Zavvii
03-15-2006, 10:29 AM
The energies of the Twisting Nether coalesced with a hissing crack, forming themselves into an enormous chunk of dense ice, which left a faint trail of frozen vapor as it streaked towards it’s intended target. It connected squarely with the paladin’s chest with a sickening crunch. The man was dead before he hit the ground, his once-golden armor dull and faded from the thick layer of hoary frost that covered it.
From his position amidst a tiny copse of tree’s, Zurrii frowned. Nearby a shattered alliance bunker spewed smoke and flame into the winter sky, giving warmth to the hunters as they marked their targets and let loose another volley into the crowd below. Only a handful of alliance still stood in the swirling melee, the last rise on the road between stone hearth bunker and the storm pike graveyard was choked with corpses from the latest assault. A Frostwolf Orc in full battle armor cleanly severed the head of a dwarven healer who’d been foolish enough to get caught in the close quarters fighting, and to the soldiers involved, it would appear victory was at hand. Zurrii knew better: his vantage point afforded a clear view of the alliance reinforcements pouring down the hill, further up the road.
It was a stalemate: the alliance could not advance past their own bunker without being cut to pieces. But to push forward required the horde army to move through open terrain, and ultimately reach a bottleneck eerily similar to the current one, albeit with attackers and defenders reversed. With new troops pouring in at about the same rate on both sides, neither side had an advantage. Unless something could stem the tide, the only thing that would change would be the number of bodies left to the crows.
Zurrii drew a small metal cylinder from his robes, emblazoned with the symbol of the Frostwolf clan. The message tubes were tremendously useful, allowing near-instant communication between soldiers in the field. Unfortunately, more often than not the troops were too preoccupied with the rush and thrill of combat to bother reading them, and too headstrong to bother listening to the commands of their superiors. The leader of this particular raiding party was competent, though he made the fatal mistake of assuming his troops paid any attention to him. Discipline had never been one of the horde’s strong points.
Still, no harm in trying. Zurrii had surveyed the terrain carefully, and had discovered a pass to the east of the long road. If a small force could keep the much larger alliance front occupied at the chokepoint, the main horde army could take the back road and begin an assault on the Stormpike fortress. He wrote out his plan twice, sending one copy to the raid leader requesting the order be given, the second to the army as a whole. Hopefully a few would follow: the life expectancy of a mage dropped rather dramatically when caught alone. He whistled for his raptor, mounted up, and moved out.
Izzigl may not have been bred as a war-raptor, Zurrii thought, but she served well enough. The beast was fleet of foot, loyal beyond reason, and most importantly, armored. Mount and rider made swift progress up the narrow mountain ravine, eventually reaching a vantage point from which the battle below could be fully observed: as predicted, the alliance counterattack had begun to route the frostwolf soldiers, but their victory was cut short as a devastating hail of fire opened up from the troops at the chokepoint, sending the surviving alliance fleeing to regroup.
Izzigl and Zurrii dashed past an abandoned lumber mill, ignoring the sharp cries and looks of surprised from a few dwarven workers stationed there. The guards gave a half hearted chase but were quickly left behind as the raptors swift pace pulled them deeper and deeper into enemy territory. The attack was inevitable, but Zurrii still cursed himself for his inattentiveness when a wave of magic energy overwhelmed him and sent him flying off his mount. The raptor, with characteristic intelligence, continued running a moment before disappearing out of sight to await further instructions.
Zurrii’s limbs contorted in agony as he felt his entire frame being crushed into something small and fuzzy. Polymorph: even if it had the pleasant side effect of curing one’s wounds faster than any priest, only the truly deranged would suffer it voluntarily. The change complete, Zurrii was left looking through the eyes of a fairly confused sheep at an irritated looking gnome who practically glowed with arcane energy. It was most curious, thought Zurrii, how something that under normal circumstances would barely qualify as a light snack could command such power. The miniature wizard began tracing sigils that Zurrii recognized all too well: he had to move quickly. Though he was largely helpless, trapped as he was within the mind of a much simpler lifeform, there were still avenues of power he could tap. Reaching out into the twisting nether, his delicate touch coaxed a few strands of energy outward. The a chill presence threatened to take control of him, but he fought it off and held on, waiting for the right moment. He didn’t have to wait long.
An enormous ball of fire launched itself from the gnomes, screeching through the sky as the air itself burned. An instant before it hit, Zurrii released his hold on the tendrils, and an explosion of magic through his consciousness out of the body it had so roughly been confined in. Before he could do anything else, the magic finished it’s headlong rush into the material world and encased him in a chunk of unnaturally resilient ice. The fireball slamed into the side of his prison, followed a moment later by an even larger blast of flame: the little gnome was too used to facing helpless targets and had unleashed a hasty second strike before the first had even connected. With a grin, Zurrii unraveled the magic that had protected him, and entered the contest in earnest.
