Jarvan nodded at Gillam. "Yes we will head over to the residential district first. Everyone needs to be on g-" He broke off when he heard a woman's shriek in the distance. The prince stopped walking immediately. "No" He felt the worst possible feeling of dread grasp onto his very soul.
"Marabelle." The name barely left his lips before he left the side of Gillam. His calm demeanor shattered the instant he heard his love's helpless cry. He will not let her be taken again. Jarvan made a promise, and he will keep that promise. "MARABELLE!" He cries her name into the fog, desperate to find her.
Post by Gillam Dunwall on Mar 16, 2013 21:52:16 GMT -5
"My servants were talking about you and...Marabelle." Gillam uttered these words slowly. "Sure, she may be just another person to me, but your dedication to her seems very strong."
Gillam picked up the pace, his lance extended. "Sir, I was about to wed...when I was frozen. She was...something else. I can probably guess that Marabelle is like that too you too."
"I will try my best to save her, sir."
"No matter the era, I am Demacian, through and through."
Post by Tahlem Starr on Mar 16, 2013 22:33:15 GMT -5
Tahlem took the punch and grinned. " Don't worr-" then he heard a scream pierce the fog, immediately thinking back on the task at hand. He unsheathed his sword and chased after Shyvana, standing nearby here when she challenged him. He recognized the voice, well, scream. It sounded like Marabelle. The prince was quite fond of her..and he swore to keep the royal family safe...especially things his friend holds near. He looked at Shyvana " We need to save that girl, the prince holds her dear." He looked around.
" What direction did that come from?"
Last Edit: Mar 16, 2013 23:03:36 GMT -5 by Tahlem Starr
What to do, what to do? Thresh playfully thought to himself as he jauntily advanced. This girl was proving to be amusing to him, the way that she squirmed and trembled at his every word. Were all Demacians this weak willed? He supposed that in the end, this was something of a wake-up call for the self-righteous fools; someone had finally kicked down the door and put their metaphorical 'ivory tower' to the torch. This was especially the case with the noblewoman cornered in the mist. No doubt she had never before faced such dread, the glimmer of her soul attested to that very clearly. A soul of such purity was rare beyond reason; he would take it for his own at leisure.
Then she opened her mouth and screamed, a piercing little number. It was sure to attract attention, suffocating fog or otherwise.
"Oh, please madam," Thresh growled before lunging forward, seizing her by the throat and lifting her bodily into the air with practiced ease. "Do be silent. This is hardly the time to act as a banshee being flayed alive. No, that part will come later, I assure you. For now, let us be off." He had scarcely gone a few steps with the noble still hoisted into the air when another voice split through the fog.
"Thresh, your game is over!" roared a rumbling voice as a fittingly hulking outline emerged through the mist. A tut of annoyance escaped Thresh; the fabled Sentinel was on his case, but he would not be deterred so easily.
Swiveling about to face the oncoming gargoyle, Thresh released his grip on his scythe to take up the Lantern's chain in his now free hand; within moments it was winding up much as he would with his traditional scythe. As the Sentinel barreled towards, Thresh took a single step forward before swinging the Lantern backhanded, his sinister implement becoming an improvised ball-and-chain. While it appeared to weigh nearly nothing to the Keeper of Lost Souls, the same could not be said for mortals beings. The cursed Lantern impacted the oncoming Sentinel with a hollow crash, striking with the impact of untold numbers of souls and knocking the charging gargoyle back a short ways.
"Do not interfere in my work, construct!" Thresh screeched into the mist, the ethereal mists emanating from his body beginning to blaze. With a wave of his hand, Thresh bade the mists to concentrate in the immediate vicinity around him before locking eyes with his captive. She had just become more useful to him. Crooking his clawed fingers, the Warden sent his scythe drifting to his charge before binding her with its chain and resting the blade curved just under her neckline.
