Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Wrath of The Queen (closed)

The Queen of Tyria and her armies are ravaging the neighboring Kingdoms and Countries. From pillaging the countryside to burning towns and cities, her wrath knows no bounds. From dawn until dusk in the Northern wilderness of Isenhon, people are fearing the worst. And mercy be to those who have still not heard of the murder plaguing the lands. Many are trying to escape to the other regions and isles, others are building up to defend with all their might, but many end in the same fate.

A village rests peacefully in the pine and spruce woods of Isenhon, with the folk going about their daily business. During the cold night, a battle arises, a battle they will lose. In the morning, parts of the village are burned to the ground, with many buildings such as the tavern and barracks having been pillaged and are in ruin. The stone walls around the city hold many corpses of village archers and guards, with many folk on the ground, either dead or burnt to a crisp. The smoke of the houses can still be seen flowing from the now dead fires. With the cold morning coming to greet any who might've survived the onslaught...

Having escaped last nights attack Catherine or as she as known to most Mrs.Gracious began to search the fields of ash before her. From the mouth of the small hole she had hidden herself in she had watched the acts committed and couldn't help but feel...impressed...what happened would be truly horrifying to most but in her many years of life she had seen these things happen many times.

She found it best to laugh it off as a joke...then again she wasn't much different from the queen in some rights...the need to feel in controle, the thirst for something greater. Even she herself had thoughts of control and at one time she had her own people...but as far as history is concerned that woman was long dead.

Catherine despite appearing to be no more than 20 or 21 physically was...well let's just say age is but a number. She then pushes away her thoughts on the subject as she begins to search the villages rubble for survivors best find them and take them back to the home before dark comes around. The family will worry...especially her husband which was fairly clingy but he had his reasons.

Elsewhere in the village were a few unharmed, well unharmed enough to be able to work on their feet, survivors. Amongst them was Fawkes. He'd managed to organize the able bodied survivors in an effort to hunt down any other survivors. During the attack Fawkes aided in fighting the invaders, though it wasn't much help.

Wake up, commander.

Light rushed into his cracked eyelids. A bleak pale sky--it was morning. A face, crisp and clear against the blurry surroundings, loomed over him. He blinked and it was gone.

Scent came next, the iron tang of blood and the reek of offal. The Hanged Man had smelled war many times in his life. He wriggled in the shell of his breastplate and became aware of the ice-cold stickiness that he was laying in. Blood--his own, but plenty of others' too, friend and foe alike.

Only then did the pain hit him. His head erupted in a terrible ache and he went to clap his hands over it, only to find that he could hardly move them at all. He squirmed; it was all he could manage. Even words escaped him. As he tried to call out for survivors, all that came from his throat was a hoarse rattle.

He tried to get a bead on his injuries. He had a stab wound near his right armpit, just barely missing the artery, where some clever blade had snuck around the rondel. Then there was his head, of course, which bore an ugly, bloody lump. He had other damage too, though they were mostly superficial flesh wounds. A meter away lay his huge tower shield, its burlap covering now stained with crimson splatter, and his falchion was just out of reach of his hand. Other bodies lay in heaps all around him.

Groaning, he struggled hard to raise one hand and grasp at the neckline of his armor, just behind the throatguard, where a slip of white fabric poked out. It was possible someone would see him stirring in the aftermath.

Shadow wolf was sitting on the ground shocked about what had just happened she was confused and some what scared. She hoped that there were other survivors but she was to scared to look so she got up and walked in a circle until she got the courage to walk to find other people she was so confused but she looked up now and then hoping something good would happen but every place she saw was wrecked and brunt she tryed so hard not to cry cause well she didn't mostly understand most things but she was hoping things would turn good.


"I hope today will be a good day after we fix the village well that's if they fix it but if they can't and to many people are injured I don't mind helping rebuild" she said as she kept walking and looking.

