The Beginnings

Nestled deep in the mountains of the regions of Chaos, lay a small village, much like the other few villages dotting the mountainside; stinky, ale-filled, and purely barbaric, with just enough semblance of civility to realize that some things were more important than others, Honor, Family, Battle, Gold.

This particular village was the home of the followers of Murdoth, the Chaos snake god of Vengeance.

On this particuklar night where we enter the story, we can see the glow from the large fires burnign throughout the village as the warriors celebrate, drinking ale and brawling, their recent victory over a band of vile dark elves the day before. Recently, this band of elves, and some men, had taken to preying on the villages of Chaos. Rumor was that they were a simple contingency of a larger army that had already overthrown the capital city of Dis'Kord and even the Great Temple! But these rumors did not matter; what mattered is that after a valiant struggle the dark elven warriors had fallen to the ferocious animalistic battle cries of the bare chested men of Chaos.

In the past few months a darkness had fallen over all of Urak. It had started out in a small corner, roughly ignored by even the most powerful sages, until one night, on the thirteenth stroke of midnight, countless lives were sacrificed to the ancient demon-god Golgoth, and then in the matter of only a few months time, the armies that no sane Urakian would dare speak of, for risk that perhaps even when gone they might hear, swept over the entire face of the planet, conquering cities, devastating villages, and desecrating temples with images and sacrifies to their dred demon-god.

No part of Urak had been left untouched, and even now, the last capital to fall, the capital of the mythical storm giants of Air, lay besieged by the darkness, led into battle by their fearsome witchking warlord, Balkoth, whose scythe could cut down entire swaths of an army with a mere swipe.

To the followers of Murdoth these facts mattered very little. It was the way of life that something would flow forth from the forgotten realms to upset the balance. However, when this chaos threatened those who dared to cal themselves true followers of the crazed beliefs of Chaos, it was then that these facts mattered greatly.

On this night, in this unnamed Chaos village, as the warriors reveled in their recent victory, none chanced to notice as the very stars above blinked from existence as a darkness fell. Then quite suddenly, a blast of icy wind swept through the camp, all celebrations forgotten, as screams erupted and were silenced on the edges of the village.

Suddenly the Chaos that the camp had been only moments before seemed almost orderly as a new chaos overtook the townsfolk, fear was heavy in the air and many ran screaming into the night, only to be silenced by a variety of shadows and blades.

Several warriors quickly grabbed the nearest weapon they could find and charged towards the advancing enemy, some made it and were able to land a blow or two, others were cut down midcharge, as a large swarm of Death's powerful forces fell onto the village, killing all in their path.

One warrior, a man named Lordsbane, grabbed at the nearest weapon he could when the attack began, a large and rather bulky roasting spit, that had early been used to cook a large swine for the celebration. With spit in hand Lordssbane ran towards the enemies, now well within the city, only to fall into a blackness as a poisoned blade arced out of the inky night and struck him in the back. He continued to drive blow after blow as he quickly weakend. Within a matter of minutes the Chaos warrior had recieved a variety of cuts across his body. From these wounds blood flowed freely as he finally fell to the ground, unmoving.

This attack was days ago, and by all rights, Lordsbane should have perished. He had, in fact, been left for dead after the battle, his body hidden under other corpses as the army of death went about reanimating a number of his fallen foes. Those who hadnot died, wished that the ywould have, or so they thought; they had been taken prisoner, tortured excessively, and marched away to who knew where for another of death's gastly ritual sacrifices.

* * * * * *

Moving ahead a few days we now find a fiercly striped jungle cat, with a battered and tattered warrior draped across its back. The cat, muscles moving in tandem, moved quickly and silently as it approached a small house through a nearby small patch of green grass and trees. It had travelled for days, looking and searching. Perhpas here, on the outskirts of what looked to be the capital of the water nation, perhaps here, help could be found. But the cat did not know in whose land it was, or where it might be, what it did know was the human it had grown attached to had fallen and had yet to awaken.

Leaving large padded footprints in the soft mud, the giant cat approached the home silently and cautiously, before unceremoniously dumping its charge, none other than the warrior Lordsbane, at, and moreover into, the large wooden front door with a loud 'THUD!' before vanishing back into the trees and overgrown grass.

