The Reckoning [semi-open]

[Kildar]

[ooc this is semi-open. please contact me (die bankier) at 106883892 (icq) or bundesbank@hotmail.com (email/msn) if you want to post]

1. The Silence

Kildar stood amongst his hardened warriors. Once there was war with the bestial creatures of FOUL. Then, much like the fast rushing water of a flood, troops disappeared from the field and an eery quiet had descended upon the Tribe. He was looking at maps, his most able generals around him, along with his master of spies and his chief of staff.

They looked at maps, preparing for a sudden, final assault upon the Tribe by FOUL forces. Kildar's and SirDarkWingElven's forces were meager, a mere token beside the behemoth armies that Winterhawk and fearsome Bane commanded. Indeed, their swarms of Drow and Half Elves had held the FOUL forces in check for much of the war.

But it would not prepare them for what was about to come. One of his generals proclaimed, "It is like we are at the eye of the storm, where all is quiet, and battle is raging all about us."

2. The Reckoning.

It was long into the third night of the Silence, as it would become known across the lands, that Kildar slumbered fitfully. He was exhausted from the previous days on edge, adrenaline coursing through his veins as always it did during times of war. Normally, however, he would have the next battle, the next operation, the next campaign to sustain the flow of inexorable energy from the thirst for battle.

It was then that an attendent opened his door, and beckoned to Kildar to come to the planning room, and review some urgent reports that were coming in.

The mood, when he entered, was sullen.

"What is the matter? Have they struck yet? Were our preparations not sufficient?" he inquired. His eyes searched around the room, trying to make sense of the sombre mood in the room. Surely FOUL could not have defeated Kildar's tribe. Bane and Winterhawk would have stood longer than this.

"Sir," one of his generals, Die Bankier, recognizing Kildar's disposition, intoned, "spare your eye for this."

Kildar favoured Die Bankier. Though a Drow, he made a fearsome warrior, and showed more courage than even the most stout elemental. Good head on that one.

He took up the sheaf of papers that Die Bankier handed them, and looked to the map they were consulting as he scanned over the report.

Mutiny?

He stood, stunned, unable to speak a word. He looked around at his companions, incomprehension clear on his face. Some stood still, others nodded. He looked at the map.

"But surely this mutiny is not responsible for all of this!" He exclaimed.

"It seems," Die Bankier continued, "that this mutiny has affected all Droben, Vampire, and Elemental alike. Scattered reports indicate that... Something has attracted the attention, nay, the devotion, of these races. It is said that they repeat the word, 'We have heard the call!' as they jump into battle. They obliterate everything in their wake. A horde of them. All of them."

A horde?

He looked at the map once more. Gaps were torn in their defenses, and rough outlines, guesses of the dispositions of various parts of this... mob, were delineated on the map. The picture was being filled in, and he noticed with abject horror the sheer numbers that opposed them. Not even the armies of Bane nor Winterhawk would stand even the slightest chance at opposing them. There were simply too many.

"What are they doing? Where are they going? What is their purpose?" He asked.

"It seems," Die Bankier continued, "that they are headed south. The most southerly lands under reign of Isonia report that the horde has just made contact with their outer borders, and are sweeping inwards. Further South they drive. We know not what they seek there, only that, if their words are true, there is a call, and this call is only heard by them."

He stood still. Very still. Their situation reminded him of a young warrior, once, the only survivor of their tribe... The survivor who wandered the lands for years, attracting followers, honing his skills, with the hopes that one day he might form a new tribe... His tribe... And it was then that he knew what he must do.

"Die Bankier, send word to Bane and Winterhawk. Tell them they must save what they can, and get out of the path of the horde. Tell them it is my wish that they do this, in the hopes that they might each form a new tribe. That the ways we hold sacred, that the traditions we carry, all shall survive, and live on.

"The rest of us will remain, and make our stand. As warriors, we must do our poor best to defend the innocents of this land; the women, the children. It is our duty to fight, and to die, that even one of them might survive. To arms, my friends. We occupy new positions this eve, and, on the morrow, we shall fight."

His generals drew close to the table, and began planning their final defense, hoping to delay the enemy for every moment they could, allowing more of the Tribe to make its escape.

3. The Fall

Sun came in the morning, the skies clear. Few had slept that night, waiting for their time to die. Waiting for the horde of Droben, Elemental and Vampire that headed towards them.

Kildar emerged from a tent to the rear. Fall back positions had not been planned out. Their fight was to be a final stand; anyway, to disengage from such an overwhelming force would be near impossible, he knew. The horde would be upon them, and then around them, making any form of retreat impossible. To guard their flanks would mean to weaken the centre; and, weak the centre already was compared to the force that faced them, it would do far worse to weaken it further.

