Post by EchoVamper on Sept 18, 2009 11:08:31 GMT -5
Loendal's post brought this to mind. Many miss the days when DAoC was "young". This forgotten tome, almost 4 years old now, might dredge up a few memories of a time when role play was indeed very rich and rewarding in DAoC. By the way, I think Popo attended the Cultural Festival mentioned herein...and brought some weasel stew!
Exhaustion...Yet Proud
(written by the Lady Vonstadt Blake Veladorn)
The wind riped around Vonstadt's helm as an inistant carress, it's voice whisered a soft howl in her ears as she leaned againts her 'spear', the generated weapon from her 'evil' shield.
she chuckled ironically at the memory of the hibernians that had mocked her that day for her 'evil' cloak and shield. Two items that had aided her this day to stay alive and with her fellow clanmates had restored some pride back to the realm after a dark day of defeat.
She shouldered her pack as she said farwell to her squadmates of the day. Angharad, Culliket, her cousin Larinia, Kalyce, a Realmmate animist named Meavun and ofcourse Corun of the Siabra all gathered their mud and grim covered gear in preparation to return to their homes or a hunt. She doubted the last as she walked toward the stables of Druim Ligen. She was so proud of her squad of the day...they had accomplished so much for the realm today.
The day had started out to be a disater for her and the realm..a call from her ward Seri had awakened her as she slept in her home. She awoke to find her husband already hunting in the mines where Seri was calling from. The warriors were rushing out of the mine, four keeps had fallen at he same time. The forces of Albion were pushing deep with a major offensive aimed at the relics that were held by Hibernia.
She rushed for her armor, asking Seri to return to her home...her old home that is. She grabed her gear and a port directly to Druim Ligen. As she appeared she could see the vast columns for smoke on the horizon of the numerous battles that had been fought and of the keeps that burned so far this day. She ran past the sick and wounded by the bindstone as she was told to rally at Druim Caine. She called to her husband, she had given her word never to fight again..she had to ask.
He reluctantly gave his permission, upon her promise she would return home. her heart raced as her steed thundered towards Caine. It sank slightly when he was unable to attend, matters beyond his control. She knew he was torn, that drove her. Some part of him wanted to be there with her, and somehow she knew all of him was there with her this day.
The wind kissed her cheek briskly as she dismounted and tied off her horse at the stables by her home in Nithdale. She walked across the grass and up the satiars as the wind fluttered and waved the siabrian flag Sadoma decorated thei home with. Barely looking at the symbol, she entered and droped her gear. Removing her armor in favor of a simple gown, she stiffly collapsed onto the nearest couch. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she shivered and sobbed a bit as the emotions of the day now flew through her. Pain, sickness, exuberance, joy , disgust, fear and pride all collided in her heart, now freely allowed to be felt the emotions overwhelmed her. She had to remain in control out there...but she was home now.
She wept for the fallen, smiled for the survivors, felt disgust and anger for the enemies of this dark day and felt pride ofr Clan and it 's allies.
The forces of albion had pushed her realm's army all over the frontier. Confusion and arrogance were the order of the day. Tears of bitterness ran down her cheek as she watch Angharad ignored over the stones. Her friend had correctly guessed the escape route of the stolen relics..through the marfach dungeons. They had even been in position, and Angfharad had been pushed to move. Vonstadt was angry she had voiced her support but had been drowned out. The squad was moved and all of the relics had been stolen. They're escape route?
Marfach ofcourse...
One by one, by the dozens the warriors of hibernia begant to stand down as they learned this. Vonstadt wept silently as she remembered standing on the hill near Aile...watching it burn as her stone went more and more silent.
"all of our keeps are in enemy hands ..I go to reclaim..who comes with me?"
The response one time may have stunned her, but no longer. She had been with this caln longer enough to know their heart. As the 'proper' warriors returned to their mansions or to Atalantis to pursue selfish pursuits allowing the infantry or the keeps servants to reclaim, her clan responded.
