loudly and frequently about the hellacious downpour.

"I don't see why this can't wait until tomorrow..." he would say, attempting to be louder than the din of the storm and the pounding of boots on asphalt as they marched down what used to be one of the main thoroughfairs of Medius. "I was having the most pleasant dream." It was only when Dorn reminded him who was in charge by placing a relic hand-cannon into the tanned, tattooed man's mouth that he stopped complaining- and even then he grumbled under his breath about the wet and cold.

Alicia, who would have easily been the most encumbered in such a storm, what with her full-plate and tower shield remained silent and stoic, save for when her father asked for her input. Beyond that, she stared straight out before her- her sight never wavering from what was directly in front of her. She seemed more an automaton than a human- showing no discomfort and no emotion as she strode alongside Dorn. Some claimed that the Knight was mindless- bent solely on protecting and serving her father and little else. Villen, however, knew otherwise- having personally served under her a number of times. She had only been kind to him and her other men as long as the young man had known her. Some described her as selfless. Others called her crazy- though the level on which she was willing to serve her father sometimes bordered on madness. No order was too difficult or painful to her- and she never hesitated to strike down any individual Dorn claimed to be evil or treasonous. Occasionally Villen wondered just what sort of relationship the father and daughter had- though Alicia never seemed to notice the terrible things he did unto others in the name of his personal pride or shows of strength.

Helgath was much the same as the Knight currently- quiet and unresponsive- however he lacked any armor aside from a gigantic clawed gauntlet that covered his entire right arm and the horned helmet he wore. One could argue that the greataxe that hung upon his back could be used as a shield if need be, seeing as it was roughly the size of one of the ancient, motorized carriage's doors- but the keen edge and bloodstained haft marked the weapon as a tool for slaughtering- not defending. Helgath hadn't exactly been given the title "The Berzerk" by protecting others. He was roughly the size of a small mountain- towering over every other man gathered here today by a foot or so at the very least. He had a penchant for being cruel beyond measure, so much so that Dorn often used the bear of a man for "interrogation" purposes. The very sight of the man often sent any rival forces packing- though the Wildmen of Medius wouldn't be so hasty to retreat when there was the prospect of fresh men to feast upon and new heads to mount on spits.

Behind the three generals roughly one thousand amassed men and women marched behind them- each one looking more grim than the last. Dorn hardly considered it a battle if less than a hundred men died- regardless of whether or not they were his own troops. And while they were the best-trained and equipped in the land, the Wildmen of Medius would not simply fall over and die. Sound tactics and strong defenses don't work against beings who were considered more monsters than man- and there was hardly a sound counter to someone trying to bite your face off.

XP = 847 + 1218 = 2065
+1 TEXP (2nd RP Post)

Intern Rep! : 12 Location : The Living Room Couch

Mud sloshed around Dorn's boots as he marched through the outskirts of the fallen city. It had stopped raining- which was a small blessing upon the Chieftan and his men- but the sky remained dark and cloudy- and the terrain throughout Medius was slick with mud and wet. Nevertheless, the Warlord marched onward- swiftly approaching the base of the Wildmen with his host of troops and generals.

Within the hour he could see it- a mish-mash of dilapidated wooden and stone structures that were held together with combinations of reed ties and mud. The rotting heads of several dozen men and women were planted outside the camp on cruel wooden spikes- several of which had been exposed to the elements for so long that only the yellow ivory of their skulls remained- while others still were fresh and gave off the pungent scent of decaying flesh whilst maggots crawled about in their eyeless sockets.

It was all very boring to the Warlord- and the trophies of defenseless men, women and children were hardly trophies at all. Sure- the Wildmen had immense strength and fortitude- Dorn would not have wasted the time in coming here had they been weak- but they fought like pack animals- following their "alpha-male" and attacking in overwhelming physical force rather than through tactics and cunning (though one could argue that the Wildmen of Medius were indeed quite intelligent). These men were unlike any his armies had ever fought before- and, because of this, Dorn wanted to destroy them in battle to claim no army in the land could defeat him and his men.

That, and there were rumors circulating the land- rumors of the Wildmen being lead by a demon of all things. Not one of those smarmy evil spirits either- Dorn had laid down dozens of those during his reign over the fallen city- but a being that truly deserved the title of Onikonjou, something of pure strength and evil. It was these rumors that had truly brought the Warlord of Medius here- to the Wildmen's lands; not to eradicate a scourge upon the land- not to claim dominion over the Wildmen territories, but to display his own true strength in defeating both the Wildmen and their potential demon leader.

EXP: 435 + 2065 = 2500
+1 TEXP (2nd RP Post)