This would not be a battle of attrition. This would be one tumultuous raging storm of a battle - one that would be remembered by none, as survivors there would not be.

Every man knew what faced him. Kildar was content - none had shaken at the fate that awaited them, and many, indeed, rejoiced in it. He had been a good leader, he reflected, having instilled such courage in troops in an age where courage was sometimes difficult to be found. Feelings of nostalgia were hard to supress - all this would be gone soon, he knew. He felt it in his heart, and it was heavy. But he shook it off. He had more pressing concerns ahead of him.

At first, he didn't hear it. But slowly, ever so slowly, he felt the ground begin to tremble. And then he heard it, the dull, monotonous drumming. It rose to a thunder, and he looked into the distance. It was then that the horde began to crest the hill in the distance, and pour into the valley below them. It was a mass of troops so dense and massive that Kildar almost refused to believe what was coming towards them; but the beating of his heart, and the tightening grip of his hand on his sword told him otherwise. He bellowed, then, before it became too loud for him to be heard; and he signalled the advance.

All followed.

None returned.

die bankier had entered the fray by kildar's side, and the whirlwind which overtook the barbarian leader almost surprised him; but it was with the swish of a sword just above his head that caught his attention, and brought him back to his purpose: kill as many as possible that the enemy might be one soldier weaker, that one more instant would be bought for those fleeing, that one more of kildar's tribe might escape.

his chains rose in a flurry, catching as many droben as he might dare.

but dare as he might, and dare even as kildar might, he could not stand forever; and, eventually, the darkness surrounded him.

[Bundesbank]

he was not sure how much time had passed.

it must have been a while, for there was no one around. the sounds of animals had returned around him; he could hear the carrion birds screeching as they fed on the carngage which both surrounded and lay atop him.

he was not sure how long he had been there; he had remembered it being morning when he last charged into battle. all he could see was darkness, the corpses were so thickly layered. the stench, however, was horrendous - the day must have passed, and, the bodies out in the burning sun, would have begun decaying towards the skeletal remains that he knew would mark this battlefield for a long time.

it took him a while to gather enough strength to push the bodies off him. in his first attempt, he failed; but on his second try, he made a great, heave, and, in the starry night, took stock of his surroundings.

there were bodies, everywhere. a great many of them droben, elemental. a great many... it made his heart soar, but he stopped dead as he mentally attempted to take the toll of those who had fought beside him. too many... far too many. there had been some hopes that some of their forces might fall back, and make a renewed stand at some point in time, though no specific plans had been made. it seemed like that had fallen through, and the numbers had simply overwhelmed them.

it was when he tried to stand up that he noticed it, though. his right arm, wrenched off. he did not see it where he lay. it was perhaps a curse, he thought. to serve isonia so faithfully... and then to be rewarded, with this... but he reminded himsef: he must maintain his faith.

he knew the medecine of a field medic, and duly found some accoutrements with which he could bandage his wounds so they would not begin bleeding anew. there was, however, no food to be found. he would have to find some.

he picked up the knife of a slain warrior, and began moving towards where he thought might lay a city, were his bearings and memory correct.

four days in the beating sun, he journeyed. he was able to forage for food, though never enough to satisfy his hunger. he crossed few rivers, and by the time he began to feel the loose tentacles of a psionic power reach into his mind, his lips were parched from the intense thirst.

he didn't realize at once what it was, merely that he knew he was not alone. but as he kept walking, and a few hours passed, he realized all too suddenly that he no longer had much control over himself. he tried to turn around, and walk back to where he came, but couldn't. he tried to stop, but kept walking. he tried in vain to yell out, to cry out against this intrusion, but to no avail.

for hours longer he marched, like a lemming, through a valley, and up a hill. he wondered, fitfully, if he would eventually be forced to tumble off a cliff by the unseen presence in his mind. no, was the frightening response he heard inside his head. and then sloshing. or, or was that laughter? he thought. more sloshing.

whoever this was, he thought, they are having a great deal of fun at my expenses.

and it was right then, as he crested the hill, the he was graced with the view of a vast city: an architectural marval. he had never seen a city so... intertwined. it was one large body, but, with subtle indicators, different compartments could be identified. homes, he thought. the cost...

is one we bore easily! the voice from within boomed.

not a moment of rest for him, as he began his descent into the valley, to be confronted by strange creatures he had not heard of nor seen in ages, since his departure from his birthplace of the deep...

illithids.