Angahrad, Culliket and Larinia all members of the defeated squad remained with her. An animist named Maevun, and Kalyce, whose heart held more courgae then experience joined them as they returned to the nightmare of burned out keeps with the banners of the albs and mids flying high above them. Corun of the siabra, joined them during the run. His drive adding to their own, dispite a few moments of anger when the squad was forced to dispatch a sqad of Siog warriors that jumped at Kalyce, and whom were easily dispatched. Dispite the differences Corun fought valiantly and bravely.
She ran with them hoping to restore some pride in their hearts, in the hearts of all of the defeated this day. We may have lost our keeps, she had vowed to herself but we will have our dignity. She couldnt tell her clan mates...she hadnt the words, that just by their being there they had restored her hope.
They fought so well, so valiantly. Hour after hour they attacked the guarded keeps, even galling a force of Retribution to deploy and claim a keep after She and her brave squadmates had already defeated the keeps defenses.
She could feel sleep overcomeing her as she curled up on the couch. She felt pride run through her...five keeps. Her realmates had slowly returned to the frontier..she could hear them over her stone as blackness seemed into her vision.
They were going back to the frontiers of albion on a relic raid..She smiled. They had found their heart, she knew in her heart that her clan had no small part in this revival today..
She sleep found her easily..her last thought...
I kept my promise, my elf....
I'm home...
(Kalyce picks up the story here and writes): Arriving at Ruskin Hollow, battered and bruised from head to toe, Kalyce immediately drew a bead on Merriless and set out for home as fast as her legs, burning with every stride, would take her. Her already worn Watery Kelp cloak (a gift from Tarmay) was sliced nearly hem to seam. Her blood-stained jerkin held the proof of the deep gash in her right flank put there by a Siabran blade. The edges of the wound, visible through the rent, were already beginning to turn a deep shade of purple and blacken. Her face was caked with mud and grime, the tread of her boots was clogged with frontier sod, and the neck of her lute, which had interrupted the arc of an anonymous Albion blade, bore a notch that saddened her (but which had probably saved her life).
Kalyce had intended on this day to busy herself with preparations for the Cultural Festival. She was in charge of the Celtic swimming event and needed to mark the course and make some last minute decisions; and perhaps consult with Magnoliah if she could find her. Only the mundane was anticipated, until the general buzz of conversation around the Green Rose Inn brought her the shocking news. Both relics… gone! Every keep now in the hands of alien realms!
She still wasn’t sure if it was duty or naivety that drove her, but she set out east from the North Gate on the path to Ardee. She had little hope of making a difference in these battles. Not at her season. As she approached the familiar log, what she saw filled her with shock and dread. Guardians, mages, naturalists, and stalkers of every hue were making their way to the border keeps. Wisps of black smoke already had made their way as far south as Basar. And platoons of beleaguered soldiers of every discipline wandered aimlessly from the jeweled bridge down the river’s edge toward unknown southern destinations, spent from their efforts in the north, ignoring the beetles and mudmen alike. Fishing bears uncharacteristically lined the shore, curiously eyeing the grisly parade of devastation.
A mixture of determination and curiosity had steered her northward toward Drum Ligen. Perhaps she could at least ferry more experienced warriors into the fray or provide strengthening magicks for those heading deeper into the wilderness looking for fighting groups. She struck a clear path to the north, picking up a hero and a blademistress from the Providence clan and helping speed their way to the frontier keep.
Glasny and her Sealtoir were strangely alone on the teleportation pad when she arrived, so she continued right on through to the groups assembling on the frontier side of the keep. Zath, with a dour nod and a cryptic comment about her Celtic origin, put her in touch with the battlemaster. She searched the teeming crowd for the familiar green of her family and found, not unexpectedly, Vonstadt, Culliket, Angharad, and Larinia making preparations for a sortie. What she didn’t expect was being invited to join, but with a grim nod and a wry smile The Lady Vonstadt Blake Veladorn extended just that. Maevun, an animist of singularly good reputation and skill, would join them on the quest.
