A thick layer of clouds rolled across the grasslands, casting an eerie gloom over the plains. Although close to midday, even the sun found itself swallowed, leaving the fields in shadowed darkness. An icy wind blew across the land, whipping through the tall grasses causing a faint whistling sound. Somewhere, on the edge of the plains, stood Threnody. Her face was shrouded in darkness though a twisted smile played on her lips. Her arms crossed at her front as she surveyed the open area, eyes flashing with thoughts of destruction and death. Her hair was loose, the wind playing with it as whipped about behind her.

There was a silent inhale before the piercing whistle broke through the wind’s howling to echo across the grasslands. Threnody’s fingers moved from her lips as she heard the distant rumble of many approaching beings. The three adult alloy dragons were the first visible on the horizon, each one massive and terrifying. Their eyes watched their surroundings as they lumbered on foot towards the goddess. Flanking them was a series of chimeras, each of their three heads looking in different directions. A chorus of roars boomed across the field as they grew closure to Threnody. Racing past both the dragons and chimeras, sprinted the balance beasts. Huge canine like bodies moved in practiced fluid like motions. Five packs of them took the lead, racing towards the goddess and their instruction. Creatures flew above the massive herd, feathers and scales catching the little light that the clouds did not swallow. Finally, lumbering at the rear of the train, came the giant stink bugs, both horrendous in smell and near impenetrable to physical attacks. Her animalistic army was complete.

As they gathered around her, she spoke, her voice dark and booming. “My friends, you have come with loyalty unmet by any other. You and I will wreck havoc upon these selfish cads and remind them of the terrors of the Goddess Threnody and her devout followers. Feast of flesh and dream torturous dreams. Flood the streets with blood and slake your hunger with their woeful bones! Show them what terror is!”

There was a series of roars as Threnody sprouted wings and took flight. Her army below thundered off into every direction, eyes red with the lust for revenge. “There will be blood.”

[OOC:: For those wishing to join this topic, be prepared. You will have a lot on your hands and some magic and skills may not function as they normally would. Threnody’s army is headed in all directions so you may describe your surroundings however you’d like. I will post the actions of the army members if you decide to take one on. They should be treated as PCs. You cannot kill them without my permission and you cannot powerplay. If you have any questions please direct them to the rp planning topic.]

Predators eat their prey and move on. They don't mope around sorrowfully or try and comfort the family of their victims. This fact made the sight of the wolf warrior in the Sequeldor grasslands extremely odd and slightly amusing; there stood Quess, not proudly upright but crouching down among the flowery fields, trying to coax a small rabbit, terrified out of it's mind, out of a hole so she could give it a carrot. As if a carrot would make up for the poor creature's siblings. But still, ridiculous as it was, Quess had spent quite a while tracking the scent closest to that of her prey, and was not going to walk away un-emptyhanded.

"Please accept it, Rabbit. I am so very sorry of what I have done. BUt it is my nature...and it appears I am inadequate as to the task of fighting it."

But when the piercing whistle seared into her ears, Quess dropped the carrot abruptly, to cover her ears and check if her brain were still intact, which she doubted. What was that? Cries like that were clearly supernatural in origin. As the lithe young Lupine stood up, she felt a slight rumbling in the earth. Not an earthquake exactly...Bu as if many beings were converging in one spot. Quess, unable to contain her curiosity (Who could ignore such a loud scream?) decided to head for the source of the noise. Whoever these creatures were, they would not harm anyone. Quess would see to it.

Hopefully it was just...Freak winds and quakes. But just in case, Quess withdrew her dagger.

The angel knew what was coming. He stood there, fists clenched and eyes planted on the horizon as he waited for the first sign of movement. A war was coming; the army of a goddess who wanted to see the fear of people as her army trampled cities and killed innocents. Rye would be one of the first to see this army arrive and he swore he'd be there when it was destroyed. The lightbringer knew he couldn't destroy it single-handedly but he couldn't watch as it spilt the blood of his fellow compatriots.

Rye didn't move, his wings detracted and his skin shiny with sweat. He wore a grey robe that covered his body, silver hair tied in a knot and sword sheathed at his side. This would be the first time he would use his sword, the weapon bought from an armourer in Ondoland. It was cheap and badly made, but Rye made sure it was sharpened and ready to kill. He stood there for what seemed like minutes, his eyes planted on the horizon. Clouds had gathered, blocking out the sun as an icy wind blew through the land. It was the weather of death, for the sun hid away not wanting to see what was about to be played out.