Bereth, a small wiry man in his mid-thirties heard the thud outside his door and jolted awake with a start. He had been reclining at a chair in his meager hovel. As he got up, it was obvious he was of the Amazon people, judging from his deeply tanned skin and black hair, and a devout follower of water judging from the prayer rug and talisman around his neck. His dress however did not resemble in the slightest the elegant azure clothes of the people who dwelled in the capital nearby. They were brown and obviously well-used, if not well washed, more resembling the fish workers who worked on the shores of the Amazon nation.
As he got up slowly, he reached under a piece of cloth draped over a water priestess's staff and pulled it out, the tiniest of glows emanating from the ornate staff's crystal. He had been extremely cautious ever since Balkoth's army had rampaged through here. He himself had fled to the coast as many of the Amazon citizens had, but instead of fleeing on one of the ships to one of the Amazon's island fortresses, he had hid in one of the many caves located within the cliffs, waiting until the fighting at the city died down before returing to his home. He was ashamed to say the Amazons had capitulated in a week, and now the city was ruled by one of Balkoth's viceroys, a cruel dark elf who ruled the people who were still left in the city while attempting to gather the resources to mount a campaign against the largest of the Amazon island citadels, the Holy Isle. In truth, Bereth didn't expect them to hold out much longer. While the sea monsters were slowing down the Death fleet, the Amazon spirit was crushed, as their temple lay in ruin and their beloved ivory city was under enemy colors.
Bereth opened the door, fully expecting any number of nightmarish creatures or Bloodguard to be waiting, and was surprised instead to find an unconcious wounded musclebound man lying at his doorstep. Bereth hadn't traveled extensively, but he knew enough to know this man was a barbarian, and a big one at that. Bereth debated for a moment what to do with him, then sighed and dragged him inside, laying him on the straw mat in the corner. While the Amazons had always been secretive and never fans of the Barabarians of the mountains, Bereth didn't have it in him to simply let this man die of his wounds. However, before treating him he bound him to the corner post of the hovel. Bereth was compassionate but not stupid, and he had heard plenty of horror stories about these barbarians. They were almost as bad as Balkoth's minions or the fabled brutal Fire Giants if the stories were true.
Bereth went to the only cupboard in the place and removed several jars until he found what he was looking for in the back. At first it looked like nothing more than an old dusty clay pot. However, as Bereth tipped it into a wooden cup, the liquid inside was revealed to be pearly white, with almost a bit of its own glow. Bereth tipped the healing potion into the barbarians mouth, before washing it down with some water from a bucket in the corner. He then waited patiently with staff in hand for the results. He knew potions like this were potent, but he had only given him a small dose, enough to bring him back from his near-death state, but not enough to give him his full strength back. Bereth wanted to make sure he could trust this man before turing him loose. And if he turned out to be with those sick monsters who had enslaved his beloved city and slaughtered so many of his kin, he would spend him speedily on his way back to his master Golgoth.

The guards quickly threw Nogreth onto the dirt in front of the leader. As Nogreth tried to loock up, he was smacked on the back of his head to look down. He did so, knowing punishment of disobaying a general's orders. As he stayed still, another elf, Feren, was thrown next to him. Nogreth groaned silently. His friend was here also, in trouble like he.

Nogreth was a Death soldiar, a captain. He was still in his prime, about 23 in human years, but his leagence to Balkoth made him look much older. 15 myears ago he was pressed into the dark army, forcing him to become a soldair, and now he was a captain, knealing before a general. Normally he would be standing, but his failure of taking over the water city had now made him a traitor, for fleeing to save him and his men's lives. Now he and his friend were in trouble, probably about to have capitol punishment soon.

"These are the filthy dogs who dare flee?" The general asked in a dark tone. There was some muttering of agreement. But one soldier piped in, saying, "No sir. Only one of those men is a dog. That Feren did not flee until Nogreth fled, saving his own hyde."

The general grunted. "Whatever. Let him go then." Slowly, Nogreth could hear Fereth stand up, thanking the general for his kindness.

"Just shut your mouth before i kill you and use your corpse as a silent soldier." Then, Nogreth could hear Fereth agreeing, then walk away. "What do you have to say for yourself?" The general asked in a voice like stone.

Nogreth raised his head to the general, dressed in black robes. Three skeletons stood behind him, wielding large swords. "Sir, the battle was in their favor. If we continued to attack, we would have been like sheep to their wolves." Another smack came from somewhere, forcing him to look down again.

"You are a coward! You are nothing but a fool, only used to be sacfrificed before some lunatic chaos god! You are not even worthy to be sacfrificed to Balkoth himself!" The general barked. The men behind Nogreth shuddered. When the general was angry, some people died, then brought back, only to suffer a more painful death.

Suddenly,the genral stopped shouting. He just stayed silent for a little bit, but then gave an order "Take this concubine out of camp, and cut off his hands and chop off his feet! Then leave him to rot in the wilderness."

