The Falcon's Flight

[valenator]

There wasn't much to consider; there wasn't anything there for me. My family was dead, and I'd never been much for making friends. What was keeping me around? Nothing. That's why I left. The City of Splendors wasn't so splendorous anymore. Sixteen years seemed like an eternity, then, but five years later...not so much. I'm a different person, now. Better? Doubtful. But different, at least.

He closed his journal, tucking his quill between the pages and stowing it in his satchel - an old, weathered thing with a tarnished, broken buckle. Following it was the small vial of ink. He exhaled...a long, labored sigh, and pushed himself to his feet. He stood under a tree on a small bluff; an errant tree, with no others around. It bloomed in totality, its vibrant foliage offering welcomed shelter from the unforgiving brilliance of the noon sun. At his right his companion stood, erect and silent despite the light and life surrounding it. He allowed himself a thin, half-smile as he reached for his lone friend, his calloused hand firmly grasping the leather-bound handle and relieving it of its earthen sheath. He turned it over once, then reached high above himself, easily bringing it to rest in the halfscabbard adorning his back. Again, he exhaled.

He jerked his head to the side, sending his raven locks from his eyes and revealing his piercing, ice-blue gaze to the clarity of the cloudless sky. He bent down and scooped up his satchel, looping its single strap over his head and trailing across his torso, down to his hip. He stepped into the unhindered sun's illumination, measuredly making his way to the old, worn road teasing the horizon while his old, worn mail groaned just slightly in protest. His satchel followed quietly, bouncing alongside his thigh.

[valenator]

The forest was silent. The forest was never silent.

Valens' booted footsteps echoed off the small bridge that linked the fringe of the forest with the Meet. No gnolls rushed to meet him, no unpracticed arrows sailed overhead as he made his measured way back to the encampment. His icy gaze slowly panned over the heights of the trees. His booted feet now softly padded along the vibrant grass of the forest floor. His gaze remained skyward.

His next step slid. The mail-clad, raven-haired warrior paused, turning his cool stare downward to the green blades and fallen leaves. Blood, and just to the side, a slain gnoll. A few feet beyond it, another slain gnoll, then another. They continued to a part of the forest Valens had never been to, the bodies. Valens followed the trail of corpses, across a different small bridge that led to a high rise in the land. Valens' booted footsteps echoed, and he heard it: clashing blades, shouting. Valens whipped his greatsword from the scabbard at his back as he snapped his gaze to the top of the elevation. Three slight forms melee'd in the night's horizon, two assaulting one in a deadly dance of steel and crimson.

Valens narrowed his eyes, piercing the darkness with his icy glare as one retreated from the melee, chanting strange words and waving intricate patterns with its arms. A flash of light luminated the three for just a moment as the one completed its spell...

An elf.
And drow.

The mail clad warrior sprinted up the rise; the elf woman collapsed near the end of his ascent, and he skidded to a halt as he brought his sword to bear, not considering, not caring that the odds were stacked against him. One drow stooped over her, driving a dagger into her chest as he snapped a pendant from her neck.

And he took not another step. A frost giant loomed over the drow, laughing a booming baritone that shook leaves from the ancient trees of the forest and echoed throughout the varied hills. Valens dove off the the edge of the rise, falling the ten feet and landing in a crouch. The groaning protest of his mail would have given him away, for certain, were the giant's laugh still not dominating the woods. Dialogue...

Thunderous footsteps shook the ground. Melee...