His muscles tensed as he heard a loud whistle, immediately realising that no mortal could have made that noise. The goddess of balance was ready to kill, ready to spill blood of the people of Arda without remorse. The thunder of creatures running on the hard earth vibrated through Ryes body, but he was un-effected and continued to stare. Once he saw the small dots of the army appear on the horizon, he drew his blade and screamed for his people.

"AAARRRDDDAAAAAAAAA!"

Rye spread his wings and took flight, his face twisted with determination and adrenaline. He hovered in the air for a second, flapping his wings twice and soaking in the atmosphere.

Wish me well against this adversary, amen.

Thunder boomed overhead as the angel charge through the sky towards the unknown enemy. He didn't care about his own life for he was but one angel who had lived too long. It was everyone else he cared about, the citizens of Arda who weren't prepared to give there lives to an angry deity. Most of them had done nothing wrong, living there lives in good will and happiness. The image of a dragon eating a baby was stuck in ryes head and it would take everything he had to stop that dragon.

The good angel streaked through the air like lightning, flapping his wings at a speed that he had never achieved before. Tiredness did not worry him as he gradually moved closer to his enemies for all that was on his mind was that baby he was meant to save. The dots on the horizon began to take shape. The first thing he could make out were the dragons and after that the chimeras. As he came closer he saw the balance beasts sprinting towards him, hungry for blood. The tip of his blade glinted as sunlight broke through the clouds. His skin warmed and his blood boiled with happiness. He prayed one last time, the enemy almost upon him.

Send help Lothlomendil, I can't do this alone.

The sunlight disappeared and the icy wind came upon him once more. He could hear the roars of the dragons and the howls of the balance beasts as they saw him in the air. Blood would be spilt today, yet whose blood was still to be decided.

There was a silence before the ruckus, a calm preceeding the calamity. A day that was fair, the sun dipping into the horizion and rising upwards, the fierce heat rays smothering the Uruk's hindside, cloak offering little protection against the monster heat. Flies buzzed about in an irritant manner, swarms of black that bit the Uruk's tough flesh, possessed to some solitary will to feed until their pitiful life-span was ended. All was well, however, the Uruk trudged along the thickets of lush grass without much complaint, he was going to make it to his destination on time.

Throughout the years, ever since Erokor's silent epiphany, he paid homage to the Shrine of Raku, his creator, his one true father. His journeys ventured to and fro from the Chaotic lands to those of Darkness, and what stood between them were a number of lands that stretched for endless miles. The Salquedor Grasslands were no exception. Even looking upon the flat surfce the horizon showed sky and an ever expanding green, a hopeless place really, and an unfavorable route the Uruk chose. It played second fiddle to the stretches of the desert, that much was true, and the game here was plentiful, but the cons outweighed the pros, and if this journey weren't tedious enough, an event that sucked Erokor in would begin soon after, a very much unwanted occurance.

The Orc's clawed feet teared through the patches of grass like razors, his march hastened as clouds gathered above. They gathered, magnificent in their darkness, but a siren for those who lusted over such scenes. It was the coming of a great storm, that much was realized and all that Erokor had percieved. He attempted to sprint, but found his efforts futile. As if a god had willed it, the clouds spread over the grasslands much more rapidly than any mortal could run. The black chariot soared through the skies, dropping its bane upon the plains with little remorse.

But the rain did not come, no, an odd occurance happened just then that caused Erokor to arch a brow. His hood was held in hand, ready to throw it over his head in case the liquid sought to fall recklessly. Instead, the earth shuddered and moaned, the sun was blocked from view and it became very cold. An unnatural wind picked up, cold as ice, and strummed the grasses to sing a depressing serenade. The Uruk was still confused, but gave no second thoughts about it, instead drawing the hood about his head and continuing on.

It stung his face, that air did. It whipped about him and cut his skin, causing it to harden and crack with only the tiniest movements of the face. His nose curled inwards, stretching his features and causing them to crinkle and pop as if one had thrown a dry paper into a fire. Rashes were upon his face and he sighed in disbelief.

"What damnable weather. . . I wonder what pissed the god's off this time."