The men immediantly obayed, grabbing Nogreth by his tied arms, and dragged him away. As they did so, Nogreth looked around, seeing soldiers just watching their captain being dragged to his death. But what shocked Nogreth was that Fereth was looking at Nogreth in horrer, knowing his only good friend was to die. Nogreth was touched. The friendship that Nogreth and Fereth had was unique in the army, inspecially in the dark forces. Nogreth could feel a small tear go down his elven face, but he shook it off. Crying was not the way for him.


Soon, Nogreth was kneeling before a wooden block, his hands on it. There was four elves around him, one tying a robe to his hands to Nogreth, to be sure Nogreth couldn't get away, another holding a large halberd, for the slicing of the hands and feet. The other two were just watching, making sure nothing went wrong.

When the tying was done, the soldier sat down opposite of Nogreth, staring into his eyes. Nogreth simply stared back, showing no emotion. Slowly, the halberd was raised, but as it came down, Nogreth jercked back, pulling the hands of the tied soldier, and they were swiftly chopped off. The elf screamed, trying to clutch the stubs where his bloody hands used to be. Before the others could react, Nogreth already was standing, and tripped the elf holding the halberd. He then used the halberd to cut the robes tying his wrists together, and kicked the elf in the head to knock him out.

The other two elves drew their swords, but suddenly, a warcry came from behind them. They turned, and found Fereth rushing at them, sword drawn. They quickly backed up, but one of the soldiers was stabbed in the back by Nogreth, holding a sword from the handless elf.

The last elf was the most fortunate. When Fereth charged the soldeir, he easlily parried the slashes and stabbed Fereth right in the gut. Nogreth screamed when this happened. The soldier pulled the sword out, letting Fereth's body fall to the ground. Nogreth, filled with a new found rage, charged, dropping his sword and tackled the elf.

As the two wrestled, the soldier lost his sword and they could only fight with their hands. Nogreth cursed himself for not stabbing the elf, but he would punish himself later for that. Soon, the soldier was ontop of Nogreth, punching him in the face. Nogreth tried to fight, but it was useless. Suddenly, his hand was gripping Tereth's blade, and with one swift motioned, stabbed the soldier in the side. Blood dripped from the wound, but instead of falling to the ground, the blood flowed down the sword, and flowed right into Nogreth's hand. Nogreth found new strength as the blood entered him, and threw off the soldier, pulling out the sword along the way.

Nogreth quickly stood up, ready to fight more elves, but he was alone. Suddenly, he dropped the sword and knealed over Tereth, crying. His friend stared blankly into space, already dead. Eventually, Nogreth contained himself. "The general will pay for this!" He promished to his dead friend. He stood up, and picked up his friends sword. He stared at it, curious on why the blood did what it did. Studying it, he found some ancient writing on the blade. Slowly he read the inscription. "May the strength of thy enemies become your own"

Not sure what it ment, he put it into his sheath. He needed something to remind him of his promise. He then went to the other dead elves, unstrapped their armor, and placed it on his own body. Soon, he represented a fully dressed soldier. He strapped a small shield to his back, placed his sword on his side, and carried the halberd in two hands. With a final farewell to his friend, he left the clearing, hoping to find someone to help him.

The combination of potion and water trickled down the barbarian's swollen throat, quickly being absorbed by his food, and ale, deprived stomach.

As he sat unconcious in the water worshipers hut, slowly the potion began to take effect, counteracting the poisons from the multiple wounds. About an hour after the potion had been administered, the barbarian slowly began to come to. He was not completely coherent yet, as if his kind ever were, but as he began to take in his surroundings he suddenly became aware of the strangeness of his surroundings, and his new host/captor.

With the slits of his eyes open he looked at the water man, man being a loose term in the barbarian's mind, as if any puny beaten worshiper of water could be called a man he thought to himself, as he saw the crystalline staff no doubt attemptively hiiden by the brown robes.

Lordsbane then slowly began to speak, "Who are you? Where am I? What have I done to you?

As he shifted on the bed he became aware of the rope binding him to the support pillar at the corner of the small house. It was obvious as he became aware of the bindings as his body tensed in rage at being imprisoned, but he said nothing about the rope.

"What did you do to me?" he asked as he looked about the room for anything he could use as a makeshift weapon. . .

