Post by Burning Rose on Feb 21, 2008 23:52:12 GMT -5
In truth, there are better ways to wake up. However, it certainly got the job done. The fire was bright and sudden, and it came with an earsplitting sound that woke Toron up with a start.
He threw on a cloak and boots, grabbed his sword and shield and quickly exited his burning house. Whoever's fault this was should run far, far away, because Toron's books were in danger, and though they weren't the most intellectual books, Toron loved them. One by the name of Bantura's Golden Fields especially grasped his attention; endless deserts of sand and wind, dark dungeons filled with spiders, rats, and things far worse, and even the misty overgrowth of hot Jungles all hungered for his perusal again. If this assailant had managed to take that away, Toron had a special surprise for him.
Having studied swordplay since he was a child, and having had to defend himself with it since his adolescent years, Toron was quite the artisan. Still, he always dreaded the day when he would have to fight for an army, for it may happen due to the unfortunate drafts of the Kingdom of Bantura, of which he was a citizen. This current night reminded him of what he had dreaded: random, deadly attacks against bases; enemies who show no fear and pluck yours straight from your breast to strike against you; the possible massacre of innocents. Though he was not brilliant, he was smart enough to despise anyone who would willingly endanger innocents.
The thatch-roofed cottages nearby burned with such intensity that the night sky lit up; all celestial bodies vanished from view, as if to say that this kind of battle was despicable. Toron had to agree. Who would attack a humble village like this?
He got his answer shortly. Small, stubby, but nonetheless ruthless creatures emerged from the smoke. Green skin of varying degrees gave them away - Goblins, each carrying sharp daggers in one hand, and smoldering torches in the offhand ran out with terror from the creature they had unknowingly angered.
The Ogre, a good 10 feet tall, stumbled out from his burst cage, hungry and vexed. With a large club, possibly the trunk of a small tree, in his hands, he proceeded to demolish first a Goblin Fire-thrower (the cause of both the explosions and the fire), and then a helpless cottage. Meanwhile, the goblins ran inside houses and stole valuables from the panic stricken villagers.
The Goblins were certainly dangerous, but they were not the real problem. If that Ogre was not dealt with he could lay waste to the entire village in an hour. Quickly scanning the area, Toron saw no one else in arms. Even though he lacked Armor, it was clear what needed to be done.
"Hey fatty! Stupid! I'm talking to you!" Nothing seemed to work. The Ogre kept bashing at cottages, their burning framework falling to the ground. Noticing a searing goblin shiv on the ground, Toron formulated a plan. He picked up the shiv, slightly burning his hands, and ran headfirst at the crazed brute.
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Little thing stab Grog! GROG SMASH!" Bellowed the Ogre. The shiv had gone far inbetween two of the Ogre's ribs. His first task was complete, Toron had the Ogre's attention. Thinking about it then, that may not have been the best thing.
Just then the Ogre's large club came hurdling down at Toron. A quick movement of his shield, a large, bulky iron tower shield, stopped the Club from breaking his head in twain, but not much else. The blow nearly knocked Toron on his back, and snapped his shield in two. The next attack followed quickly, and Toron barely rolled to avoid it.
Standing up, Toron gripped his Sword tightly with both hands. Dodging a third attack with an agile sidestep, he charged at the Ogre. Dropping to the ground, he brought his sword down on the Ogre's left foot. As the blood poured forth, the Ogre let loose a blood-curdling cry of pain. His mind blinded with rage, the Ogre slammed his Club down on Toron, who barely moved out of the way in time. Now spinning on his heels, Toron ran for the nearby forest. The ogre, still berserk, attempted to charge after him, but quickly stumbled on his wounded foot, and fell into a burning cottage.
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" The flames quickly spread across his giant body, searing his flesh, boiling and popping all over his body. At this Toron ran back at him, and before the Ogre could stand, he impaled his sword straight through the Ogre's head.