Needless to say the statement was not to be taken literally and yet Erokor had apparently hit the nail on the head. As if by queue, a piercing screech vibrated against the beast's eardrums that caused him to fall on his knees. It was otherworldly, celestial, divine. Eyes were shut tight for a moment of doubt before being opened again. Realization soon flooded Erokor. From all sides, beasts of high caliber lethal potence flew about the land and strode with great purpose. They approached Erokor on all sides and he cursed to himself. There was little he could do to stop them, so he ran forth. There was but a small open vein to the Northeast not yet filled by creatures that marched. He would take this path, yes, and hopefully escape whatever the hell was happening.

An hour. A whole blessed hour. It had been just enough time to walk back to the city, be allowed back within the walls and find the Wilwarin Inn. There, he had rented a room and been in the process of cleaning himself up in one of the basins that could be rented for a few extra gold coins, and it had suddenly hit him. Where were they meeting?? Nathaniel didn't even get a chance to grab a sip of something to drink, instead quickly drying off and getting dressed again. A wound marred his muscular stomach before being hidden behind a loose shirt. Pants and short boot hybrids followed, and finally his sword. On a fleeting consideration he also pulled on a new vest and his plated armor. On top of that a short black coat that reached below his waist to his midthigh was shrugged on, one of black hue and a red inside. It made an interesting sight with the lapels folded back.

Nathaniel didn't look bad, all things considered. In fact, it was hard to believe that only an hour ago he'd been fighting a werewolf. The female warrior had been strong, and was the culprit the triad of slashes on his stomach. Thankfully she had backed down, or he'd be in poor health right now. Rather than tear out each other's throats, she had even offered a more interesting way of proving the superior. A challenge. He had to kill a molboro to prove that humans were superior to werewolves. It was a daunting task to be sure, but like the arrogant beast he could be he was fast to accept such a challenge. Anything else would be a direct blow to his ego.

So why was he rushing back to the Salquedor Grasslands? His apointment was not until the full moon of the following week, days ahead and many mugs of mead away. However, in his desire to get cleaned off and have something to drink he had been lax to fully think through the challenge. Which meant he had absolutely no idea where they were supposed to be meeting. All he knew was that she was going to show him where to find the beasts so that he may slay one, and to navigate the forest at night without a guide was suicide.

With no horse and sore muscles he ran as quickly as he could, the slowly approaching sight of fields and scantly placed trees meeting his eyes. It was already dark though, and he wasn't thinking things through enough to note how wrong that was. Instead he continued, assuming it was later than he'd realized and looking about for any sign of white fur. "Quess!" Nathaniel tried, deliberating only momentarily whether he should merely call out a derogatory name and prove her the fool when she answered. The chances of her ignoring him were too much of a risk, though.

"QUE-aghh!!" He fell into a crouch, covering his ears when a loud whistling noise sounded. Even after it stopped he heard the ringing in his head, and futiley closed his eyes as if it might stop the noise. Then, a cascade of thunder befell the ground, embodied in the form of rumbling creatures. Nathaniel rose slowly and with a great uncertainty, withdrawing his blade with its customary shiiiiinnnnk!. He was glad to see that it had not shattered under the force of the noise, and he swayed for but a moment as his senses kicked back online.

The wolf could wait. In fact, it was likely long gone by now. He needed to see what was going on, what that inhuman noise had been. Nathaniel felt the chilled wind tussle his hair and press against his face, and moved carefully through the grasslands. He stopped dead when a series of roars went up, and creatures could be seen coming into view. Was that a stampede of some sort?? Nathaniel was terribly baffled, but tightened his hold on his sword just in case. Carefully he moved towards where the animals seemed to originate from, while trying to avoid getting in their path. Whatever had set the blasted things off to begin with? And where had this wind picked up from??

Nathaniel expected nothing less than answers, and his determined expression spoke of such things clearly.

With little to do since the success of the Lich slaying Wurzag had quickly become bored with city life. The odd distraction of a massive bar brawl or a tournament were all well and good but in his heart the half-orc couldn't help but feel that something important was missing. His sleep was still troubled by obscure dreams that he could neither ignore nor recall and each morning he rose bleary eyed to the same vague sense of loss, as though his purpose lurked right beneath his nose but he lacked the vision to see it. This morning had followed what was starting to become a regular pattern; Wurzag got up, ate and then took to roaming the streets in search of his elusive objective. On this day however his directionless wandering had carried him beyond the city limits and into the surrounding grasslands.