Bereth answered the barbarian with the slightest hint of iron in his voice, "I saved your life barbarian. When I found you were near death. I used some of my stock of a special healing draft to cure you and revive you. You will make a full recovery, but not without time. I know your knd are hardy but even you have limits. As to why you're tied up, since I'm sure your anxious to be free, I have tied you up until I can be sure you can be trusted. The Dark Elves employ many in their service, and barbarians are known for their love of war. Don't bother struggling. While I'm sure you could snap that rope easily at your full strength, you are still weak and this staff is not for show. So I suggest remaining still and cooperating while I decide whether or not to kill you."
Bereth went to a small pot that was sitting on a little table in another corner of the hovel. Steam rose from it as Bereth took off the lid, and the smell of broth filled the room. Bereth carefully scooped some into a bowl, took a wooden spoon, and sat down cross-legged in front of the barbarian., not quite in reach.
"I'm sure you're hungry, so answer my questions and you get food. First question, how did you get onto my doorstep, and please include details."

Lordsbane listened as his captor, as that is what the water being was in his eyes, spoke. Then quite suddenly, he began to chuckle, and shake his head. Here was this, this weakling of a man telling him what to do. A man who let his entire life be overrun by others was telling him, the mighty Lordsbane, what to do, seemingly holding the power of life and death over him. As he chuckled, his laughter grew in intensity, as he thought about the irony; here was this man who literally thought that he could hold power over a man as powerful as the 'musclebound chaos warrior.'

However, it was quite obvious that this human thought the warrior of chaos was predictable. Lordsbane, if anything, was not predictable; this water magician thought Lordsbane a threat, thought he would act out, become violent, tear apart the room, all stereotypes of the peoples ascribed to the religions of Chaos, followers of the truth.

So, as a true follower of the ways of Chaos, Lordsbane would be unpredictable; he would cooperate, for now.

"I don't know. The demons of death fell upon my village. I fought and killed many of them, before I fell. I then woke up in your cage. Now give me some food."

Nogreth panted as he ran. Suddenly, he stopped, taking a quick rest. He glanced around to make sure no Death soldiers were nearby, and was surprised. He found a building, looking abandoned, but a death building, obviously a water hovel of sorts. Curious, he slowly stepped forward, towards the nearby door. When he was next to it, he pressed his ear against the wooden door, listening for anything to give him clues on who or what was inside.

The results did somewhat satisfy him. Inside, two individuals were talking, if he could call it that. One was laughing for a bit, and the other he couldn't tell what. The voice sounded curious, but something else. Something he couldn't describe.

Suddenly, his attention was diverted by a small ruckus. He turned, holding his halberd. What he saw didn't comfort him. On horses rode three dark elves, all carrying halberds. Nogreth could tell these bad boys were from the army, searching for him. He should've guessed that his escape must have been noticed.

He got his halberd ready as one of the riders gave a whistle. He had been seen. He shouted for help, hoping that the people inside heard him. He then charged the riders, screaming his death cry that he had been forced to learn so well.

OOC: Altered the thread so it fit with the story. not a big deal, but you never know. A water hovel fits a bit better in the Water neck of the woods -F799

Bereth was about to give the barbarian some of the broth when he was interupted by the ruckus outside. He quickly recognized a Dark Elf battlecry, and sprang into action.
"Sorry, we'll have to continue this conversation later." He wacked the barbarian on the head with the butt of his staff and untied him, then dragged him to the small table in the corner. He shifted it and pulled open a small panel on the floor. From below, the sound of running water could be heard. He slowly lowered the barbarian in, repositioned the table so it was over the open trapdoor, climbed in and closed it behind him. There was a latch on the the bottom which he locked. He tapped his staff on the rock below, causing a small blue light to emanate from the crystal. He and the barbarian were ankle deep in a small undergroud stream. Bereth knew it flowed from the natural springs underneath the city to the ocean. While it would become too narrow to make it all the way to the ocean, there was an opening further down that would lead them out and put them in the woods. Bereth slung the barbarian over his back, his knees nearly buckling under the weight, and began trudging down the stream. He wasn't going to stick around. If the death elves found his little entrance he had better be far away when they did. He knew what their kind did to his people.
"Sorry, but if they follow us down here, you're staying behind," he said to the hopefully comatose burden on his back which was seemingly getting heavier by the minute.

OOC:Hey briton, my building is a hut, not a death building. Also, sorry for leaving your guy, but my guy is kind of a coward and there is no way he'd rush out to fight dark elves, and even if he did he'd probably try to kill you first once he saw your uniform. Gonna have to figure a way out yourself. Again, sorry, but its just not in my guy's character. And ben, he will ditch your guy in a second if it means saving his own skin

Lordsbane would normally not have succumbed to such a blow to the head; however, in his currently weakened state, having just awakened from the poisons that had until the administration of the potion been corsing through his body, the powerful warrior slipped back into unconciousness.