Her treasured memories of Thidranki and the cacophony of Krackenstein’s Formorian bolts paled in comparison to what she was about to experience. Each occasion was instant, each experiment perilous, and each decision difficult. The frontier brooked no hesitation, no indecision, no lagging. To falter was to see a treasured friend succumb to constantly evolving mortal danger. She breathlessly traveled the frontiers with these valiant brothers and sisters for what seemed like an eternity, straining at every moment to keep up, to contribute, and to understand.
But she learned; how she learned! Her attempts to cast sleeping glamours upon the patrols did little more than anger them, but she was able to sing some songs of power and endurance for the group, and supplement the healing that Angharad so effortlessly provided. And Angharad had somehow found time to instruct her in the bardic arts during snatches of time and brief moments of respite from the nearly continuous activity. It was a priceless and rare gift just to be there; worth all of the pain that now wracked her weary body.
The consummate skill of Culliket, the effortless competence of Angharad, the dogged bravery of Larinia, the strategic brilliance of Maevun, and the indefatigable ferocity of Corun seemed inexhaustible for hours on end. And Vonstadt, dear Vonstadt! Her golden spear and intricately ornate shield flashed endlessly, in the light of sun or moon, for hours on end; carving the imprint of rage and denial into familiar doors turned suddenly foreign; extracting the elixir of life from countless villanous invaders and their henchman. She was courage and bravery personified, yet at that to no greater degree than any of the others. Kalyce would long remember this day; these battles; this epic experience. Five keeps reclaimed! Five emerald banners again flying above the precious soil of Hibernia!
Kalyce, torn and bleeding as she was, was also proud. She was in a measure proud of herself, but even more proud of her family. True Hibernians to the deepest chambers of their hearts, ever steadfast in their devotion to preservation and reclamation, they proved their mettle over and over. The tide had been turned; honor salvaged; and hope extended to all who tread the verdant realm.
It was with an uneasy dread that Kalyce permitted herself to drift into a tenuous sleep. It was a necessity, but she knew that she would only rise again to sickness and nausea. Perhaps the keep doors would hold until tomorrow. Perhaps the soldiers fighting on into the night would recapture a relic. Perhaps the morning sun would rise into clear Hibernian skies.
Exhaustion...Yet Proud
(written by the Lady Vonstadt Blake Veladorn)
The wind riped around Vonstadt's helm as an inistant carress, it's voice whisered a soft howl in her ears as she leaned againts her 'spear', the generated weapon from her 'evil' shield.
she chuckled ironically at the memory of the hibernians that had mocked her that day for her 'evil' cloak and shield. Two items that had aided her this day to stay alive and with her fellow clanmates had restored some pride back to the realm after a dark day of defeat.
She shouldered her pack as she said farwell to her squadmates of the day. Angharad, Culliket, her cousin Larinia, Kalyce, a Realmmate animist named Meavun and ofcourse Corun of the Siabra all gathered their mud and grim covered gear in preparation to return to their homes or a hunt. She doubted the last as she walked toward the stables of Druim Ligen. She was so proud of her squad of the day...they had accomplished so much for the realm today.
The day had started out to be a disater for her and the realm..a call from her ward Seri had awakened her as she slept in her home. She awoke to find her husband already hunting in the mines where Seri was calling from. The warriors were rushing out of the mine, four keeps had fallen at he same time. The forces of Albion were pushing deep with a major offensive aimed at the relics that were held by Hibernia.
She rushed for her armor, asking Seri to return to her home...her old home that is. She grabed her gear and a port directly to Druim Ligen. As she appeared she could see the vast columns for smoke on the horizon of the numerous battles that had been fought and of the keeps that burned so far this day. She ran past the sick and wounded by the bindstone as she was told to rally at Druim Caine. She called to her husband, she had given her word never to fight again..she had to ask.
He reluctantly gave his permission, upon her promise she would return home. her heart raced as her steed thundered towards Caine. It sank slightly when he was unable to attend, matters beyond his control. She knew he was torn, that drove her. Some part of him wanted to be there with her, and somehow she knew all of him was there with her this day.