Late morning found him perched on the gentle crest of a low hill looking out over the undulating plains. Slate gray clouds scudded overhead in a murky pall that promised rain and dimmed the sunlight to a faded, brackish brown. A chill wind played across the tall grass with a susurration that gnawed at the senses and set Wurzag's crimson cloak fluttering about his shoulders. He pulled the fabric about him and glared sullenly at the threat-laden sky as if daring the impending deluge to touch him.

"Fuggin stoopid weather," he muttered in annoyance, "should keep its fuggin water to itself." The skies answered him with an obliging rumble of thunder that growled its way across the heavens and echoed through the shallow valleys. "Yeah, yeah," the half-orc sneered back, "bring it on."

The sonic barrage that assaulted his petulant reply was quite unexpected. A piercing whistle ripped across the grasslands with such intensity that the green-skin was forced to plug his ears though it afforded little protection. It was followed by a rumble in the earth that slowly grew in intensity until the ground shook with the rhythmic pulse of footfalls. Head ringing from the cacophony, Wurzag gazed about in search of the source of the disturbance. At first all seemed well; the wind driven clouds continued their course and the grass continued to thrash in time with the rising wind though the hills continued to thrum with vibrations. Slowly however a cloud blacker than those above began to resolve itself against the horizon. It was moving fast and appeared to be composed many smaller particles and, to Wurzag's eyes, was wholly unnatural. Normal clouds did not move against the wind.

As the pack drew closer it was joined from beneath by another which rose into the air from somewhere amidst the plains and Wurzag felt, rather than saw the wave of indignant ire which rolled from the figure. He gulped, mouth suddenly dry and all thoughts of personal objective forgotten as the forms of the leading balance beasts hove into view. They were numerous, angry and moving very fast.

And more than a few of them were heading toward him.

For a moment he was torn between the need to flee and alert Taryn to the approaching menace and the desire to charge headlong in to the fray. The contradictory impulses made his head hurt. The young man's family lived in the grasslands and they would be defenceless against the monstrous horde.

'By the time you get back to Lomedor, tell Taryn what's going on and return it will be too late, there will be nothing left but ruins and dust.' An insidious voice whispered from within his psyche.

"Dis ain't gud," the half-orc muttered as the mob approached, "dis really, really ain't gud." He agonised over the decision for a few moments more before coming up with a solution. "FROAT!" He bawled over the rising wind and instantly the lupine appeared. "Froat," Wurzag gasped to the familiar, "go gets Taryn, tell 'im to get 'is arse over 'ere now or we all in big trouble!" The creature made no gesture of acknowledgment, merely dashed away on all fours as fast as its limbs would carry it. "Make it quick an all," the green-skin mumbled at the retreating figure before returning his attention to the army.

The first of the dragons crested a distant hill, its colossal head swinging left and right in search of prey and Wurzag's heart sank. "Oh ... bugger," he sighed and pulled what felt like an extremely inadequate sword from its scabbard. Then he squared his shoulders and waited for the inevitable.

Unlike Wurzag, Taryn had remained in the city. Over the years, he'd become accustomed to city life and following a brief stay at the farmhouse with his family, getting to know his new nephew and working out the relationship with his father, had returned.

He'd remained at the Wilwarin until he'd been able to sort himself out some lodgings within the grounds of the mage college. Given that they had well and truly set him up with regards to the whole lich situation, he had - very reasonably, he'd felt - argued that they owed him that much.

It'd not taken a lot to convince them. A few well-chosen words and the gleam of fire in the young mage's eyes and he'd been given quarters in the teaching area of the college. It was a fine room, with fine furnishings and a great deal of comfort.

And it cost him nothing.

In return, Taryn was spending some of his time working on translating some of the ancient texts and scribing them out. He was spending the rest of his time as he'd always spent it: in that odd sort of twilight world that existed when you went out and drank too much every night. He regularly slept elsewhere, rarely alone and life pretty much resumed a natural course.

He'd settled into the lifestyle easily enough, making period pilgrimages to the temples of those to whom he felt he'd owed his success: the goddesses of balance, life and of course the Guardian of Fire, with whom Taryn felt he was starting to develop a particularly good understanding.

Everything had been peaceful for weeks. Even the college was lazy and indolent as ever, students finding new and interesting ways to avoid doing their work, teachers finding time-tested ways of making them anyway. Taryn moved through their world with gentle amusement, occasionally joining in drinking games in the city with the students and even putting in an occasional appearance in the staff dining hall, where he was invariably made surprisingly welcome and where he actually succeeded in surprising his elders with his sparkling conversation and charm.