Immediately, the Ogre stopped screaming. The goblins, being relatively smart creatures, all knew what this meant. Picking up what they could, they all ran screaming back into the Forest, leaving their Fire-throwers behind them, standing still against the billowing flames. The Wooden Frames resembled catapults, but had metal coating all around the top. The most distinguishing quality, by far, was that instead of a rope, Fire-throwers had the distinctive quality of being spring operated; when throwing burning pitch and tar, it was far too dangerous to use flammable mechanisms. Small, but strong, iron hooks are on both sides of the bowl, which latch onto corresponding hooks at the base of the spring. When pushed all the way to the base, the hooks are attached, the ammunition inserted, and then a crank on the side turns a series of gears that after a short delay will pull back on the hooks, releasing them, and the Fire.
In the echoes of goblin terror, loud as it was, the clear sound of Gregory Mahgallian, the town priest, was heard. "Quick, to the Gully! I have buckets; we have to put out these fires! Come, come, Quickly!" he ushered. The gully was located on the Northeastern side of the village, and was usually dry. However, at springtime (of which was the current interval) it filled quite resoundly, and was of course, on this particular eve, exceedingly useful in the quenching of the conflagrations which ravaged the town so.
The heavy iron pails were not lightened by the gallons of muddy water, but they did the job. Hurried masses hoping to retain some of their abode quickly dumped bucket-full after bucket-full onto their smoldering cottages. In a matter of minutes, roughly ten or about thereof, the village was saved. Many possessions were either ruined, or stolen, but for the most part, the night was saved. It was not a night for celebration, for it was most certainly a melancholy occasion. However, there was a quiet sense of relief that it had not been worse, and that the Goblins and their vicious Ogre had been driven off.
On the matter of the Ogre, it's corpse still lay dead in one villager's shanty, and though it was quite the mess, Toron was fervently thanked for his assistance in the battle. "If not for your valiant efforts, all certainly would have been lost," was one of the townsfolk's favorites. Still, amidst it all, something was still very, very wrong.
Quite rapidly the explanation reached Toron. Mrs. Vanessa Bulachier had found something missing. Unfortunetly, it was not jewelry, fancy clothes, or even decorative furniture (Of all of these she had very little, as did most of the villagers). Instead, a terrible and cruel act of fate, Vanessa searched and searched, but could not, for the life of her, find her son Baltim.
He threw on a cloak and boots, grabbed his sword and shield and quickly exited his burning house. Whoever's fault this was should run far, far away, because Toron's books were in danger, and though they weren't the most intellectual books, Toron loved them. One by the name of Bantura's Golden Fields especially grasped his attention; endless deserts of sand and wind, dark dungeons filled with spiders, rats, and things far worse, and even the misty overgrowth of hot Jungles all hungered for his perusal again. If this assailant had managed to take that away, Toron had a special surprise for him.
Having studied swordplay since he was a child, and having had to defend himself with it since his adolescent years, Toron was quite the artisan. Still, he always dreaded the day when he would have to fight for an army, for it may happen due to the unfortunate drafts of the Kingdom of Bantura, of which he was a citizen. This current night reminded him of what he had dreaded: random, deadly attacks against bases; enemies who show no fear and pluck yours straight from your breast to strike against you; the possible massacre of innocents. Though he was not brilliant, he was smart enough to despise anyone who would willingly endanger innocents.
The thatch-roofed cottages nearby burned with such intensity that the night sky lit up; all celestial bodies vanished from view, as if to say that this kind of battle was despicable. Toron had to agree. Who would attack a humble village like this?
He got his answer shortly. Small, stubby, but nonetheless ruthless creatures emerged from the smoke. Green skin of varying degrees gave them away - Goblins, each carrying sharp daggers in one hand, and smoldering torches in the offhand ran out with terror from the creature they had unknowingly angered.
The Ogre, a good 10 feet tall, stumbled out from his burst cage, hungry and vexed. With a large club, possibly the trunk of a small tree, in his hands, he proceeded to demolish first a Goblin Fire-thrower (the cause of both the explosions and the fire), and then a helpless cottage. Meanwhile, the goblins ran inside houses and stole valuables from the panic stricken villagers.