Amongst the burning piles of buildings and people, Akuma lay asleep (peacefully mind you.) In a pile of burning timbers and surrounded by many stone furnaces. He simply lay there, sleeping in the fire. Completely ignorant to what had happened. He was currently having a dream about chasing a giant chicken in a circle. He was having naught for luck.

Alyssaria awoke to the smell of burning, well everything. She managed to barely open her eyes only to be met with destruction. The young woman struggled to sit up, head swimming with the effort. "Ow..." A quiet sigh, "Why is there always a cataclysim when I'm around?" She shook the ash out of her hair and began searching the ruins of the inn for her possessions.

A man in a dulled steel armor slowly picks his way through the crumbling, flaming ruins of the once great city. He'd received news of the attack in the wee hours of the morning. He needed not look at his map to find his way to the site of battle, the plumes of black smoke in the sky were telling enough.

The stench of death was strong in the air, so much so that Merrick was forced to block his nose with a cloth to stay conscious. He occasionally calls out, hoping to draw survivors out of the wreckage to find out just exactly what happened.

Dread and death fill the area. The stench of fresh rot and stagnant is flowing with the wind through the village. It appears that only those who have now just woken up or are wandering inside the village are the only survivors.

From the west comes a man running down the dirt road. He sees the village, already in ruin by the Tyrian Queen's armies. He decides to stop for a bit to catch his breath outside of the village walls, and walks over to the south entrance. He shouts towards the town. "Oi! If anyone's still alive in there, come meet me at the south entrance!"

He looks around for a bit, but not daring to step foot inside the walls, incase the assailants were still there.

Catherine quickly sets to work setting up shop as she gets her
"Workers " to pull her desk out of the wagon and her large wooden shelves behind her laden with herbs elixirs and medical supplies.

" come one come all those who seek medical attention...a traveling doctor is at your assistance!"
She announces to the now rising reminants of the village.

Fawkes heard several people calling out. That put a bit of hope in him. One was calling out for survivors, another was shouting about a traveling doctor, and a third was telling everyone to go to the South Entrance of the town. Fawkes had a portion of his group gather up as many of the injured to get them medical attention. "Stay Alert. We don't know if that could be a trap." Fawkes said before the people in his group headed off. Fawkes stopped as he heard a groan. He looked down seeing the Hanged Man buried in rubble. Fawkes immediately began clearing the rubble off of him. "Hang in there. Do you think you can stand?" Fawkes asked.

The Hanged Man paused upon hearing voices and approaching footfalls. His head still swam, and he felt a little bit like he was trapped underwater. He was surely concussed. Some of the weight bearing down on him was shifted off, and the swordsman squinted up at his savior ... who looked like he'd befallen their adversaries' blades himself. The Hanged Man couldn't tell if Fawkes' rotted appearance was truth or fiction, so he assumed the latter--his mind had warped faces into worse than that in the past.

"Maybe," he croaked in response. His throat was parched. "I can t-try, but I'll need help, sir."

He reached up for Fawkes' hand with one battered gauntlet. If the revenant reached out too, he would grab hold of the man's hand and stagger to his feet. A wave of dizziness crashed upon him and he nearly went down again. "My--my shield ...?" It lay on the ground a meter or two away, but the Hanged Man couldn't seem to spot it.

Shadow wolf saw the two and she Rena towards them. "Here let me help" she saw a shield and a sword and gave the man the shield. "Here" she said in a nice tone. She helped him. "How many serviors do you think there are?" She asked. i really hope there is more cause everywhere I've been has been destroyed and people killed everywhere, mostly everywhere. I know that some of the people I know are dead already who knows what's going to happen to us. She said in her head.

Slowly waking himself from his oddly amusing dream, he sat up. Removing his head from the flames. Upon sitting up, he noticed absolutely nothing. The idiot stood up and went straight to work on a new blade. Picking up a decent sized piece of metal he thrust it into a blazing furnace. As soon as it reached the point where the metal glowed red like fresh tomatoes, he began to pound it into shape with his hammer. Unfortunately the sound that occurred was that of steel on steel.