Valens rushed back up the rise, both hands locked on his swordhilt as his blade trailed behind him. The drow were locked in combat with some grotesque abomination, the giant's laugh still blasting the ears of all within the woods. One of the drow stood over the slain elf, but for not much longer.
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The drow whirled, guiding the beast's maw over his head with his shield as he reversed his grip on his blade, preparing to reverse his spin and drive his steel into the face of the hulking...thing. He hesitated as the sprinting form of a human, in full armor, bore down on him, his massive blade screaming for the drow's torso with preternatural quickness. The drow rolled backward, the huge length of steel parting the air just above him with a deep hiss as he came back to his feet, perfectly balanced as he readied his arms. The drow rushed forward with a quickness worthy of his race, feinting a strike that would surely leave this human exposed; and easy kill. The human snapped his blade in a quick circle, expertly parrying the maneuver, and with such force that the drow had to turn a complete circle to maintain his grip on his blade. And there was that maw again...
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The drow whirled, managing to keep his grip on his blade, but the monstrosity was on him again. Valens quickly sheathed his sword, bending down to scoop up the fallen elf as the drow were, for the moment, inattentive to him. He rushed down the rise, the elf over his shoulder, and he darted around the rock cropping, laying the elf to the cool embrace of the forest floor as he rifled through her things. He found it, the scroll he needed.

"Slain by dhaerow, Earthmother. Return her," the warrior's cool, firm voice issued a short prayer. A white light enveloped, and the elf woman's eyes snapped open, a throaty gasp escaping her throat as she regained life. The mailed, human warrior quickly poulticed her wounds, the magic of the balm sealing her many cuts and gashes. She stared bewildered at him as he held a finger to his lips, his icy, uncompromising glare warning her against speech. The melee above them had ended. Dialogue...
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A deep, resonating horn pierced the glade, and thunderous steps carried yet another giant to the rise. Another melee...the drow and the giant...
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The drow stood over the giant, exhausted and bloodied as the first giant bellowed his approval. Another clarion horn call filled the air, and the giant...no, giants, now...moved down the rise, marching into the forest and laying siege to its monstrous residents. Valens and the elf - Maia was her name - pressed themselves flat against the rocks as the giants thundered by, not twenty yards away. The human warrior heard his pulse pounding between his ears.

The thunder of his anxiety gave way to the feint, bludgeoning march of the giants. He met Maia's gaze. They each nodded. The human warrior leaned off the rocky wall, deliberately striding up the rise to confront the drow. Maia followed suit, falling into step.
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She faltered, clutching her chest as dizziness and nausea consumed her. The elf woman fell to her knees at the bottom of the final rise, reaching toward the still striding warrior and trying to call out to him, but no breath would come. She'd been dead, and now she wasn't; it was too much, her body wasn't ready for another fight. What if she failed, was slain again? She looked on in silent desperation as Valens, the warrior and stranger, confronted the drow in errantry.
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[valenator]

"Dhaerow."

The drow turned at the elven pronunciation, having just licked their wounds. A human warrior. The same that had interrupted their first fight. They conversed in their dark tongue, the foreign syllables betraying nothing to the rivvil.

"The common tongue, dark ones. You took a pendant from the elf. You will return it, or you will die," the warrior's steely gaze unblinkingly assaulted the drow. The drow glanced at each other and shared a brief laugh, brandishing their weapons as one of them spoke.

"What makes you think you have a chance here, human?"

Valens easily hefted his greatsword in a hand, turning it in a circle before resting across his shoulders, behind his head. "You two were just bloodied and beaten by a giant, and I assure you, my arm is far from tired. You will return the pendant, and I will allow you to live." The warrior's ice-blue eyes narrowed, piercing the drow with a cold, promising glare. One nervously looked to the other, who was unfazed by the confidence of the brash human.

"There are two of us, human. You can not hope to win." The drow stalked forward, one nervously clutching his weapon before him and trailing just behind the other, who bore the cool, confident smirk of a great cat stalking his prey.

