Post/Author/DateTime	Post
Dragna the Claw 11-18-06, 12:26 PM	Jasper sat on the mountain top waiting for God. It was a cold meditation, one lone goblin against a night sky so open it terrified. The expanse had neither moon nor stars, but thick clouds like battle-field gauze, soaked black with infection till depth lost all meaning. The heatless breezes found every hole in his rags, shocking him into shivering fits. His lungs felt heavy, his digits numb, his face raw. Again and again the wind came against him, weathering his resolve, until one gust nearly rolled him over, born of distant wings. He rose to meet God, suffering the merciless cold to open his arms wide. With stinging pain, he forced his eyes open, bent on watching the arrival. In the dark came a knowledge of movement, unsensable besides a growing thrill in Jasper's chest, the tightening of his stomach, the body's reaction to death. An orb of light burst into being, too large to be a star, too golden to be the moon. A wave of heat struck the goblin and the stream of fire turned at the last instance, tearing away half the cliff Jasper balanced on. The blood-scaled wyrm perched on the side of the Redmoon with a great quake, and more of the peak fell into the shadows below. Jasper dared not hold God's gaze, but fell to his knees, grinding his forehead into the rock, slapping the bare stone and screaming with all the force of his lungs, "Dominus! Dominus! The Skyblinder has returned!" He shrilled wildly as the massive creature lifted his awesome frame onto what remained of the mountain top and craned his turreted neck into the void for another eruption of yellow flame. He roared and the fire intensified a blinding white. "Returned!" He snarled victoriously. The fire grew hotter still, sporatic licks of flame shooting from his body, the ground hissing beneath him. Jasper could feel his hair singe, his forearms bubble, and gave himself to the pain, shrilling, "Dominus!" At once the night cooled, colder than before, every warmth stolen into Dominus' eyes. They flared brilliant white and, even though his lids were clenched, Jasper felt God's stare upon him. He convulsed, so long had it been since he'd felt his master's presence, and lost control of all functions. The seepage from his pelts ignited a small warmth from the dragon's chuckle. "You are just as I remember, Jasper." The dragon let his breath slowly roll over his minion, just enough heat to hurt. Jasper fought tears. "Great Ruin, you are mightier than ever!" Dominus rested his stomach on the rock and curled wings like an emperor's cloak about him. As he spoke, the spines along his armored visage rose. "So mighty I cannot pierce the veil of worlds, fool. This is but a dream. In all the fated futures, you managed to aquire the blood sigil, a relic powerful enough to return even me. Your devotion has called much of my former spirit, but it isn't enough." The dragon's breath crackled. "Your weakness of faith prevents my true ressurection." Jasper screamed, unthinkingly lifting his tear-sheathed eyes for God in utter repentance. His eyes began to burn at the sight, like looking into the sun magnified. He accepted the punishment. "My Lord, forgive me! Oh forgive me! What must I do?" The pain stopped and Jasper turned away. He begged to be destroyed for his inadequacy. "But," The dragon cooed, a sound akin to a slow geyser, "My Dominion is no more and you, of all my servants, have proven the most loyal. And, I shudder, the most capable. You will take the sigil to my fallen remains in the depths of the Redmoon caldera. Place it in my chest and my heart will beat again, fueled by every vampire in Istaria. That traitorous race, my former bane, shall become my blood, my breath, and my slaves in the new empire. They won't have a choice, for my life will be inexorably linked to their entire species, and every harm upon me will be felt by their entire nation." The goblin hardly fathomed the words his master spoke, beyond the simple directions, but he had faith and believed, God willing, he could overcome the road to Redmoon and ressurect Dominus Skyblinder. "Now wake, Jasper, and remember." Jasper the Prophet woke to a steel boot in the stomach. "Found one," spoke a grossly beautiful voice, so bell-like Jasper wanted to stab his ears useless. He didn't need to look up to know it was an elf. Jasper rolled with the kick and lay motionless. Possums often escaped trouble this way. "Not a fighter, by the looks of him." "Not much of anything by the looks of him," another snickered. A chior of laughter, horrible and clarion, confirmed Jaspers festering fear, that this was not just two wandering elves, the kind he could cut the throats of while they slept. This was a party, and those who wore metal boots often wore metal leggings and breastplates and helmets and carried steel. He immediately feared for the blood sigil, clenched between his thighs. It emanated a strange warmth and, while he mostly placed it beside his nethers for safety, he thought it might lend him power. Thus far he had been wrong, as his stones shrunk and his struggled to show no outward sign of pain. Without any sound of shifting armor, another kick forced out a groan. His eyes watered, his breath escaped him, and the sigil slipped down his tattered pants leg. Jasper moved to try and conceal it, but a blow to the head sent him back into unconsciousness, this time a dreamless dark.
