(roleplay by kellan Dodger, mainly starring Grathe Geg)
The Khalkar soldiers made their last preparations for battle, checking the straps of their armor as they formed up in razor-straight lines. Lord Grathe could hear the pack of Ogrocs snarling and huffing through the trees, croaking out to each other in their guttural and ancient inhuman tongue. Their prey was close. The massive and brawny Ogrocs had been the slaves of the Remnant in the ancient times, the shock infantry of their army, at least according to the legends of the First People. Grathe's ancestors had fought against them in the days when their people first conquered the Isle from the dark elves, and as Lord of Rapael he continued their tradition regularly.
Somewhere in the deep woods of Rapael the Ogrocs lived and bred, sending out their packs of raiders against the men of the Isle, and it was said that in Rapael the last of the Remnant still lived in hiding as well. Try as he might, Lord Grathe had not yet been able to locate them. A thousand years in the shadows had made them skilled in remaining unseen, it seemed; whether they still had any control over the Ogrocs and their smaller cousins, which the First People called Gobkins, was unknown.
Grathe was glad at the least to not have to face down an entire army of the creatures, and his persistent efforts in hunting down every pack of Ogrocs was to prevent just such an occurence. Even in small numbers their immense size and strength made them deadly in close combat, and with his men alone against the beasts, Grathe knew at least a few of his number would fall.
Such is the life of a warrior. One does not know when or how he will die, he can only choose how he lives. As one of the two last remaining native Lords of the First People on the Isle, it was Lord Grathe's duty and honor to defend his homeland against all threats, and his men, native sons and Khalkar steelsworn all, were prepared to fight and die in his service. There was no other life they would have chosen, no other life they could imagine. No matter who ruled the Isle, the lives of the First People remained much the same; Firstblood, Arcaean, Adgharhin or Sartanist, whoever held the throne, the First People fought on against their enemies as they had for over a millennium.
Lord Grathe only wished that Lord Kellan, his fellow native Islander and Khalkar brother, were there with his fearsome Udorians. Finding one's way through the woods of Rapael was never easy, especially at night, and it seemed Lord Kellan would miss the battle. Grathe and his men had come upon the Ogrocs by surprise, tracking them through the dusk, and the Ogrocs would not politely wait for Grathe's support to arrive. Undaunted, the Lord of Rapael ordered his swordsmen forward.
Making their way forward in disciplined form, lines breaking only to pass through the thick trees of the forest, the Sword of Khalkar closed in on their beastly quarry. The snarl and growls of the Ogrocs rose in intensity as they caught the scent of manflesh, and Grathe could hear their charge over the rustle and clank of his marching force. Suddenly he could see them among the trees, closing in, and his men braced to take their powerful charge.
The Ogrocs roared as they came on, and the Khalkar swordsmen raised their warcry in return. Suddenly a third cry was heard through the forest, and a second force flanked the monsters, appearing from the trees like wraiths. The Ogrocs barreled through Grathe's first line before noticing, and Grathe came face to face with their leader before being able to assess who had come to his aid.
The Ogroc that charged him was an alpha bull, the kind the First People called Knobheads for their immensely thick and rumpled skulls. It stood near eight feet high and was crudely armored in thick leather and bone armor, the skulls of two other Ogroc bulls adorning its shoulders. Its weapon was a colossal bone club, which it swung with deadly intent at Grathe's head, its eyes gleaming with the idiot joy of murder.
Its joy was not to last, for despite its superior size and strength, it had chosen a most deadly prey: a Lord of the First People, initiated in some of the deepest secrets of the Shadowless Sword. Grathe ducked the swing of its club with practiced grace, wheeling to deliver a counter-stroke which severed the beast's club hand at the wrist. The Knobhead howled in agony as it clutched the spurting stump where its hand had just been, and Grathe did not wait to finish it off. With a high sweep of his blade he slashed the beast's throat, opening a deep gash from which its life flowed forth in gouts of black blood. The Ogroc bull crumpled to its knees, bleeding to death in the fallen leaves of Rapael.
