Post by The Barbarian King on Jan 29, 2014 1:14:52 GMT -5
August 9, 23 CLE
The Barbarian King needed to stretch his legs, and generally needed to get out of the castle for a few hours. He needed to feel the cold of the Freljord against his skin, the crisp clean air of nature drawn into his lungs, and to not be looking at a pile of papers and books. He needed no warm clothing; rage kept him warm inside. It was actually more uncomfortable for him to wear thick winter clothing, which is why he often had so much bare skin, despite the blatant safety issues. This day he donned his typical garb, the armor of his ancient kinsman and the blade he was left with all on his person for the day. His thick steel greaves crunched through the snow as he made his way outside. Just as Ashe did when she took her reprieve from the castle to stretch her limbs, he too had scouts keeping tabs on him. The difference is that he had someone following at a relatively close distance, keeping their eye on the King. He didn't mind to be honest, and would rather be on the safe side than have a hoard of trolls swarm him and drag him off without any way of letting Ashe or the other Avarosans know before it was too late.
He doubted anything would happen anyways.
He climbed up to the top of a powdered hill, overlooking Rakelstake in all its glory. There he drew the sword from his back, and with the bite of the wind nipping his face and the crisp air pulled into his body, he began a series of swings. He closed his eyes, and swung it in arcs all about him, at first holding the blade with one arm but soon switching to two. The blade cut though the air, rhythmically swinging with the beating of his heart, and the respiration of his lungs. The relentless rhythm was one he was all too used to, and one he often practiced. The unending force of swinging blades crushing his opponents... it brought back many memories, some of his past, some of his time fighting the champions of the League... he was often more annoyed that he couldn't fight as regularly as he wanted to in the League matches due to Noxus' secession, less because of the political implications and more because he enjoyed beating their heads in. But alas, such days were in the past, and mot likely not to come again...
Post by The Shadow of War on Jan 30, 2014 0:09:15 GMT -5
The Shadow arrived in the Freljord one night ago and had spent the majority of it trying to figure out which way led to the lone hilltop that had granted him clear vision of Rakelstake. It wasn't that the constant blizzard-like weather bothered the centaur, he was a spirit that was held together by the flames of unlife and couldn't feel it's chill, no this time his trip was more difficult because of two glaring factors. The first was obviously that the last time he had come to the Freljord it was from Piltover and entering the frozen land from that direction gave him near immediate access to his destination, the other was that because he had entered this time from the Shadow Isles and over the sea he had to cross over mountains and then the territory he assumed belonged to the Winter's Claw tribe.
Hecarim had not been having the best of luck pushing progress with his brethren on the Shadow Isles lately, because of that his other visits to various parts of the mainland had involved him being spotted and assaulted by fleshlings, he'd been careless on those trips including this one because he was almost certain that he had been spotted moving through Sejuani's territory. That didn't matter to the centaur however, all he wanted at this point in time was confirmation of his previous prediction: there would be war in the Freljord. And when it came there would be blood spilled, he didn't know when it would happen or how many would survive from the conflict, all he knew was that it WAS coming and that his act of 'kindness' by telling the king of the Avarosan of this.
And now months later after the invasion of Demacia, the battle for Karthus's manor, raising the newest generals as well as attempting to make a foothold on the mainland in Urtistan he had returned. He and his squad of ghostly riders approached the hill that overlooked Rakelstake at a steady pace and was pleasantly surprised to see the king of the Avarosan himself, Tryndamere. Though it appeared he was in the midst of a warm-up of sorts with the swinging of his giant blade, finding this moment all too convenient he slammed his halberd into the ground and did a mocking bow of sorts before shouting to him with his riders fading away back into the realm of the spirits awaiting the next call of the leader.
"My return to Freljord and the first fleshling I see is none other than their 'king'." He barked, making sure the barbarian would be able to hear him.
Post by The Barbarian King on Feb 1, 2014 6:59:16 GMT -5
A voice cut through the pulse of blood and steel, one that resonated fathoms deeper than the greatest depths of the sea and spoke in more than a singular voice. It was one he was familiar with, one he had heard many times upon the Fields of Justice, but one clear time that stuck into his mind like a thorn, when he came foretelling of some kind of doom, and the loss of many who lived in the Freljord. His blade stopped it swing, slowly coming to a rested position with the hilt on his foreleg. His head slowly became level with the land, and eyelids curled apart to reveal two frozen glaciers. They and his head turned to the source of this ominous voice, the spectral steed that had come to his lands once before... had he come to collect on his prophecy? He did not know. Tryndamere's head turned to the scout who also was watching the entire event unfurl before him. He shifted his head to the side once, and the scout went running to inform the guards, nearly tumbling down the hill in the process.