Minutes later, in the dim light Lordsbane slowly regained conciousness. He was no longer tied, and something was carrying him through what sounded like a creek.

"Sorry, but if they follow us down here, you're staying behind," he heard the man state. Whatever was going on, the winds of fortune had blown foundly on the Chaos follower.

Having grown up in the wildest most rugged crags of Urak, and having endured countless battles and hardships every day throughout his life, Lordsbane was not unaccustomed to injuries; now that the poison had been purged from his system he could feel his body naturally beginning to knit itself back together.

Still weak, he nevertheless refused to allow this pitiful man to keep him prisoner. So with a valiant thrust of his body he sprang to life, struggling violently to free himself from his captor. As he struggled and when it allowed it, he bit down with all the strength he could muster into his captor's flesh. Even without a weapon, this seasoned warrior was not defenseless.

Meanwhile, as the three riders charged towards the deserted death warrior, and a bloodly warcry split the air, another presence joined the field. From the tall grass, the chaos warrior's powerful feline steed lept out onto the nearest rider, with a fearsome growl, claws extended, and teeth baredit attacked the smaller elf with all the ferociousness of a wild beast, biting, tearing and clawing at the joints and exposed area of 'fresh meat'

Nogreth quickly shashed the head of the horse of the first rider that came near. As the horse fell, suddenly a large tiger came from nowhere, leaping onto another rider. The beast quickly tore the elf apart, as the third rider, startled, turned to try to help his friend.

Thanking the gods, Nogreth butted the elf on the ground with his halberd, and rushed into the house, breaking the door as he went. He didn't care about others, but he did care about that cat. To him, it seemed like it was going to eat anything, and he was the smallest target. He quickly looked around, hoping to find a way out, but it was in vain. He remembered the voices then, and became curious. if there was no other way out, how was the house empty?

He then remembered that the building was water, and the water people were known for quick get aways when needed. He could hear the elves ouside crying as the tiger beast slashed and bit them, and grew worried. They wouldn't last for long against such a beast. He then decided the only thing to do was to look for an entrance to somewhere.

Useing his halberd, he tapped the floor, trying find signs of hollowness. Using his acute sense of hearing, he quickly found an area, underneath a small table. he was then satisfied finding a panel on the floor. But when he tried to open it, he found it locked. Groaning, he used his halberd to smash his way through the door. This was done quickly, and surprisingly, quite silently.

When a big enough hole was made, he leapt in, hearing a cat roar coming into the house. As he landed in some water, he looked up, and found the tiger beast trying to claw at him through the hole. He smiled at the cat's efforts. While the hole was large enough for him, the cat had no chance of fitting through the hole. He turned, and found complete darkness.

"Curses" he muttered. But as he focused, he could see a small blue light ahead. While the light was small, his eyes grew accustom to the light, and eventually see two figures. Not knowing whether to cry for help or not, he walked towards them silently, halberd at the ready. But then, he knew they would attack if they saw him following with weapons ready. He silently put the halberd in the water, and then creapt slowly towards the figures, wanting to find out whether they were friend or foe.

OOC: i hope this post is acceptable. I know i kinda did smething with the tiger, but i hope its alright. tell me if it isn't.

Bereth cried out as the barbarian bit down on his shoulder. With a heave he threw him off.
"Fine, stay here if thats what you want. I saved your life and this i how you repay me?" He turned, about to storm off and leave the savage to his fate, when he heard something. He didn't hear it with his ears, but he could still hear it. People who practiced water magic learned that you could learn much from the water, from the way it flowed, from the tiny ripples and soft murmurs it gave off as it wound its way to the sea. Those with the skill to listen properly could actually hear the waves whisper, telling them secrets. What Bereth heard was strange. The water was parting down stream, something was blocking it. He had almost missed it with the barbarian biting him and all, but he heard it now. Then the obstruction moved, lifting up and coming back down again, and Bereth was sure now of what it was. Boots. He doused his staff's glow, and began slowly creeping downstream, away from the boots, using the water as his guide and keeping an ear out if the booted feet followed, or if they would stop at the barbarian.

Slowly the barbarian stood up from where he had fell in the cool water. He did not hear the subtle bootsteps at first, instead what caught his attention was the ferocious tearing of wooden planks coming from further in the tunnel. He smiled in the darkness, for all of a sudden he had learned what had brought him out of the fray-his beloved steed who now clamored after some unknown prey, a prey that lurked somewhere between rider and mount.

