3. The Chieftain

The Chieftain


  • @c5f9899ada=Vengeance:

    Well…Rick isn't trying to bone Isaac and Ilthoran...why would he care about them 😛

    I'm going with this.

  • ?

    @b4a57845ff:

    Hey Rick…where's the part about Ilth bravely volunteering to head right into the middle of the city? ))

    ((You mean Ilthoran scampering away like a scaredy-cat and avoiding the real battle after those orcs attacked? Even the old bald coward mage stayed (albeit hiding behind a rock) 😛

    I know Isaac and Ilth did not get mentioned too much. Both played a tremendous role in the quest. But, I wrote the story from a different point of view which did not include much of their activity in the quest. Also, if I had included every single tiny detail of the quest, it would be a boring, annoying story to read. :P))

  • S

    Bravo!

    I miss all the fun adventures 😞

    Nice setup to go back for the axe again :).

  • ?

    ((@1f0ee0cda9:

    Isaac and Ilthoran don't get any mention, though?

    Well…Rick isn't trying to bone Isaac and Ilthoran...why would he care about them 😛

    Hey Rick...where's the part about Ilth bravely volunteering to head right into the middle of the city? 😉 ))

  • ?

    ((Well, I also forgot Demi's greatest line: "Erm… mister Minotaur?" 😛 I went into the major parts that effected Rick; the story is already 1500+ words, so..

    And, as for Isaac hiding under a rock, I figured we should steer clear that Rick brought along a cowardly, old, bald mage to help him 😛

    Thanks to all who participated in this quest, I hope you all had as much fun as I did. Special thanks to Shane and Emerwyn for all their hard work in DMing the entre event. ^_^))


  • (( Yeah Rick you forgot Isaac's greatest emote of the entire event! " tries to look like he's guarding their rear, but is actually hiding behind a rock " >_< ))


  • @e4dfcc511f=RicktheSwift:

    dazzling spectacles of magic blasted enemies

    ((I don't deserve this quote, I was just hiding behind rocks the whole time. 😉

    This was a genuinely fun trip and a well written story, Rick. I'm sure everyone would pick this one over Isaac's summary of the events.))


  • (( The pink hair has a name too, you know… You also forgot to mention her brave approach towards Mister Minotaur (axe sold seperately) -- But I guess Demi's not the tale's protagonist, so I can live with it ^^ Isaac and Ilthoran don't get any mention, though? o_o ))

  • ?

    **_The Return

    Friends had been contacted, glory was promised, and an old group of friends would work together once again. Rick thought back on his trip back to Narfell, and once again seeing all his old buddies, reflecting on good times long passed, discussing problems of late, and meeting the new folks who had made their way to this land. He had only planned on staying for perhaps a month before heading back, but time dragged on and he could not leave Narfell to return to the front. He found himself defending his beloved Jiyyd from Thay, from Orcs; he found himself dealing with the Temple of Helm, all while a flash of pinkish hair danced and twirled around in his mind. The Thayans had attacked, and he saved that pinkish hair from death. The Orcs attacked, and he fired arrows into their lines alongside the strawberry-haired girl. He found the Temple door locked with strange runes, and his thoughts turned to worrying for the safety of those beautiful eyes with three black streaks running down the left cheek below the eye.

    The time came, and they left for the Tribe lands. The pink hair was again by his side, as it had been for so many years. How many adventures had they fought together? He didn't know; the number was too large to count these days. They traveled through the lands and reached Aglarond, and grew close to the Tribe lands, only to be assaulted by local brigands. Rick and his friends were battered and beaten, but the assault was pushed back, and what marauders remained retreated, bloody and broken, licking their wounds. They trudged on, and took refuge with a local group of wandering merchants, bartering for a few items and purchasing a few others. Suddenly, Orcs charged forth from nearby bushes, and again Rick found himself fighting alongside the pink hair.

    They reached the Tribe lands. A dark cloud hovered over the area Rick used to know as home, and as they entered the familiar gates, he froze. He could not will his legs to move; his strength had been sapped out of him by what he saw. He recognized the perverted faces, mutilated by whatever killed them in their final battle. He recognized their armor clinging to their pale, dried bodies shattered by distant swords and maces in a now-ended battle. He saw his former brother- and sister-warriors, now mere shells of the proud men and women they once were, wandering aimlessly as zombies. A warrior spotted the Chieftain, alerted the others with a groan, and the horde began shuffling towards Rick, Isaac, and the pink hair that now stood out like a shining beacon in the darkness and corruption of the land around them.
    "Kill them," were the only solemn words uttered in a monotone voice that left his lips for hours as he cut down his family and let their spirits finally begin their eternal rest. The bodies began to pile up around the Chieftain, and as the battle waned and silence overcame the area again, his sword clattered to the ground and he collapsed to his knees and looked around him.