"Yeah," the human's cold stare melted into a wry, dangerous half-grin, "there're two of you."
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Valens rushed forward, bringing his sword in a wide arc that halted the drow's advancement. He weaved his head to the side as a slender blade thrust through where it had been, and he turned a quick circle, burying his shoulder into the previously anxious drow and driving him back some steps. The human warrior leaped back, quickly snapping a scroll from his belt; he rapidly unfolded the parchment, uttering an arcane incantation and thrusting his arm forward toward the more confident drow. A massive, glowing, disembodied hand surged toward the dark elf, clutching him and lifting him off the ground as it slowly crushed the life out of him. Valens tossed the expended parchment to the side, bringing his sword to bear in time to parry the seeking blade of his remaining foe.
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The ring of steel on steel rapidly echoed into the forest as the drow and the human dueled atop the hill, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight darting through the forest canopy. They matched each other stroke for stroke, neither bleeding worse, neither giving ground. The other drow had long collapsed under the force of the spectral hand, but it now stirred, its breath slowing returning to its lungs as it vainly tried to push itself to its knees. Valens viciously parried the encroaching drow's blade and turned to the other, whirling his sword once over head before driving it down, through the drow's spine. It's death cry was little more than a whisper as Valens withdrew his sword, blood and earth flung to the side as he turned to reengage the other. Sparks lit the night sky as their blades clashed again, each gritting their teeth in the subjugation of pain and the embrace of rage and hatred.
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Fatigue began to set in; their strokes were coming more laboriously now, their once quicksilvered fight muddying as their breath came harder. The dark elf clumsily thrust forward; a slow, awkward attempt that likely couldn't have pierced armor. The human warrior, envigorated by the lapse in his enemy's form, spun to the side, bringing his blade across in a brutal, fatal stroke...

...had the drow still been there.

The drow had already tumbled backward, his hand digging into the earth and uprooting a mass of loose dirt and dust. The warrior quick stepped forward, bringing his sword to bear.

The drow smiled.

Valens was met with a mist of dust and dirt. His eyes teared and burned; he could see nothing before him. He staggered back, weaving his sword in a rudimentary defensive arc as he blinked away the blindness. The drow stood some yards away, his weaponry stowed and his arms folded over his chest; he wore a wicked grin and jerked his chin toward the sky.

Valens looked up. He could only stand as his icy gaze took in a massive, flaming boulder bearing down on him with a terrible haste. Intense heat blasted him, and he felt his chest give way as the massive rock slammed in to him. His world darkened.
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The drow exhaled a long, heavy sigh as the human lay flat on his back, motionless. The warrior's armor was literally falling apart, charred to brittleness and dented beyond repair. He tossed the expended scroll to the side and moved to his fallen comrade. His limbs were mangled, likely from the crushing force of the spectral hand, and a single, long gash in his back gave a view of the ground beneath him. The drow sighed again, picking up his slain ally and waving his hand as a globe of impenetrable darkness consumed him, and he was gone from sight.
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She slowly crept up the rise to the human's still form; she could breathe now. He'd given a valiant effort, but he'd fallen short. She fished another scroll out of her pack, muttering the divine words quietly. The warrior immediately wretched, turning on his side and throwing up a small measure of blood. The elf lifted him slightly, cradling him in her arms as he breathed heavy gasps of pain and anguish. He kept his eyes squeezed shut as she slowly tended his wounds. Some time past, and he passed out from the fierce pain wracking his body. She managed to drag him to his feet and put him over her own shoulder, his weight much more manageable now that half his armor had disintegrated. She slowly trudged toward the encampment, still less her pendant.
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The unconscious warrior lay still in the camp, never considering, never caring that the odds had been stacked against him.

[InquisitorFury]

((awesome post!!!))

[TheFarsight]

((Yes awesome man! Sept for me being killed by a bigby spell =P

[valenator]

The dawn's sun slowly crested the horizon, shedding its soft, cool light over the wood and sending long, silent shadows scattering across the forest floor. A gentle breeze rustled the grass that yet glistened with the morning's dew as fallen leaves turned small circles in the air, unable to find rest beneath Viridale's great canopy. Valens found himself crouched under a great arbor, his dark, raven locks concealing his icy gaze as he sat in silence. His greatsword stretched across his back, shining with blinding brilliance as a few slender rays of sunlight pierced the canopy. Most of the gnolls and goblinkin had retreated with the night, and bird song carried along the easy wind as the day began. The solemn serenity of daybreak in the forest invited reflection. Valens closed his eyes.
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"Tell me all you know of this!" The unfamiliar elf snapped at him, brandishing his spear and gesturing in no uncertain terms.