Lectus 12-16-06, 12:27 AM	(OOC: I meant to post this on your birthday. Well one day late ain't too bad.) "Ze bandits' feets touch down upon ze ground." Al'zahk shot Julimi a warning glance when he heard that, glared at him a moment, touched a hand to the hilt that stood just above his shoulder, and after a few moments passed, returned his hand to his side and kept on walking. "'e casts a glance at his leetle bruzer, warning 'im wiz a 'and touched to ze 'ilt of his zword." A barely audible grumble issued from the goblin warrior's throat, but this time he didn't look over his shoulder. His hand drifted to the small cudgel at his side. He'd bludgeon the idiot if he didn't shut up. "'e removes ze 'and, and places eet upon 'is zmall cudgel instead." The group moved onward, led loosely by the formidable Al’zahk. They numbered four in all, a rather paltry group of goblins, considering that their kind normally preferred security in numbers. There had been a time, about ten years past, when their gang had numbered in the thirties. Al’zahk might have been a decent warrior, but he was about as terrible a leader as anyone could find. He could give out commands well enough, and had a good grasp of tactics, but had what he was gifted with in the way of warlike prowess, he seriously lacked in vision. Raid after unsuccessful raid had seen to it that most of their number abandoned them, the rest killed. Their numbers widdled down until only familial connections kept what was left of the group intact. They were, all four of them, related in some way or another. Al’zahk was the eldest, the strongest, the biggest, and therefore the natural candidate for leadership of their clan. He was of intermediate skill in the use of a two-handed scimitar. Two-handed for him, it should be said, while the average human warrior would be very capable of holding it in one. He was a dab hand with that cudgel of his as well, actually an expert, although once he’d come across the Tanzoonian scimitar, he’d received the notion to drop it in favor of the more formidable-looking weapon. That was about all there was to say about Al’zahk, aside from the fact that he was ill-tempered, which he attitude toward his younger brother would indicate. Yelgi was the only female in their group, a second cousin to Al’zahk, and a grounding influence. It was said that somewhere in her maternal line there had been a great female shaman. However, whatever potential there was for magic use in her blood, she couldn’t read so much as a word from a spell book. She preferred to use her natural weapons, as her own weapon had long since decayed due to mistreatment and overuse. Frog was the silent one, and none of the goblins was quite sure of his relation to the rest of them, but he followed them nonetheless. His skin was a dark, bluish tint of green, and his demeanor equally as shadowy. When the group needed a purse to be cut, he’d be the one to perform, as well if they needed a throat cut. While he was the shortest of the group, he also had an uncanny ability to leap in place, to almost three times his height. Thus he was able to unexpectedly sneak up on big people and slit their throats. The leap was how he got his name. Then there was Julimi. Who, just a few years ago, had been but a cute little baby. Physically, he’d shot up in height in recent years, almost to the height of Al’zahk. But where his body grew, his mind did not, and he is still very childlike in many ways. His maddening antics, however, have become slightly more sophisticated. Thus the ragtag band of goblins followed the path, loosely led by Al’zahk, and following a lead on a big score.
Dragna the Claw 12-16-06, 05:22 PM	Jasper snapped awake and immediately grabbed his loins. The sigil was gone and his wrists bound. He was moving, too, a realization that came with mounting panic. His ankles were also bound and, looking around, he wasn't the only one. Three other goblins, unconscious or dead, were piled next to him, and one human in the midst of its larval stage, so lanky and loosely-ragged Jasper wasn't sure if it was a male or female. They were all of them contained in wood, a cart Jasper surmised, hitting the side of his head with a large bump. The forest passed around them, on a steadily sloping incline, but to where the goblin hadn't a clue. A light whinny drew his gaze and he craned to see the back of two armored elf drivers holding the reigns to four exquisite white steeds. Such pretty coats and meaty haunches, a goblin feast if he'd ever seen one, but the stupid elves rather waste all that meat as beasts of burden. Much better to use the wargs for that and eat the good stuff, but elves were backwards creatures, and, as Jasper reflected, bound, sore, and bruised, they'd never be able to handle the smell. The thought of an elf cleaning the kennels brought a broken-toothed smile to Jasper's face. He'd bet his life elven steeds never even sheet. Elves would never come within ten stonethrows from droppings, so clean and dainty. This might be a gem for goblin war tactics in the future. Jasper carefully filed away the notion to discuss with Dominus' war generals in the future. Armored in dung, the New Dominion would be invincible! But first thing