"Test my patience further, and things may become...unfortunate."With a grim cacophony, the unliving warriors began to regather themselves from the Sentinel's brief assault, steadying themselves and scouring the area for their attacker. No living attacker could be seen through the mists, however, and so the unliving proceeded onward in their search for souls. A call rang through the night, and as one their heads shot up at this sign of adversity.
"MARABELLE!" came the cry again, now accompanied by more definitive shapes moving through the fog. With a chorus of grinding moans, the unliving warriors shambled towards the sound in a veritable frenzy. Now there was flesh to rend, bones to split, blood to shed. Now their purpose could be fulfilled as their time ticked on.
Post by Lucas Brightshield on Mar 17, 2013 14:13:00 GMT -5
Like stars in the sky, shimmering lights started to appear around Demacia. Five, six, seven, eight. Lucas was nearing the first gatehouse. Nine. Demacia would shine, magic fog or not. Lucas realised his task was dual. Not only was he engulfing Demacia in a wall of lit lanterns. He was also forcing a strategic decision upon the invader: Chase him, or wreak havoc. A tower appeared through the fog. Nine-and-a-half.
I am a Pathfinder. I will do what everyone else thinks below him, because someone must do it. Call me dishonorable for it all you want. I serve justice, not honor. And Demacia, ofcourse.
Post by The Iron Ambassador on Mar 17, 2013 15:07:24 GMT -5
The screech reaches Poppy's ears, but she trusts that the others informed of the situation would handle it. She however, had another thing in her way. A bunch of reanimated Demacian soldiers. They were marching towards the walls where Jarvan's shout came from, and so forth were between Poppy and her destination. She lifts Whomper and slams it against her shield to create a clank loud enough to hopefully catch the attention of the reanimated corpses.
"Lay down your weapons soldiers. You may be dead, but your duty is still to Demacia. And if you fail to do that, the fate of you all is renewed death."
She knew saying this was not going to make any sort of difference to those under control of something obviously similar to those of the so-called "Shadow Isles", but it hopefully would gain their attention.
Post by The Deathsinger on Mar 17, 2013 15:47:55 GMT -5
Karthus watched over the chaos in the city below, still stationed upon the crest of the bluff.Death would be pleased with the Nightmare and Warden's work. However, the defenders were putting up a decent counteroffensive, and had started to light lanterns upon the city's walls. This would most certainly not do.
Karthus raised his spherical artifact skyward, the whiteness of the sphere slowly being consumed by dark energy as the deathsinger began to chant a spell.
Muhk tayt vmacr, pa tayt hu suna! Dra bufan uv tynghacc crymm cryba ouin puteac du paddan canja Taydr'c lymm! Raat rec lrysbeuh! NECA!
Karthus leveled the orb at the city, completing the incantation as the now-blackened sphere pulsated with necromantic energy. Positive energy around Karthus was drawn towards the sphere, draining life from the surrounding area to fuel his dark magics.
Post by Marabelle De'Vera Lightshield on Mar 17, 2013 16:32:15 GMT -5
Each breath felt as if it were filled with acid as Belle stood before him. His hand extended forward, forgotten as her gaze remained locked upon that frightening visage of Thresh's. It took no time for her body to begin to feel weaker under his intense stare with stories of her young days, her nose in books from as early as she could read. She remembered the tales of the dead, and monsters of the world. So many had ventured into Runeterra from other worlds all around. Had her mind not locked upon the dreaded tales, she might have wondered where Thresh had come from. What his story might have been. The League had information, but hearing it from the individual always made it so much more significant.
She felt her eyes grow wide, and her body start to move back as Thresh lunged towards her. But with unexpected ease, his boney grip wrapped about her throat and her body started to rise. Her hands instinctively reached up to grasp at his wrist with her feet dangling and swaying ever so weakly trying to muster up the courage to kick at him. It was a dubious task, which accomplished nothing as she heard his words. Every part of her began to feel numb as her lips parted with a struggled breath, gasping for air and desperately trying to formulate thoughts enough to find an escape. But she was far, far too scared to act.