The warrior folded his arms over his chest, and his ice-blues flicked to the point of the weapon, then quickly to the elf's glaring countenance; the cold orbs narrowed in severity.

"Speak, human! I am in no mood for games." The elf's tone was harsh and uncompromising, and he took a long stride forward; the tip of the spear hovered inches from the warrior's unmailed chest, and the crackling of the camp's fire glimmered menacingly on its polished, steel surface. The human warrior quickly took his measure; the elf had the posture of a seasoned warrior, a temper that had likely led him into many fights. Green armor. That the elf still lived was a credit to his skill. Oh, well.

The human warrior met the elf's glare with a cold, unblinking stare. "Unless you are certain upon using that spear, elf, I suggest you not wave it in my face." The leatherbound pommel of a greatsword jutted over the warrior's right shoulder, resting in ominous sentry.

The elf rapped his spear upward in two quick motions, tapping the bottom of the human's chin. The human warrior didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. "Trust that I will, human, if you don't tell me what I want to know," the elf hissed through gritted teeth. The warrior still stood motionless as a dozen booted feet stomped through the camp, intent on the forest. The elf abruptly turned from the human, falling into step with the parade that would more readily answer his question.

"Consider yourself lucky. I'll deal with you later."

The warrior's lips curled into a dangerous half-grin as the elf sprinted after the caravan.
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A dog's bark echoed off the rocky wall below him, and Valens' eyes snapped open. His cool gaze took in a pair of gnolls building a small fire, likely setting up a sanctuary for between their patrols of the Viridale wood. The warrior reached over his shoulder, wrapping his fingers around the handle of his blade as he stood above the oblivious dogmen. He narrowed his eyes, and every muscle in his body tensed as he prepared to leap amongst them...

...and he let go of his sword pommel. An airy, quiet sigh escaped his lips as the warrior stood upright. He turned from his post, quietly and purposefully striding toward the encampment as the lush, dew-ridden grass embraced his every step, bird song still carrying along the crisp, morning air.

[valenator]

Valens leaned back against the stony wall. The Church of Kelemvor loomed ominously above him, an ironic contrast with the clear morning sky. His fixed his icy gaze to the haggard iron gate, where a handful of shambling, mindless abominations feebly clawed and groaned with unholy hunger for mortal flesh and blood. The warrior felt himself losing focus, falling into his own thoughts...
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"That I cannot allow."

She was beautiful by anyone's standard. Her long, black hair shone with a soft luster and constrasted perfectly with her alabaster skin. Her eyes reflected every light cast into them with a fierce glint, and she stood so firmly, so sure of herself, so...naive.

She'd face them alone, all three of them.

Valens turned his steely gaze over the stone path. The halfling, Roth...it looked like half of a dozen of them, slain, and not a scratch on who must have been the other side. He heard his heart pounding, muffling the clash of steel, the half-orc's swearing. One of them had summoned a skeleton in full armor, brandishing a massive blade...

She fought on. The half-orc was grievously wounded, his nose obliterated by the woman's hammer, at some point, but you wouldn't know he felt any pain, the way swung his axe with such anger, such rage. She wouldn't stand much longer, losing so much blood...

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, holding a hand to it as he recovered his senses. The sound of the battle crashed in upon his ears, and his cold, arrogant eyes snapped open. He rushed forward, his greaved feet pounding the cobbled stone with haste and urgency.

And she fell.

The piercing screech of metal grating on stone echoed off the towering walls of the church as the warrior's sprint skidded to a stop, and Valens stood over the fallen woman. Just ahead of him, the half-orc kneeled, panting in a throaty, gutteral groan as his own blood continued to flow on to the smooth, stone path.
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He blinked once, the grim reality of the Necropolis regaining its hold on his senses, and he pushed himself off the wall. His booted steps echoed off the cobbled road leading away from the church, his icy gaze set firmly before him.