was first, Dominus must be reborn, and to do that he needed the sigil back. "What are you blathering about?" The human groaned. "Are you crazy? Is that your problem?" Jasper blinked, looking at the raggedy person, still unsure just what gender it claimed. "You... read Jasper's mind?" The adolescent sighed. "You were talking aloud this whole time." A whip slash across the side of the human's shoulder bowled Jasper into silence. One of the elven drivers glared at them, with eyes that seemed strangely orcish on such a pristine face. "We don't whip the horses, you know, just noisy cargo. Now SHUT UP!" The human curled into a ball and cried as quietly as it could. Jasper did the same, minus the crying. He had been in worse spots, like vampire-saris skirmishes, three Dominion wars, and, worst of all, amidst the tantrums of a red wyrm. The threat of a lash or two seemed tame, but, he'd be a fool not to spare himself a whiplash. "You are a fool!" The elf snarled, lashing Jasper hard. "Keep your inner monologues inner, or so help me I'll drag you the rest of the way by your tongue." Jasper nodded, sniffling, and consciously clamped his lips when thinking how fun it would be to wear that elf's head like a hat. The goblin turned on his back and rested, still tired and sore from his earlier beating. The bumping and rock of the cart became almost soothing. He mostly lingered in the place between sleep and awake, the haze where he could almost see the image of his God... rubbing his mighty temples and sighing endlessly. Near dusk, the thud of hooves changed to clip clops. Jasper sneakily wormed his way upright and took in the vista. Despite the growing darkness, Jasper's eyes could see it all, the gift of goblin vision, what his master labeled "one of goblins' VERY few strengths". They were traveling across a long, paved bridge that spanned over the valley of two small mountains. On the farther side rested a standard elven fortress, what humans might consider a grand palace, what a goblin knew as lace and frills and all around ugly. Its reaching spires, feathered buttresses, spiral turrets and gold lining across marble and polished stone seemed ridiculous to Jasper. It hardly looked capable of shrugging a single catapult assault, but, despite Jasper's distaste, he knew the work of elves to be a strong as they were nauseating. The only feature he liked was the gibbet, a seemingly new addition built near the main gates, with a swinging goblin, bloated with rot, and a doubly juicy human, so gross the crows seemed to have passed on the meal. The cart rolled past the dead and clip clopped under the brilliant threshold. Jasper groaned at the intricacies of the relief work he hadn't noticed from a distance, the chiseled images of elf heroes littered with moonstones and platinum flakes. Elves could never leave simple alone. "Welcome to Elithielefalaraslasasasm," or, Jasper thought he heard it right. All elven names sounded the same to him, especially when spoken by elves, suffice to say it had an El, ith, iel, and s in it. "Learn to love it. It's the last home you'll ever know, and ten fold what you specks deserve." Behind the walls, a vast courtyard opened before them, with meticulously-trimmed hedges, perfectly mowed grounds, swept pathways, spotless sculpture, and everything so clean Jasper had trouble breathing. It was a goblin hell, an anti-mess, filled with ugly, pretty elven things, all lit by goblin-sized crystals magnifying and emanating moonlight. The human had woken since Jasper last noticed, and, though it seemed nothing but sad and scared before, seemed nothing but awed and marveled now. One of the other goblins was awake too, but, like Jasper, could barely keep whatever was in his stomach down. They turned down one path and halted in a corner lined with practice dummies, mostly orcs, padded and armored and continuously being struck by a slew of elflings. One grown elf led them all in a sword dance, an elf more beautiful than all the rest he'd ever seen, what Jasper assumed was royalty. He threw up a little in his mouth and swallowed it again. "Another night practice?" The mean elf driver remarked in elvish, lowering his whip. Jasper felt a small pang of dark satisfaction. No matter the language, Jasper could understand it, or, at least get the basic jist, an enchantment from God that'd held even after his demise. The driver glanced threateningly at his cargo, a silent warning should they dare anything but whimpers, and stepped down to meet the royal elf. The closer the sword dancer sauntered to the cart, the more sickened Jasper became, as if that one elf held in his motions, his smell, his very being the collective beauty of the entire pointy-eared species. The other goblin seemed to slip into a seizuring fit, but the human couldn't take its eyes off the approaching elf, features slipping into serenity, eyes evening into trance. It quickly became apparent the human was male, to Jaspers chagrin, but, so was the approaching elf. It was all so confusing to the goblin he mumbled a quick prayer to Dominus for guidance and carefully watched the royal elf. "Another night practice?" The elf's voice was like temple chimes and clean mountain air, like the voice of a