The sound of something else tore her eyes away from Thresh to the light that shone in the darkness. She thought it was death, perhaps a holy place that might be reaching out to help her. A place of sanctuary, and freedom from the torment the Warden had eagerly promised her. Belle caught the swirling, sea green light near to her, and blur to her conscience mind trying to form what it was she was seeing.
Suddenly as realization struck her, her feet would kick towards the hand that gripped the chain trying to knock it away and off course away from Galio. It was the only bit of courage she could find, as her legs would fall limp again, dangling helplessly off the ground.
Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped across the boney fingers that clenched tightly to her throat. Her heart beat picking up with the pulsation of jade glowing faintly from the stone hanging from her neck. It was growing brighter the longer she remained in the Warden's hold. It was her will; the determination to survive. Hope. The only thing she could keep her own grip upon believing that she would be saved from the monster that held her captive.
"S-Stop.." She choked out as her fingers tightened around his wrist, "P-Please.. Don't.. Don't hurt anyone else.."
His attention was diverted briefly, but the intense feeling of dread prevented her from acting further. Every movement made her shudder with panic, feeling as if her very soul might flee her body just to survive away from the brutality forthcoming. The mist deepened more, feeling all the more suffocating as it pulled in around the two. The light from Galio fading rapidly from the corner of her vision leaving her to do nothing more than surrender. Had he chased away the light in the darkness?
Chains snaked around her and tightened, causing a terrified, choking cry to leave her lips yet again. Far more subdued then the first. Her eyes couldn't closed, and watered intensely as tears blanketed her cheeks. The feel of the scythe beneath her neckline was enough to still her, but she trembled violently with fear none the less.
"N-No one else.. needs... needs to die.. P-Please.." She didn't beg for her own life, but the lives of others. No matter the fear she felt, she would do anything to try to save the citizens of Demacia - and anyone else that may be afflicted by the torment of the Shadow Isle.
Her lips curled with pain and fear as 'please' was repeated in a hushed whisper.
Jarvan ran frantically through the night, not hearing a thing Gillam is trying to tell him. He runs until he sees a group of soldiers, and for a second he is relieved. "Men, thank the gods I found you." He attempts to compose himself as he approaches them.
But, something about them seem off. Something is not right. Their shambling gate is not of any normal human. Their moans sound like nothing a normal human would be able to make. But worst of all, their glowing eyes and mangled bodies are what made them seem most inhuman. The prince recognized these men, he had selected most of them to be a part of the guard. These men had families, wives and children. Jarvan feels sickened at what they have become.
As they advance upon him though, a new feeling rises up. Hatred, pure and searing hatred. Not hatred towards the men, but a hatred towards the shadow isles. As the first man approaches him, he swiftly cuts him down with his lance. He was determined to end their reanimation so their bodies would no longer be defiled. He hasn't forgotten of Belle though, her scream constantly playing in his mind. He swears to the gods that he will find her through all of this mess.
Shyvana was busy bashing the undead with her gauntlets, knocking everyone of them to the ground, one after the other. "WARDEN" She growled out into the mist, running deeper into the city. "COME OUT"
Post by Tahlem Starr on Mar 17, 2013 17:19:19 GMT -5
Tahlem danced with his sword, cutting down undead after undead. They needed to save the girl...he was unsure if she was even still alive. " Thresh! Leave her be!" He called out.
He stuck close to Shyvana, it was their best chance to stay alive in the mists.
Post by Lucas Brightshield on Mar 17, 2013 17:35:42 GMT -5
((Karthus, just a second, is Lucas supposed to feel it, or something?))
I am a Pathfinder. I will do what everyone else thinks below him, because someone must do it. Call me dishonorable for it all you want. I serve justice, not honor. And Demacia, ofcourse.
Post by The Deathsinger on Mar 17, 2013 17:38:57 GMT -5
(It's not an attack, the orb is just charging. He could potentially feel it if you want him to... But it wouldn't have much of an effect on him besides perhaps a chilling feeling or a sense of foreboding.))