The Barbarian King stood within The Shadow of War, and with both hands drove the tip of his ancient blade into the ground before him, just enough to sink in and stay put. With a single hand still clutched around its hilt he stood before Hecarim, the long black hair that flowed from his helm billowing behind him as a forlorn war banner. His eyes locked onto the soul-flame pits that lay within the horse's steel helm, one warrior amidst the presence of another.
"So you have." He abrasively stated, both in recognition of the obvious and his return. The tension remained thick in the air... until-
"You are lucky you did not run into Sejuani, or else you would be in the middle of mounted combat. Not that you are unfamiliar to that kind of battle, Hecarim, even if you have always been a horseman." -the King made his attempted joke to break the ice.
((The guard will inform Rakelstake of the King's whereabouts and have the city on alert. This will no doubt let other roleplayers in Rakelstake know of what is currently happening, and they are welcome to join if they so choose. It will take time for him to get there and for someone to climb the hill, so wait a long while if you wish to.))
Post by The Shadow of War on Feb 2, 2014 3:14:01 GMT -5
The centaur's eyes were locked onto Tryndamere's and he was rather displeased he didn't have to do something drastic for his attention. It was fine for him though, he wasn't exactly in a hurry to leave the frozen wasteland just yet since he wasn't being surrounded by fleshlings and told to put drop his weapon and surrender peacefully or else they would destroy him... it was all very boring honestly, and whenever he was told that same dull speech he was constantly reminded of the foolish battalion of Demacians he slaughtered before his joining of the league.
Glorious gory glory days.
"And yet I did not, I doubt they noticed me. But if they did I would fight and slaughter as many as possible before making my retreat." He said sternly, after a brief pause he narrowed his fiery eyes into a glare.
Enough smalltalk however, I am here for simple business. Comply and I will be out of your land as quickly as possible with no current living being brought back with me as souls, my previous prediction: What was the enemy and where was the battle?"
It was a simple personal mission for the Shadow, scout the area for any lost souls and have at them and be on his way. He wasn't sure if the king would meet his demands due to not understanding the true concept of life and death but if he wasn't... he could always begin the reaping here.
Post by The Barbarian King on Feb 3, 2014 20:41:18 GMT -5
The Barbarian King stood there, listening to the spectral steed's words cut through the cold. His presumptions as to his return were correct then, he came back to fulfill that omen so long ago. The stony face he once held broke out into a smirk, developed into a grin, and transformed lastly to a roaring laugh. His head was thrown back in the tumultuous laughter, steadily dying down as he came back to the matter at hand.
"I know what you and your ilk have done to Demacia." He bluntly struck out, a harsh rejection of any sense of cooperation Hercaim might have had or come to expect before. The King's hand was still firmly clutched around the sword, but he had not yet removed it from the ground. "And after you return, you demand I give up where the battle was so you can bolster your numbers?!I am not a fool Hecarim!" The King ripped the blade from the cold earth, and slammed it back down into the ground beside him, freeing the earth of its frozen exterior with a wave of rage. As the snow settled, an area of the ground was visibly cleared from where Tryndamere's blade struck. It remained where it was, himself in a pose prepared for a fight but not one that was directly aimed at Hecarim as an offensive stance. The King's wrath was clear enough, and it screamed for battle. The King knew this was a precarious situation though, and he did not think having the threat of the Shadow Isles was something his people were ready for, not after recent events.
"It was the Void who came and struck against us, but I'll be damned if I tell you where the battle was fought." He was adamant about it too, and would not give up the location. Hecarim would have to kill him and rip the King's soul from his dead body to get the location, and that would be extremely difficult to do considering his opponent, a man who had literally refused to die time and time again on the Fields of Justice when the scythe was under his throat.
Post by The Shadow of War on Feb 5, 2014 22:52:38 GMT -5
The centaur remained silent and ignored Tryndamere's knowledge of him knowing what conspired in Demacia and was very displeased when he expressed his unwillingness to give up the location of the battle in Freljord, instead of attempting to follow up with an insult to him or his cold queen he made a quick move for his halberd and jerked it out of the cold ground before pointing it at him with a twisted looks beginning to form in his fiery eyes.