lilac could it have one. "These trainees need all the practice, day or night, they can get!" The driver bowed and kissed the royal one's hand. "My Lord Calubris, I found these vermin on the outskirts of our land." Calubris looked the cart over, sighing at the convulsing goblin and enamoured human. His eye seemed to linger on Jasper, and the goblin's stomahc turned. He shied from the attention, hoping the elf lord would decide to ignore him like most others would, but whenever he risked another glance Calubris was looking. "Where did you find that one?" He nodded toward Jasper, who decided to roll over and play dead. "Alone on the outskirts. He had a jewel with him that your brother now carries, a fist-sized ruby I think, though how that little rodent got his hands on it I don't know." Calubris moved closer to the cart with a curious expression. "And tell me, do you know how it is he is immune to my Airy? I see the other goblin properly suffering, that boy properly charmed, those other two goblins properly dead on arrival, but not that one." The driver side-glanced. "I don't know, Lord. I'll whip him into whatever you want, if it pleases you." Calubris moved to the cartside, a few feet from Jasper with his tongue stuck out, eyes clenched, and overall doing a horrible impression of a corpse. "No. No this one has piqued my interest. Bring him to the interrogation room. I'll meet you shortly." The elf lord turned to leave, then, glancing back to the driver, "Put him in the swing." Jasper smirked. Interrogate him with a swing? Backwards elves. Swings were fun. Calubris and the driver broke into a long laughter. Jasper had been thinking aloud again. As he was dragged away, the goblin began having second thoughts how much fun elf swings really were.
Dragna the Claw 12-20-06, 12:03 AM	"Having fun yet?" The elf driver, whose name Jasper had since discovered was Mins, asked with supreme sadism. Jasper barely heard him, could hardly comprehend much of anything besides fear. He'd been strapped to a leather swing connected to a prolonged wooden arm and thrust over a cliff. Like a worm he dangled over a six hundred foot yawn, trees looking like pin heads, his view level with circling eagles and some low-hanging clouds. And the wind gusts were so fierce they felt like cold, invisible body blows. "Aiiiiiiiiiiieeeee!" Jasper screamed as Mins pulled a lever and the straps that connected the goblin to his seat severed. He squeezed the ropes of the swing till his knuckles went from green, to red, to white. Watching the cut straps slowly spiral down into the far valley below made Jasper's stomach turn. He was next. "Not done yet," Mins chuckled, turning a crank, and watching the swing move back and forth slightly. It wasn't a very forceful swing, but compounded with the wind, the height, and the cowardice inherent in the goblin breed, it was enough to make Jasper wet himself. Mins didn't look very surprised, as most on the swing did eventually soil themselves. Calubris stepped from behind Mins' control panel, under the base of the wooden arm, and to the edge of the spire top. The elf lord was the model of balance, not even his air stirring in the wind, much less his body, stoic as a merlon. "Now, let's talk." "Ahhhhhhhhh! Save me Master!" Jasper cried to Dominus. Calubris grinned, claiming the exclaimation of master as his own. "That's a start... Where do you hail from?" Jasper wrapped his legs around the swing's seat and hugged the rope. "R-rrrr-Ruak!" The elf stroked his chin, "Yes. Of course. A nest of your kind there... And, just how did you come into possession of that pretty red gem?" Mins turned the crank and Jasper's swing swung higher, back and forth, the wind rocking it higher still. Much more and Jasper would flip over the wooden arm and most likely fall to his death. "Vampires!" Jasper cried. Calubris nodded, the gears of his mind almost audible. Certainly the look on his face told of their turnings and workings, cold and calulated workings. "Interesting. Mins, bring him back in." The elvish driver's grin faded. "Bring him back in?" Calubris glared. "Did I stutter?" Mins shook his head vigourously. "No, my lord. It's just... nothing." Minds drew in the wooden arm and lowered the near-comatose Jasper onto solid ground. The goblin gave it a wet kiss before two nameless elves lifted him from under either arm. "Take him to the warrens. Set him with a job and a schedule." Calubris wrinkled his nose. "And bathe him, too, would you?" The elves nodded and took Jasper away. Mins fiddled a little with the swing's controls and approached Calubris. "My lord, why spare this little monster?" The elf lord stared out across the open valley and to the mountains beyond, and still further to jungle and other, darker mountain chains, finally past into the fog of distance where even elven vision could not pierce. Things were afoot out there. Important things. "He is more than what he seems. That gem he carried is magical. And the way he ignores the Airy is astounding. He hardly seemed to feel it this time. Something is with him, protects him even, and that gem must be linked to it. I want to know more." Without further words, Calubris left for his private quarters to mull and plan.