The wind kissed her cheek briskly as she dismounted and tied off her horse at the stables by her home in Nithdale. She walked across the grass and up the satiars as the wind fluttered and waved the siabrian flag Sadoma decorated thei home with. Barely looking at the symbol, she entered and droped her gear. Removing her armor in favor of a simple gown, she stiffly collapsed onto the nearest couch. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she shivered and sobbed a bit as the emotions of the day now flew through her. Pain, sickness, exuberance, joy , disgust, fear and pride all collided in her heart, now freely allowed to be felt the emotions overwhelmed her. She had to remain in control out there...but she was home now.
She wept for the fallen, smiled for the survivors, felt disgust and anger for the enemies of this dark day and felt pride ofr Clan and it 's allies.
The forces of albion had pushed her realm's army all over the frontier. Confusion and arrogance were the order of the day. Tears of bitterness ran down her cheek as she watch Angharad ignored over the stones. Her friend had correctly guessed the escape route of the stolen relics..through the marfach dungeons. They had even been in position, and Angfharad had been pushed to move. Vonstadt was angry she had voiced her support but had been drowned out. The squad was moved and all of the relics had been stolen. They're escape route?
Marfach ofcourse...
One by one, by the dozens the warriors of hibernia begant to stand down as they learned this. Vonstadt wept silently as she remembered standing on the hill near Aile...watching it burn as her stone went more and more silent.
"all of our keeps are in enemy hands ..I go to reclaim..who comes with me?"
The response one time may have stunned her, but no longer. She had been with this caln longer enough to know their heart. As the 'proper' warriors returned to their mansions or to Atalantis to pursue selfish pursuits allowing the infantry or the keeps servants to reclaim, her clan responded.
Angahrad, Culliket and Larinia all members of the defeated squad remained with her. An animist named Maevun, and Kalyce, whose heart held more courgae then experience joined them as they returned to the nightmare of burned out keeps with the banners of the albs and mids flying high above them. Corun of the siabra, joined them during the run. His drive adding to their own, dispite a few moments of anger when the squad was forced to dispatch a sqad of Siog warriors that jumped at Kalyce, and whom were easily dispatched. Dispite the differences Corun fought valiantly and bravely.
She ran with them hoping to restore some pride in their hearts, in the hearts of all of the defeated this day. We may have lost our keeps, she had vowed to herself but we will have our dignity. She couldnt tell her clan mates...she hadnt the words, that just by their being there they had restored her hope.
They fought so well, so valiantly. Hour after hour they attacked the guarded keeps, even galling a force of Retribution to deploy and claim a keep after She and her brave squadmates had already defeated the keeps defenses.
She could feel sleep overcomeing her as she curled up on the couch. She felt pride run through her...five keeps. Her realmates had slowly returned to the frontier..she could hear them over her stone as blackness seemed into her vision.
They were going back to the frontiers of albion on a relic raid..She smiled. They had found their heart, she knew in her heart that her clan had no small part in this revival today..
She sleep found her easily..her last thought...
I kept my promise, my elf....
I'm home...
(Kalyce picks up the story here and writes): Arriving at Ruskin Hollow, battered and bruised from head to toe, Kalyce immediately drew a bead on Merriless and set out for home as fast as her legs, burning with every stride, would take her. Her already worn Watery Kelp cloak (a gift from Tarmay) was sliced nearly hem to seam. Her blood-stained jerkin held the proof of the deep gash in her right flank put there by a Siabran blade. The edges of the wound, visible through the rent, were already beginning to turn a deep shade of purple and blacken. Her face was caked with mud and grime, the tread of her boots was clogged with frontier sod, and the neck of her lute, which had interrupted the arc of an anonymous Albion blade, bore a notch that saddened her (but which had probably saved her life).