In short, everything was ticking along just nicely.

So when Wurzag's lupine familiar had come bounding through the college gates and run directly through several corridors and up four flights of stairs, sending students and teachers scattering in its wake, he realised that the peaceful days were about to come to an abrupt end.

"Froat?"

Taryn, who had been working in his room and generally minding his own business had come out to see what the uproar was all about, only to be confronted by the by-now familiar creature.

He looked at it.

It looked at him.

And it was about here that the flaw displayed itself.

Froat could not communicate in any sort of verbal sense with Taryn and he was not attuned to its particular brand of psychic ability.

They looked at each other some more, then Taryn rubbed his nose. All the while around him, his colleagues and the students stood, watching. A small grin flickered over Taryn's face.

"I'm going to guess," said the young mage slowly, "that you're here for a reason."

Blink.

"Wurzag sent you to find me?"

Blink.

"Is he in trouble?"

Blink. Then, a pause and blink blink.

Taryn caught on swiftly.

"He's not? OK, then am I in trouble?"

Blink blink.

"OK, now that's pretty confusing. Does he just want to catch up? You know, for old times sake, no don't bother with the blinking, that's a pretty stupid question. Alright, now what could possibly have got Wurzag into such a position that he thought it important to send you for me...hmmm."

The familiar managed to look frustrated as it turned away and began to trot back down the stairs.

"Hang on, hang on!" Taryn took a few steps after it. "You want me to follow you?"

Blink.

"Is there going to be ... " Taryn sighed, inwardly. "...fighting involved?"

A long, long pause, then blink, and Froat began trotting off down the stairs again.

Taryn swore loudly, then turned and darted back into his bedroom. When he came out a few short minutes later, the leather body armour that he'd purchased for the lich hunt was slung across his back but not buckled, he had grabbed a back pack and he had grabbed the mace.

As he sprinted down the stairs after the familiar, he yelled back up to the staring assembly of teachers:-

"Don't wait up!"

The poor, frustrated familiar had practically burst itself with impatience whilst Taryn had saddled one of the college horses, but in due course he was ready to go and in short order was galloping like a madman out of the city gates and in hot pursuit of the familiar.

Some hours later, the horse foaming at the mouth from the exertion, he realised, as he entered the Grasslands, exactly what it was that had put Wurzag in such a position that he thought it important to send for Taryn.

The sky was unnatural, the weather was unnatural - the whole lot send a shiver of anxiety down Taryn's spine and he reined the horse in and tried to get a sense of what was going on.

No matter what he tried, everything came up black.

Grimly, he spurred the now resentful horse onwards until Froat led him to Wurzag.

The figure moved silently, slowly, threateningly close to the approaching wave of monsters. A Chimera spotted him, alone in its new quest to destroy the figure. The figure was, of course, Drake. His cloak danced lightly in the winds, flapping around him. His two swords in his hands, his B.A.D.I. uniform dirty and torn underneath his cloak, his eyes glinting golden within the darkness of his hood; he was ready to destroy.

The sword in his right was a simple, straight, deadly katana. A sword used by the samurai of his homeland, quick and sharp, wavering slightly with his walk. In the left hand, his off hand, an ornate and beautiful katana, shorter and more worn than the other, a symbol of his past. It was necessary for this fight, even though he did not use both at once. He walked quicker now, more adamant about facing the beast racing towards him.

Its eyes glowed, its teeth were bared, it snarled ferociously and picked up into a dashing pace, intent on killing its opponent. And that was just Drake. The beast he faced, with all three heads pointed to him intent on feasting, seemed to feel a slight twinge of fear before picking back up into a full-on run. Drake's hood flew back, his jet-black hair falling down past his chin, whipping backwards behind him with the force of his run. He reached an abnormal speed, even for a B.A.D.I. fighter, and leaped into the air with enough force that it rocketed him almost twenty feet up. His first strike was with his left.

At the top of his leap, he used a backhand throw to spin the ornate katana towards the chimera below him. It flew at intense speeds, but the distance (and the fact that he was fighting something with three heads) gave the beast time to react. Whether it would or not, however, depended on its intellect. He gripped the samurai sword on his way down with both hands, coming crashing down onto his prey at a frightening speed.