And then he heard it, a splash as a boot or a footstep came down into the water. It was close, quite close. Plastering himself to the side of the tunnel, and hardly even breathing, Lordsbane waited. He was not in the best of health to fight at this time. He would wait to see who passed and after that would decide on a course of action; that was if his precious steed did not succeed in tearing away the remaining planks and dropping down into the tunnel as well-'ahh well, so much for that,' he thought as he heard a mighty crash as the mighty beast landed with a splash and the splintering of wood down the tunnel. Quite soon the splashes could be heard as the mighty cat raced down the tunnel, the dimmest of light allowing it to see his prey. With a snarl the cat lept at the back of the elf. . .

Nogreth was suprised as the light went out. Desperate, he began to call out, asking for help, but something stopped him. As a crash was heard behind him, he turned. Seeing nothing, he was about to turn back, but he heard the roar of the great tiger, and knew that somehow, someway, it was down in the tunnel. Blinded in the dark, he pulled his sword, and stood ready. But it was futile.

Suddenly the cat was on him, clawing at his sides, and attempting to bite his face off. Desperate, he stapped the beast in in's side, but even as the blood flowed from it to him, the beast fought on. In pain, he screamed on last time before the great tiger destroyed the life of the elf, sword still hanging in the beasts side.

Lordsbane listened in the dark as the violent feline he called a steed tore into the being who had come into the tunnel behind him. He heard the being scream, a scream as bloody and horribly terrified as any one might have heard when fell upon by a band of ferocious goblins while out for a noonday walk in the mountains.

Then he heard the cat scream as it was struck. The single cat's scream was all the noise the cat made to signal it's injury as in it's ferocicity continued to tear into the pinned elf. WIthin moments the elf fell silent, save for the crunching bones of the small being as the cat engourged itself on his new prey, and the clatter and splash of a sword falling into the water.

Slowly and qietly, the chaos warrior struggled back towards his precious steed. As he reached it he was greeted with an angry snarl as the cat sensed his presence, before he stepped out and was recognized by the feline. Quickly Lordsbane scooped up the small sword in the creek and then carefully the injured duo made their way back along the tunnel, free from any captor, Lordsbane was determined to get himself away from whoever had captured him.

Remembering that the small man who had dared imprison him had mentioned something about a healing draft, the two clawed their way back into the water home. As the cat curled up, bleeding on the small bed in the house, the barbarian began to tear through the house, before his eyes settled on the only cupboard in the home.

Tearing it open he looked inside and saw a variety of flasks and vials, many of them filled with sparkling water. He also saw an older pot that seemed to have been placed in the front, one of the few that seemed to have a large amount of dust disturbed on it; however, the barbarian did not notice this. Instead he began to pop open bottles, jars, and pots at random and begin taking deep drinks from each of them before pouring the remainder into a nearby bowl.

THe cat seeing this, hopped down from the bed and came over and began to drink from the concoction.

To say that Bereth was spooked by the sound of a large jungle cat in his tunnel would be an understatement. He was terrified out of his wits. He abandoned all sense of stealth and began to claw his way towards the exit of the tunnel, praying fervently to Synora that the beast, whatever it was, did not follow him. Finally, he came up in the middle of the woods, out from under a small rocky knoll. As he crawled out panting, he realized that no one had followed him out of the tunnel. After a few more moments of intent listening, he realized there wasn't anyone in the tunnel anymore either, excpet for a dead body, which felt too small to be the barbarians. He could only assume that the barbarian ad the beast had both gone back to his hovel. At this, Bereth finally began to bristle. He had built that hut from nothing, made a reasonable semblance of a life there! No way was he going to simply let some barbarian and some mountain monster tear it apart! He was a Viantha mage for crying out loud. He would not back down, he would show that uncultured inebriated brain-damaged brute what power really was, and that he would not be tread on lightly!
In truth, Bereth was a little surprised at his bravado, especially for someone who had just been running scared a few seconds ago. In hindsight, he would probably attribute his newfound courage to the fact that danger wasn't immediately present when he had gotten so angry. Still, he was an Amazon, and male or not, he had the fierce warriors in his veins.
He got up from where he sat, and began storming back towards the hovel. His staff's crystal began shining a brilliant blue, and in his mind he began whispering silent prayers to Synora.

OOC: that concoction you created will heal, but it might make the drinker a tad ill in the stomach, as some of those medicines probably shouldn't be mixed

Lordsbane finished the last of the drinks, whipping his mouth on the back of his hairy arm he tossed the last empty vial over his shoulder where it shattered with a crash on the ground. He could feel it working already. Goodness! He could SEE it working already, as his wounds slowly closed and vanished without a trace. Unfortunately, he thought, they did not leave scars. But with a shrug of his shoulders he passed the thought from his mind, plenty of time for that now that he was back to his full strength.