Alyssaria managed to gather the majority of her items, though the bottle of gold ink she always carried had shattered. She had no time to lament the loss however as what had remained of the inn was collapsing. "Lovely. More trouble." She quickly snatched her bag and raced out of the inn.

Feeing a pain in her left foot, she looked down. In her hurry, Alyss had ran outside without her only pair of boots. Not noticing where she was going, the young woman had just stepped in shattered glass. She carefully removed what she could before moving forward with more caution.

She walked towards the south gate, noticing a group of people nearby. "Are you all right over there? I'm so happy to see other people made it out of this ordeal!" I normally see things like this coming... Why didn't I this time? Are my powers fading again?

As Morcant continues to pick through the rubble, picking up trinkets and the occasional silver piece, he suddenly hears a voice calling from the south gate. He wastes no time in packing his things up and hurriedly heading for the south gate. As he walked, he could swear that he heard the sound of a blacksmith at work nearby. He disregards it, and as he draws nearer to the south gate, he draws his sword and lets it hang by his side in one hand just in case. He continues until the south gate is in his view, and he spots a man in the distance through the slats in his helmet. He responds with another shout, "What's your business here?! I mean no harm!", whilst waving a clanking armored arm above his head.

Seeing the man and the group of people walk towards the south gate gave him a bit of relief. Primarily because there were actual survivors instead of just another ransacked town. Heaven knows where the Queen's army is at right now, but luckily it isn't here. Atleast not anymore.

"Hey there! Gather up the survivors in the town! Everyone's heading east to the coasts! Gather all you can find and follow me! Everyone needs to get out of Isenhon before we're all slain!"

" fine I guess it's plan b then "
She mutters as she proceeded to have her workers pack up everything back into her caravan.
Afterwards she drove her simple looking wagon to the South Gate and spoke softly to the group gathered.
" I'm offering to shelter the injured and sick within my wagon for the trip...I only moved here days ago but I feel as if I should help...anyone who wishes to rest and heal while the village travels please come aboard and I'll be glad to care for them as well as my children and employees will"
She speaks with s soft kind and alluring voice...almost as if it was a sin not to trust this woman

Fawkes helped the Hanged Man up to his feet as best as he could. At this point he'd completely forgotten he'd lost his helmet in all the commotion. "Put your weight on the shield. You can use t as a crutch to help stand." Fawkes said after Shadow Wolf handed the Hanged Man his shield. "I dunno. So far a group I've mustered up found plenty." Fawkes explained to Shadow Wolf. "Let's get to the South gate. Think you can walk?" Fawkes asked the Hanged Man

The Hanged Man looked to the tiny girl who dragged over his shield. With a grateful bow of the head, he took it, and snugged his left arm into the leather enarmes. "Thank y-you, my lady." The bottom edge sank an inch or two into the soft dirt as he put his weight on it, but it held up. For a moment he just stood there, stabilizing himself. Fawkes' suggestion made him chuckle softly. "Always do," he replied.

The swordsman took a shaky step, then a second and third. His legs held up beneath him, though there was the usual throbbing in his left ankle. The pain from his concussion and punctured shoulder seemed faint now, and an icy cold crept through him. He'd lost a lot of blood. "I-I think I can," he said to Fawkes. With that, he took off limping towards the south gate.

It took the battered wanderer a long time to get there. There was already a small group of people milling around. His green eyes slid over each of them: a woman with a wagon, another swordsman, a woman with pointed ears, a herald, a few others. The woman with the wagon was offering assistance--he hated to be a burden, but no doubt he'd need to take her up on that offer.

He also wasn't fond of the herald's advice. East. He'd be losing ground. And to the coast? He'd just come from there, and if he had to get back on a damned boat ...

Don't be foolish, commander, Ayma said. The Hanged Man looked around, and the boy was sitting on the stoop of Catherine's wagon. No one else would see him. He would want you to be safe.

"I know," sighed the swordsman, softly and seemingly to no one. "I know."