The gnome had begun casting another fireball, his face furrowed in frusteration at his opponents complete lack of scorch marks. Zurrii took the moment a moment to examine the little creature more closely. His robes were clearly otherworldly, glimmering with magical energy, and the haughty features and pronounced belly suggested the gnome enjoyed a fairly afluent existence. When he wasn’t ambushing fellow spellcasters in this spirit-forsaken wasteland, anyway. It was apparent the little mage had been a successful adventurer, but there were entire worlds of difference between successful dungeoneering and real warfare. Small snacks in fancy robes had the potential for truly remarkable arrogance, and Zurrii had a made it a hobby of his to end such distatsful tendancies in as messy a manner possible. The wizard had nearly finished his spell when Zurrii raised a finger to his lips and whispered a quiet hex.
Different mages did things differently. The Witch doctor Zurrii had trained under always advocated the simple, direct approach to problems. The troll watched with tremendous satisfaction as the flesh of the gnomes face twisted and flowed like hot wax, until the little caster’s mouth had been completely sealed, as if it had never been. The effect was temporary, but it gave Zurrii the time needed. As the little wizard pawed at the space his mouth had been, Zurrii began running his fingers down the sigils and talismans that dangled from cords on his belt. One by one, the little bones, coins and tokens lit up with brilliant blue light, and Zurrii felt their power join with his own. He muttered a few choice words memorized from the Grimoire at his side and heard them echo in the growing void around him. As a final touch, he withdrew his dagger and pricked his flesh, concentrating on the pain and allowing the ancient magic of his warrior-ancestors suffuse his being with focus and speed. The gnomes features were beginning to resemble normality, and Zurrii wasted no time beginning his spellcasting.
A quick circular gesture caused a great ring rigid water to blast outward in every direction. It flowed over the gnome, rooting him in place as the magic caught hold of the liquid, freezing it in an instant. With the same gesture, Zurrii began drawing the sigils for his most well-used spell: moments later his enemy was torn painfully from his shackles by an enormous shard of ice, shattering his legs even as his flesh withered in the terrible cold. The little mage lay sprawled upon the ground as his killer approached, wreathed in a shimmering barrier of frigid crystals. The gnome gave a wretched whimper and threw a blast of fire at the troll, but the heat was snatched away in an instant by the frozen shield, it’s intended target advancing unhindered. With a smile that might appear cheerful under other circumstances, Zurrii raised his hand and let loose a torrent of frozen air that left the gnome’s carcass black and shrunken.
It took Zurrii a moment to realize the pitiful creature was still alive, though just barely. With a dismissive gesture, the Troll mage returned the gnome’s earlier fire blast with one of his own, igniting the dry husk and leaving only twisted bones.
“Hey, little guy. If ya play wit fire… well, ya know da rest!”
Zurrii chuckled to himself as he mounted Izzigl and sped off towards the north, towards battle. Towards victory.
((Zurrii lives on Earthen Ring. He's important to Zavvii's character though))
From his position amidst a tiny copse of tree’s, Zurrii frowned. Nearby a shattered alliance bunker spewed smoke and flame into the winter sky, giving warmth to the hunters as they marked their targets and let loose another volley into the crowd below. Only a handful of alliance still stood in the swirling melee, the last rise on the road between stone hearth bunker and the storm pike graveyard was choked with corpses from the latest assault. A Frostwolf Orc in full battle armor cleanly severed the head of a dwarven healer who’d been foolish enough to get caught in the close quarters fighting, and to the soldiers involved, it would appear victory was at hand. Zurrii knew better: his vantage point afforded a clear view of the alliance reinforcements pouring down the hill, further up the road.
It was a stalemate: the alliance could not advance past their own bunker without being cut to pieces. But to push forward required the horde army to move through open terrain, and ultimately reach a bottleneck eerily similar to the current one, albeit with attackers and defenders reversed. With new troops pouring in at about the same rate on both sides, neither side had an advantage. Unless something could stem the tide, the only thing that would change would be the number of bodies left to the crows.
Zurrii drew a small metal cylinder from his robes, emblazoned with the symbol of the Frostwolf clan. The message tubes were tremendously useful, allowing near-instant communication between soldiers in the field. Unfortunately, more often than not the troops were too preoccupied with the rush and thrill of combat to bother reading them, and too headstrong to bother listening to the commands of their superiors. The leader of this particular raiding party was competent, though he made the fatal mistake of assuming his troops paid any attention to him. Discipline had never been one of the horde’s strong points.
Still, no harm in trying. Zurrii had surveyed the terrain carefully, and had discovered a pass to the east of the long road. If a small force could keep the much larger alliance front occupied at the chokepoint, the main horde army could take the back road and begin an assault on the Stormpike fortress. He wrote out his plan twice, sending one copy to the raid leader requesting the order be given, the second to the army as a whole. Hopefully a few would follow: the life expectancy of a mage dropped rather dramatically when caught alone. He whistled for his raptor, mounted up, and moved out.
Izzigl may not have been bred as a war-raptor, Zurrii thought, but she served well enough. The beast was fleet of foot, loyal beyond reason, and most importantly, armored. Mount and rider made swift progress up the narrow mountain ravine, eventually reaching a vantage point from which the battle below could be fully observed: as predicted, the alliance counterattack had begun to route the frostwolf soldiers, but their victory was cut short as a devastating hail of fire opened up from the troops at the chokepoint, sending the surviving alliance fleeing to regroup.