As his cat lapped up the last of the soupy mess Lordsbane had made, the chaos warrior stopped, an odd look on his face. Slowly he rubbed his stomach, and a very lud gurggling sound could be heard eminating from it.

Then quite suddenly, a loud crack filled the room as a noxious odor released from the nether regions of the warrior, his furs flapping in the 'wind.' Whatever it was that had caused the brief pain in his stomach was gone. The warrior let loose a small chuckle; whatever posion had been contained in his captor's stores was no match for the hardened stomach of one who had taken to knawing on just about anything edible that had come across his path. (The cafeteria food of the schools of chaos-the school of hard knocks [mostly on the head])

Then with a sigh, he picked up the sword he had found in the tunnel and looked around; not entirely sure what to do, or where to go next. Not a problem for a seasoned Chaos follower. Quite suddenly he began to overturn tables, the bed, anything that was not bolted down, though some things that had beens ecurely fastened down or to the walls also came loose, as he began to tear apart the small home of his once captor. Before he left he wanted to be sure that his captor knew how fortunate he had been, that the great Lordsbane had let him live.

Bereth stood behind a tree outside his house, hearing the destruction inside. He gritted his teeth while he thought of a way to get his captor out of his house. Then he smiled when he remebered his captor was not wearing much in the way of clothes. A mistake.
Bereth lowered his head and concentrated, putting himself into the trance-like state of meditation, a state when one could get in touch with the source of all water magic herself, Synora. It always took his breath away, no matter how many times he did it. It was like submerging your brain all the way to the bottom of an ocean charged with lightning, feeling both incredible pressure and energy at the same time coursing through and enveloping your mind. Yet at the same time, the immense power was oddly soothing, almost protective, like a warm pond on a summer day. He then offered up a silent prayer, and felt some of the magical strength leave his body as his spell took hold.
Inside the house, the first thing the warrior and his beast would feel would be a sudden change in humidity, as water in both the air and puddles around the house and in the river below evaporated and filled the house, giving the atmosphere a wet feeling. Then, wisps of steam would begin rising from different parts of the house, out of the hatch and through the door, as the water turned from vapor to steam, heating itself slowly to what would soon be scalding temperatures. This steam cloud was generally used as a protective spell, but it was great for clearing buildings of "infestations."
Bereth smiled. He didn't care how much this warrior loved pain, he would get more than his fair share if he did not exit quickly.

The barbarian quickly finished his destruction of the interior of the small hovel. Perhaps that concoction he had consumed had done more than give him some bad gas, he thought as he realized he was sweating profusely. This thought, however was quickly dismissed as the humidity in the building continued to quickly rise, and wisps of steam could be seen creeping up out of the shattered tunnel entrance.

Suddenly the thought jumped like a crack of lightning to his brain. “A trap” he whispered out loud, as his cat, now thoroughly drenched and none to happy whined at Lordsbane. The blasted little water man who had dared make him a captive had set up some sort of trap in the building! ‘Most likely the door is blocked too’ he thought to himself as he took the fine elven blade, which did not seem to fit quite right in his hand and with a mighty shove drove it through the nearby wooden window panel, and to his surprise, it gave way. “ARRRR!” he roared, “Nothing beats Chaos! Chaos crushes all! (Akin to ‘HULK SMASH!’)” He cried as the room got steamy and hotter by the second, burning his exposed flesh and drenching his furs. If he got out of this oversized pressure cooker, his clothing would stink for weeks, not that Lordsbane cared in the slightest, though it did make it a wee bit more difficult around the lassies.

Wrenching the sword out, he struck again and again at the small window. He was now howling undecipherable babble, that one could not tell if it were in anger, pain, or possibly just the natural babbling of one who had experienced the truth of the Chaos faith.

Suddenly the smallest gust of cool fresh air rushed in through the hole the warrior was working at; his skin already dripping and now beginning to turn a bright red color as the steam began to scald him.

Picking up the largest remnant of the shattered bed frame, and uttering an unearthly howl, Lordsbane charged again and again into the walls surrounding the small window, until at last the flimsy construct gave way and out he tumbled into the cool grass outside, and the cool air from outside rushed in and the steam was lost to the sky.

Quickly his steed followed. However, unlike the human who had fallen to the ground amongst the rubble panting at the fresh air, the cat saw the small water man nearby. And given its state as a chaos beast, it’s near encounter with being boiled to death, and the recent shedding of blood that it had been unable to enjoy; it leapt up with a snarl, charging low through the grass right at the water practitioner. Then with cat like reflexes it leapt towards the man, claws extended a snarl of rage across its vicious face. . .