"And in this moment you have sealed the fate of not only yourself, but those fools below and your precious 'queen."
Post by The Barbarian King on Feb 12, 2014 7:05:16 GMT -5
Whatever sense of diplomacy snapped in that single instance. The King began to charge the spectral stallion, the blade gripped by both of his rugged hands, the sword high in the air. His wrath flowed through the blade, screaming off of it like smoke, rage billowing from his skin like steam in the cold. The blade would fly through the air, cutting along a diagonal strike with the momentum of Tryndamere's charge behind it. If unblocked, it might as well be enough strength to knock that helm off of Hecarim's ghostly visage.
Post by The Shadow of War on Feb 14, 2014 22:51:56 GMT -5
Hecarim didn't attempt to block, instead the halberd moved to his side and he awaited the strike that was on it's way to him. Steel met steel and Tryndamere's triumphed, sending the helmet of the centaur a few feet away. The rest of his body stood motionless for a few moments before crumbling to pieces, the armor nothing more than a pile of what one would assume to be burning junk kept company by a lone flaming halberd stuck into the ground.
The question now was, what would Tryndamere do now with his apparent victory over the Shadow of War? The centaur wasn't one to crumble to pieces when faced with his actual destruction, there was more going on here than what any onlooker would see.
Post by The Barbarian King on Feb 15, 2014 7:25:11 GMT -5
A feeling of satisfaction raced through well muscled arms as they tore the helm from Hecarim's head, yet the pressure cooked mind of the King had a new ingredient to suddenly absorb the excess rage: confusion. He quickly took a prepared stance for whatever counter measure the horse had planned, but instead it just... collapsed. The armor caved in on itself, still flickering with ghoulish embers. Had he done it? Had he struck down the Shadow of War in a single blow?
...no, that would be foolish. He remembered facing him on Summoner's Rift, how he thundered across that battle-worn stadium and caused havoc throughout the back and front lines while sustaining crippling amounts of damage. It took more than a single strike to put the horse down, and the King knew it. Even with the strength to eviscerate and sustain his blows he knew it. And yet, there the armor lay, a pile of scrap metal beneath his feet. The rage he once felt subsided into the air as his mind reclaimed control of his senses, the King's battle stance retracting. ...Hecarim was doing this on purpose.
His gaze turned to the helm, the still burning helm that he knocked away into the snow. His armored boots indented a path through the white, stopping only so he could pick up the helm and retrace his steps. Above where his body would have been, he tossed the helm with the rest of the pile. His blade was still unsheathed, its edge cutting into the earth with its weight. The Barbarian King stood there, expecting something to happen.
Post by The Shadow of War on Feb 18, 2014 14:00:07 GMT -5
For a good minute nothing but the sound of the harsh Freljord winds could be heard as the pile of armor and the lone halberd stood still.
And then the laughing came, the harsh and ghastly laughter. Tryndamere could most likely only guess where it was coming from because as the laughing came the armor rose up and burned fiercely with unlife, piece by piece found itself reforming into the complete set of armor that housed the Shadow of War, and when he rose he grabbed his halberd and let a peculiar red flame instead of his usual cyan run through it before snarling at the barbarian before him.
"The Demacians at least burned us to make sure we were dead, what does that say of you? yes... one strike is all it takes to fall the mighty centaur of the isles, one strike to end his reign of terror."
At the moment the red flame from the halberd guided itself throughout the rest of the centaurs body, giving him the appearance of a literal burning horseman. And with that he stomped a single hoof and let out the famliar roar that was his Onslaught of Shadows minus his companions in charge towards Tryndamere, leading with halberd.
Post by The Barbarian King on Mar 1, 2014 20:02:41 GMT -5
He didn't have anything witty to retort, mostly because he wasn't given enough time to as he reformed and charged. Tryndamere's combat reflexes knew to dodge, which he did as he veered off to the side, sprinting parallel from the centaur's onslaught. As Hecarim's stampede continued, Tryndamere spun on axis one rotation with his blade facing his opponent once again. His lungs bellowed a war cry, and he began to run at the centaur with his fury bound blade ready to strike him once again.
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