Post by Gillam Dunwall on Mar 17, 2013 19:36:20 GMT -5
"Sir!" Gillam cried, following the Prince. He stopped at the same area which Jarvan did, and noticed the soldiers. "Good evening, have you..." The soldiers seemed odd. They didn't look like they'd had the best of days. "Are they..." Gillam asked no further when Jarvan immediately cut one of them down.
Gillam smashed his buckler down n the closest one to him. He glanced at the zombified soldier's face, and was instantly sickened. He was training with that young man just a few weeks before...
"No matter the era, I am Demacian, through and through."
Earlier that Evening, as the attack was under way...
Olivia’s Demacian Home
Valerian sombrely looked at the case before him, and the woman who sat on the opposite couch. Olivia Shaffer, Another childhood friend and a fellow archer, until she developed a knee condition that halted her competitive career. She became an expert bow builder instead, studying and living mostly in Piltover but having a family house in Demacia.
“It’s okay Val. You said you haven’t touched the bottle...” She said, noting his hesitation. She had a cane by her side. The condition had gone away, but the pain sometimes returned.
“No, I haven’t Ollie. Moxxie made sure of it.” Valerian opened the bow case and looked with a mixture of awe and relief that he was finally getting his bow- a part of his life- back.
“I managed to get the mechanisms right this time. You should be able to change the setting now.” She explained, not really that interested in the bow.
“That’s great... that’s really great Ollie. I owe you big time. Um...”
A brief silence came over the duo, when it was followed up by screams of terror.
“...What’s going on outside?!” Olivia asked, looking out the window. There was nothing but an unnatural mist and fog.
“Are we... no way... this is Demacia!” Valerian said, a bit of disbelief that his home could be attacked.
Olivia grabs a short bow and a quiver, arming herself appropriately. She looked at Valerian. “We have to stay put. It’s not safe out there.”
“No... I need to meet up with Dunwall. I need to get out there... and do my duty. People are going to need to pull together.” He said, speaking without selfishness for the first time in his life. Olivia looked at Val and said nothing for awhile, feeling both proud and frightened of what Valerian was now determined to do.
“I’ll hold down the fort then, Val. And take these.” She headed over to the tosses him a quiver of special exploding arrows.
“Stay safe.”She said, worried. Valerian went out into the night to do his part as a proper Demacian soldier.
Downtown Demacia
Valerian raced across the rooftops, offering assistance to the fighters below. As much as he wasn’t interested in the family tradition, he wasn’t ignorant of warfare. With a trusty rope ladder and Piltish long-burning flares, he helped the lost and confused civilians below, getting them the advantage of higher ground. A militarized state like Demacia was expected to have an armed citizenry, and people were quick to bring out bows and crossbows to begin fighting the undead for what it was worth- even if it did little damage, bolts and arrows caught the undead’s attention for another with an appropriate weapon to flank them.
He would eventually, by sheer luck or fate, come across Gilliam and the others- the Champions themselves, being swamped by the undead. His bow was currently set to high tension, and he fired a heavy shot towards an oncoming warrior- knocking it back towards another zombified soldier, giving his employer some breathing space. Valerian slowly began to understand the nature of the enemy, and was deeply disturbed- he couldn’t bring himself to deliver headshots yet, and settled for body shots that put his targets off balance.
“Sir! Valerian reporting for duty! You look like you could use some help out of the streets. What’s going on out here?” Valerian said, kneeling on the rooftop, and tossing down the rope ladder. He was still severely uninformed of the situation.
Welcome to Maelstrom, Original Characters, Summoners and Champions alike. We are a divergent setting roleplay forum for the ever-popular MOBA by Riot, League of Legends. This means we are based in Riot canon, but your characters' actions can have a real, lasting impact on the world. Together, the Maelstrom community endeavors to bring the League of Legends setting and characters to life through collaborative storytelling and meaningful development. We welcome you along for the ride.
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