Bereth's courage once again abandoned him as the giant cat leapt towards him. He had known there was a beast, but he had expected it to be a wolf of some kind, like that ones that occasionally wandered down from the mountains into Amazon territory, not a MOUNTAIN TIGER!!!!
He reflexively raised his staff and offered a quick prayer to Synora, the gist of it being "Save ME!!!!" The tip of his staff glowed and in front of it a small ball of ice formed, about twice the size of a fist. It then shot out at the cat, breaking into shards. Bereth tried simultaneously to get up and run as fast as he could away from this monster, though he knew in his mind he could never outrun it.

The cat pounced, ready to tear into its freshest prey, the flimsy water man, when it was met with a surprise, a shattering ball of ice in its face.

WIth a yelpish growl it tumbled headlong into the water caster, probably the only thing that saved the human from the cat's claws and teeth as it pawed at its face to comfort the stinging burn of the ice. Landing in a tumble it quickly got up, shaking itself. THe cat very easily realized that it was not dead, that whatever had just happened hurt quite a lot, and that the small man beneath his body was esponsible for the pain. With a fearsome roar it raised it's massive paw, claws extended, ready to tear the man to shreds only to be stopped by a muscled hand catching the paw in the air.

The chaos warrior Lordsbane, seeing his steed about to destroy his captor, hurridly untangled himself from the rubble and rushed over, shaking off the bits of lingering pain. He arrived just in time to catch his massive cats paw, only to be met with a snarl as the cat turned to face whoever dared now challenge its right to feast.

zWith a mighty heave, Lordsbane flipped the cat off the downed water magician. The cat snarled as it hit the ground, and then slunk off a few meters away to watch the man, all the while hungrily licking its lips.

Lordsbane, then quickly kicked the staff far out of reach of the water magic practitioner, and then quickly, as one with years of experience, knelt down next to the man and grabbed a fitsful of his hair in one hand, a stone knife from within his furs in the other, and then lifting the man's head by his hair growled, "Give me a reason to let you live."

Bereth looked up at the huge barbarian and his steed, mustered up his courage, and said the first thing that came to mind, "Its because of me your alive at all. You have destroyed my home, angered the dark elves by killing one of their own, making it certain that I must flee or be killed, or worse. You attack me without reason, you threaten me, you even bit me!!!! You owe me my life if nothing else.

Suddenly, behind the barbarion, a sword came out of its sheath, and was at the barbarians neck. "You need a reason? How about us?"

Baron smiled as he did so, his armor shining in the sun. Behind him, 6 riders sat on their horses watching, their lances at the ready, save for three. They had crossbows, pointed at the tiger, ready to kill it if it attacked. Behind them stood Baron's horse, decorated in the best armor anyone could have seen. These people were the dragonslayers.

The group had been traveling to the water city, hearing it fall to the dark one, as they called it. And as evryone knew, the water city was strong, and it would take a lot to take it over. So the only reason the people of Order could think of, was that dragons were helping. So the dragonslayers were called apon. When they heard of battle cries nearby, they investigated, and found a barbarion, the worse thing ever, attacking a water mage. and now, Baron held his sword, ready to slice off te barbarion's head off.

"Now put let go of the water mage, and call off your cat, or suffer the consequences."

Before Lordsbane could even reply to his now captive's answers a sword had been pushed againt his throat. Looking at the owner the barbarian warrior was furious to see a knight standing over him; and almost just as furious to see the dishonorable way the knight's men pointed crossbows at his steed, obviously too frightened to get any closer than needed.

Glaring up at the knight for a moment, while tightening his grip on the water man's hair and pressing the knife tight now against the mage's throat, he spat, with no small amount of actual spit coating the mage beneath him, "And what consequences would that be sissy tin man?"

As the barbarion became difficult with Baron, he tightened his sword against the neck of the ugly human.

"How about a quick death you son of goat? Now release him."

Lordsbane glowered up at the armored knight, "I think not."

And with that he in one single movement swung the small stone knife that had been at the water man's throat into the knight's blade, knocking it away from him, while at the exact same time hefting the water man, by his hair, in an arc off the ground and into the knight.

Lordsbane then quickly rolled and away, leaving the tangled mess of the two men and in a few quick leaps, dodging between the stunned knights, dove back into the devastatedwater hovel.

Meanwhile, as the barbarian fought, his steed leapt into the air and directly towards one of the archers. . .

Inside the hovel, Lordsbane quickly found the small elven sword he had taken from the dark elf; his large hand dwarfing it. If they wanted a fight, he would give it to them.