Grathe paused only to wipe his sword clean before turning to face his surprise reinforcements. He could make out little through the dim moonlight filtering through the trees, but their shadowy forms were enough to determine that they were no force he knew. The shape of their shields, the strange dress, and as the last of the Ogrocs was put down, he could hear them speaking to each other in an unknown tongue. His men fell in at his side reflexively, themselves unsure of these suddenly-appearing strangers. Only one was wounded, a fact for which these newcomers might be thanked, yet he did not know them.
"Ho!" He called out, "Strangers! I am Lord Grathe of House Geg, Lord of these lands. Announce yourselves!"
One of their number, a large man by any standards, came forward. "Hail, Lord Grathe of House Geg," he replied in passable Darkish, "I am Kalem, captain of the forces of Lady Olidity Fugueborn Blakeshadow, of the noble blood of Sirion."
Sirion? Lord Grathe was shocked by this announcement. An elf on the Dark Isle? The man named Kalem made to continue, but was interrupted by a sudden cry from the foreign soldiers behind him. Through the trees yet another force had appeared, this time one Grathe recognized, though their appearance was nearly as inhuman as the Ogrocs. Lord Kellan's Udorians, clad in their monstrous steel war-masks, had come upon them silently, and the Sirionese had found themselves unexpectedly surrounded by, man for man, the deadliest force of footmen on the Dark Isle.
The Udorians were heavily armored, bristling with weaponry: spears, longswords, sabers, and Udorian darts, a kind of heavy short spear thrown at close range. With their blackened steel armor and war masks, they looked like something out of a madman's nightmare. The foreign force circled protectively around what Grathe assumed was their leader, and the Lord of Rapael gave a start as a strong hand grasped his shoulder from behind.
He turned to find Lord Kellan, recognizable even in his war mask, for he was dressed in the traditional Dodger cloak of sable ermine over his armor, and both native Lords had fought side by side enough times to recognize each other instinctively. "Ho, Lord Grathe," a familiar voice spoke from beneath the strange steel mask.
"Ho, Lord Kellan," Grathe replied, and they clasped forearms and embraced. "You're late." Grathe removed his gloves, raising his hands burned palms forward, then crossing them over his chest in the traditional Khalkar greeting.
Lord Kellan raised and crossed his hands in return, but did not remove his gloves to expose the scars that matched Grathe's, the scars they had earned together, grasping a fresh-forged sword along with Lord Jonn the night before the tournament at Enlod in the traditional initiation ceremony of the Khalkar. Grathe furrowed his brow, for to leave his gloves on meant that the Lord Protector had only one intention here, and it was a violent one.
"I came here tracking an elf," said Kellan, "and I believe I have found it."
"These foreigners claim to have an elf among them," Grathe replied, "but even so, their charge against the Ogrocs may have saved the lives of some of my men. We were just now getting introduced."
"Then introduce me," Lord Kellan replied calmly, removing his war mask to reveal a face strong but unremarkable in beauty, his tawny hair cascading forth around his shoulders. His eyes were calm and seemed to look through all he surveyed, eyes that had seen many battles and were accustomed to command.
Grathe turned to the man named Kalem once more. "I introduce Lord Kellan Dodger, Lords Protector and Chancellor of the Dark Isle and Coralynth, Viscount of Mnalor."
Kalem made to speak, but was interrupted by a woman who shouldered her way through the circle of Sirionese soldiers, placing a hand on his strong shoulder and whispering something into his ear. He gave a slight bow and took a half step back, but remained close by at the ready.
The woman was unremarkable in size, but her voice was strong and steady despite the odds against her. "I am Olidity Fugueborn of House Blakeshadow," she announced in better Darkish than her captain's. "I have come to the Isle on a mission of great importance, and mean no harm to you and yours." The moonlight played over burnished scarlet hair through the trees, and flickeringly revealed features a step away from human. Grathe sucked in his breath to see her, for he had never seen a member of her ancient and mysterious race in the flesh.
Lord Kellan strode a few steps forward, hand still on his kathan longsword. "Words are words, elf," he declared, "and cease to be as soon as they are spoken. You have fought alongside my brothers this night, and so I will give you a chance to explain your purpose on our cherished Isle before committing myself to your death. Thus explain, and explain well, for your life depends upon it."