The Goblins were certainly dangerous, but they were not the real problem. If that Ogre was not dealt with he could lay waste to the entire village in an hour. Quickly scanning the area, Toron saw no one else in arms. Even though he lacked Armor, it was clear what needed to be done.
"Hey fatty! Stupid! I'm talking to you!" Nothing seemed to work. The Ogre kept bashing at cottages, their burning framework falling to the ground. Noticing a searing goblin shiv on the ground, Toron formulated a plan. He picked up the shiv, slightly burning his hands, and ran headfirst at the crazed brute.
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Little thing stab Grog! GROG SMASH!" Bellowed the Ogre. The shiv had gone far inbetween two of the Ogre's ribs. His first task was complete, Toron had the Ogre's attention. Thinking about it then, that may not have been the best thing.
Just then the Ogre's large club came hurdling down at Toron. A quick movement of his shield, a large, bulky iron tower shield, stopped the Club from breaking his head in twain, but not much else. The blow nearly knocked Toron on his back, and snapped his shield in two. The next attack followed quickly, and Toron barely rolled to avoid it.
Standing up, Toron gripped his Sword tightly with both hands. Dodging a third attack with an agile sidestep, he charged at the Ogre. Dropping to the ground, he brought his sword down on the Ogre's left foot. As the blood poured forth, the Ogre let loose a blood-curdling cry of pain. His mind blinded with rage, the Ogre slammed his Club down on Toron, who barely moved out of the way in time. Now spinning on his heels, Toron ran for the nearby forest. The ogre, still berserk, attempted to charge after him, but quickly stumbled on his wounded foot, and fell into a burning cottage.
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" The flames quickly spread across his giant body, searing his flesh, boiling and popping all over his body. At this Toron ran back at him, and before the Ogre could stand, he impaled his sword straight through the Ogre's head.
Immediately, the Ogre stopped screaming. The goblins, being relatively smart creatures, all knew what this meant. Picking up what they could, they all ran screaming back into the Forest, leaving their Fire-throwers behind them, standing still against the billowing flames. The Wooden Frames resembled catapults, but had metal coating all around the top. The most distinguishing quality, by far, was that instead of a rope, Fire-throwers had the distinctive quality of being spring operated; when throwing burning pitch and tar, it was far too dangerous to use flammable mechanisms. Small, but strong, iron hooks are on both sides of the bowl, which latch onto corresponding hooks at the base of the spring. When pushed all the way to the base, the hooks are attached, the ammunition inserted, and then a crank on the side turns a series of gears that after a short delay will pull back on the hooks, releasing them, and the Fire.
In the echoes of goblin terror, loud as it was, the clear sound of Gregory Mahgallian, the town priest, was heard. "Quick, to the Gully! I have buckets; we have to put out these fires! Come, come, Quickly!" he ushered. The gully was located on the Northeastern side of the village, and was usually dry. However, at springtime (of which was the current interval) it filled quite resoundly, and was of course, on this particular eve, exceedingly useful in the quenching of the conflagrations which ravaged the town so.
The heavy iron pails were not lightened by the gallons of muddy water, but they did the job. Hurried masses hoping to retain some of their abode quickly dumped bucket-full after bucket-full onto their smoldering cottages. In a matter of minutes, roughly ten or about thereof, the village was saved. Many possessions were either ruined, or stolen, but for the most part, the night was saved. It was not a night for celebration, for it was most certainly a melancholy occasion. However, there was a quiet sense of relief that it had not been worse, and that the Goblins and their vicious Ogre had been driven off.
On the matter of the Ogre, it's corpse still lay dead in one villager's shanty, and though it was quite the mess, Toron was fervently thanked for his assistance in the battle. "If not for your valiant efforts, all certainly would have been lost," was one of the townsfolk's favorites. Still, amidst it all, something was still very, very wrong.
Quite rapidly the explanation reached Toron. Mrs. Vanessa Bulachier had found something missing. Unfortunetly, it was not jewelry, fancy clothes, or even decorative furniture (Of all of these she had very little, as did most of the villagers). Instead, a terrible and cruel act of fate, Vanessa searched and searched, but could not, for the life of her, find her son Baltim.
- End of Chapter One -