Kalyce had intended on this day to busy herself with preparations for the Cultural Festival. She was in charge of the Celtic swimming event and needed to mark the course and make some last minute decisions; and perhaps consult with Magnoliah if she could find her. Only the mundane was anticipated, until the general buzz of conversation around the Green Rose Inn brought her the shocking news. Both relics… gone! Every keep now in the hands of alien realms!
She still wasn’t sure if it was duty or naivety that drove her, but she set out east from the North Gate on the path to Ardee. She had little hope of making a difference in these battles. Not at her season. As she approached the familiar log, what she saw filled her with shock and dread. Guardians, mages, naturalists, and stalkers of every hue were making their way to the border keeps. Wisps of black smoke already had made their way as far south as Basar. And platoons of beleaguered soldiers of every discipline wandered aimlessly from the jeweled bridge down the river’s edge toward unknown southern destinations, spent from their efforts in the north, ignoring the beetles and mudmen alike. Fishing bears uncharacteristically lined the shore, curiously eyeing the grisly parade of devastation.
A mixture of determination and curiosity had steered her northward toward Drum Ligen. Perhaps she could at least ferry more experienced warriors into the fray or provide strengthening magicks for those heading deeper into the wilderness looking for fighting groups. She struck a clear path to the north, picking up a hero and a blademistress from the Providence clan and helping speed their way to the frontier keep.
Glasny and her Sealtoir were strangely alone on the teleportation pad when she arrived, so she continued right on through to the groups assembling on the frontier side of the keep. Zath, with a dour nod and a cryptic comment about her Celtic origin, put her in touch with the battlemaster. She searched the teeming crowd for the familiar green of her family and found, not unexpectedly, Vonstadt, Culliket, Angharad, and Larinia making preparations for a sortie. What she didn’t expect was being invited to join, but with a grim nod and a wry smile The Lady Vonstadt Blake Veladorn extended just that. Maevun, an animist of singularly good reputation and skill, would join them on the quest.
Her treasured memories of Thidranki and the cacophony of Krackenstein’s Formorian bolts paled in comparison to what she was about to experience. Each occasion was instant, each experiment perilous, and each decision difficult. The frontier brooked no hesitation, no indecision, no lagging. To falter was to see a treasured friend succumb to constantly evolving mortal danger. She breathlessly traveled the frontiers with these valiant brothers and sisters for what seemed like an eternity, straining at every moment to keep up, to contribute, and to understand.
But she learned; how she learned! Her attempts to cast sleeping glamours upon the patrols did little more than anger them, but she was able to sing some songs of power and endurance for the group, and supplement the healing that Angharad so effortlessly provided. And Angharad had somehow found time to instruct her in the bardic arts during snatches of time and brief moments of respite from the nearly continuous activity. It was a priceless and rare gift just to be there; worth all of the pain that now wracked her weary body.
The consummate skill of Culliket, the effortless competence of Angharad, the dogged bravery of Larinia, the strategic brilliance of Maevun, and the indefatigable ferocity of Corun seemed inexhaustible for hours on end. And Vonstadt, dear Vonstadt! Her golden spear and intricately ornate shield flashed endlessly, in the light of sun or moon, for hours on end; carving the imprint of rage and denial into familiar doors turned suddenly foreign; extracting the elixir of life from countless villanous invaders and their henchman. She was courage and bravery personified, yet at that to no greater degree than any of the others. Kalyce would long remember this day; these battles; this epic experience. Five keeps reclaimed! Five emerald banners again flying above the precious soil of Hibernia!
Kalyce, torn and bleeding as she was, was also proud. She was in a measure proud of herself, but even more proud of her family. True Hibernians to the deepest chambers of their hearts, ever steadfast in their devotion to preservation and reclamation, they proved their mettle over and over. The tide had been turned; honor salvaged; and hope extended to all who tread the verdant realm.
It was with an uneasy dread that Kalyce permitted herself to drift into a tenuous sleep. It was a necessity, but she knew that she would only rise again to sickness and nausea. Perhaps the keep doors would hold until tomorrow. Perhaps the soldiers fighting on into the night would recapture a relic. Perhaps the morning sun would rise into clear Hibernian skies.