Izzigl and Zurrii dashed past an abandoned lumber mill, ignoring the sharp cries and looks of surprised from a few dwarven workers stationed there. The guards gave a half hearted chase but were quickly left behind as the raptors swift pace pulled them deeper and deeper into enemy territory. The attack was inevitable, but Zurrii still cursed himself for his inattentiveness when a wave of magic energy overwhelmed him and sent him flying off his mount. The raptor, with characteristic intelligence, continued running a moment before disappearing out of sight to await further instructions.
Zurrii’s limbs contorted in agony as he felt his entire frame being crushed into something small and fuzzy. Polymorph: even if it had the pleasant side effect of curing one’s wounds faster than any priest, only the truly deranged would suffer it voluntarily. The change complete, Zurrii was left looking through the eyes of a fairly confused sheep at an irritated looking gnome who practically glowed with arcane energy. It was most curious, thought Zurrii, how something that under normal circumstances would barely qualify as a light snack could command such power. The miniature wizard began tracing sigils that Zurrii recognized all too well: he had to move quickly. Though he was largely helpless, trapped as he was within the mind of a much simpler lifeform, there were still avenues of power he could tap. Reaching out into the twisting nether, his delicate touch coaxed a few strands of energy outward. The a chill presence threatened to take control of him, but he fought it off and held on, waiting for the right moment. He didn’t have to wait long.
An enormous ball of fire launched itself from the gnomes, screeching through the sky as the air itself burned. An instant before it hit, Zurrii released his hold on the tendrils, and an explosion of magic through his consciousness out of the body it had so roughly been confined in. Before he could do anything else, the magic finished it’s headlong rush into the material world and encased him in a chunk of unnaturally resilient ice. The fireball slamed into the side of his prison, followed a moment later by an even larger blast of flame: the little gnome was too used to facing helpless targets and had unleashed a hasty second strike before the first had even connected. With a grin, Zurrii unraveled the magic that had protected him, and entered the contest in earnest.
The gnome had begun casting another fireball, his face furrowed in frusteration at his opponents complete lack of scorch marks. Zurrii took the moment a moment to examine the little creature more closely. His robes were clearly otherworldly, glimmering with magical energy, and the haughty features and pronounced belly suggested the gnome enjoyed a fairly afluent existence. When he wasn’t ambushing fellow spellcasters in this spirit-forsaken wasteland, anyway. It was apparent the little mage had been a successful adventurer, but there were entire worlds of difference between successful dungeoneering and real warfare. Small snacks in fancy robes had the potential for truly remarkable arrogance, and Zurrii had a made it a hobby of his to end such distatsful tendancies in as messy a manner possible. The wizard had nearly finished his spell when Zurrii raised a finger to his lips and whispered a quiet hex.
Different mages did things differently. The Witch doctor Zurrii had trained under always advocated the simple, direct approach to problems. The troll watched with tremendous satisfaction as the flesh of the gnomes face twisted and flowed like hot wax, until the little caster’s mouth had been completely sealed, as if it had never been. The effect was temporary, but it gave Zurrii the time needed. As the little wizard pawed at the space his mouth had been, Zurrii began running his fingers down the sigils and talismans that dangled from cords on his belt. One by one, the little bones, coins and tokens lit up with brilliant blue light, and Zurrii felt their power join with his own. He muttered a few choice words memorized from the Grimoire at his side and heard them echo in the growing void around him. As a final touch, he withdrew his dagger and pricked his flesh, concentrating on the pain and allowing the ancient magic of his warrior-ancestors suffuse his being with focus and speed. The gnomes features were beginning to resemble normality, and Zurrii wasted no time beginning his spellcasting.
A quick circular gesture caused a great ring rigid water to blast outward in every direction. It flowed over the gnome, rooting him in place as the magic caught hold of the liquid, freezing it in an instant. With the same gesture, Zurrii began drawing the sigils for his most well-used spell: moments later his enemy was torn painfully from his shackles by an enormous shard of ice, shattering his legs even as his flesh withered in the terrible cold. The little mage lay sprawled upon the ground as his killer approached, wreathed in a shimmering barrier of frigid crystals. The gnome gave a wretched whimper and threw a blast of fire at the troll, but the heat was snatched away in an instant by the frozen shield, it’s intended target advancing unhindered. With a smile that might appear cheerful under other circumstances, Zurrii raised his hand and let loose a torrent of frozen air that left the gnome’s carcass black and shrunken.
It took Zurrii a moment to realize the pitiful creature was still alive, though just barely. With a dismissive gesture, the Troll mage returned the gnome’s earlier fire blast with one of his own, igniting the dry husk and leaving only twisted bones.
“Hey, little guy. If ya play wit fire… well, ya know da rest!”
Zurrii chuckled to himself as he mounted Izzigl and sped off towards the north, towards battle. Towards victory.
((Zurrii lives on Earthen Ring. He's important to Zavvii's character though))