    Gone.

    Everything was gone. His family was gone. His clan was gone. His son had been murdered. All of it was gone.

    Silently, he cleaved through the zombie warriors, trying not to get a glimpse of their shattered faces, praying he wouldn't recognize any of them. He knew each warrior that fell to his blade. They came upon his old house and entered and were met with more zombies. Rick cut them down without a word, and they trudged upstairs. He had to know; he had to give his brother-warriors their earned rest and freedom from undeath. The door to his old room flew open and a mummified figure stumbled out and staggered towards Rick. The pink hair charged forth with a sword and swung in a high, wide arc. The wrappings around the mummy's face fell away, and Rick saw who it was. He couldn't raise his blade against him. He couldn't fight his own brother like this. He stood frozen in shock, unable to strike the mummy. Another sword hacked away at the figure until it collapsed into a pile of wrappings on the floor, silent.

    "I can't do this anymore. Let's go."

    They trudged on, the pink hair walking by his side. They battled through the southern woods and stumbled upon a tower, hot on the trail of tracks that led from the desecrated Tribe lands. Rick, Isaac, and the Bard fought off wave after wave of the attacking soldiers; arrows flew between the trees towering above them from both sides. Soldiers were cut down as quickly as they were replaced, and the three dove inside the tower's entrance, only to be met by guards, Orcs, and traps. Nimble, delicate fingers disarmed dangerous traps, dazzling spectacles of magic blasted enemies; beautiful blades swung in quick and calculated arcs that sent blood splattering across the walls. The three tore through the ranks of their enemies like wildfire through a parched and dry forest, only to be stopped for but a moment by the enormous Machine guarding the room that held the answers to their questions. A few quick words, a small chase, and a bit of digging around for a password, they passed by the great guard unscathed. Inside, they found the man who held the answers they sought: Tibaut, the leader of Ingbal's Arm.

    Tibaut.

    The man responsible for everything. Rick stared into the man's dark eyes with intense, burning hatred. Tibaut looked back at Rick with almost an air of arrogance about him, mocking the clanless Chieftain. He sat casually in his throne, a glass of wine held loosely in one hand, his other hand stroking his beautiful, tamed lion Jargolithax who purred contently at the attention. Jargolithax noticed Rick and the others and emitted a low growl.

    _"Why? Why all of this?"
    "Land, of course."

    "I own all your land now! Look around you!"
    "Owned, Rick. You owned all my land, now look around."

    "This is all over a false accusation of farking raiding caravans ye bastard!"
    "So you thought. Consider it revenge, Chieftain. Your father killed mine years ago, now I have repaid the favor!"_

    Fuming, Rick threatened the man who took everything from him. He screamed, he shouted, he swore. The guard resting casually near Tibaut suddenly walked forward, and Rick noticed a familiar axe resting quietly on the man's shoulder. A familiar glow about the gorgeous blades, a beautiful rune carved into an ornate gem on the handle, Rick recognized the axe as his own. The Chieftain Axe. Rick emitted a quiet growl at the sight, feral rage quickly spreading through him as he saw the legacy of his clan be mocked by this abomination.

    "Oh that? Your brother was a bit stubborn in giving it up. Here's an idea! Why don't you duel for it? Yes, duel for your own axe."

    Rick could recall little of the duel, the pain, both physically and emotionally overwhelmed him as the axe that had served so many of his family cut deep into his flesh, breaking through his plated armor like wet paper. He could not recall if the duel ended before or after the lion's teeth sunk into his flesh; he could not remember how long he sat in emptiness.

    The Chieftain had failed. The Clan was not avenged. Swift had fallen. What remained was dead, or enslaved and bound after death. Honor was not upheld. Tibaut had won. Rick had failed.

    Rick awoke to find himself in Jiyyd once more with pink hair, familiar eyes, and a charming smile standing over him. Again the pink hair was there, just as it always had been. Weakly and unsure of himself, he struggled into the clothes handed to him, and collapsed on the floor. Slowly, the battle came back to him, and it played over and over in his mind.

    "I have failed. I have no honor."

    Rick couldn't see the pink hair, but her words reached him in that sweet, uplifting voice of hers:

    "Oh please. You have no honor? You went out there, fought Orcs, fought bandits, fought undead. You fought enemy soldiers, you dueled for your clan's axe, you fought a lion and out-smarted a war machine. Yet even after this you were asked to forge on, injured and tired, to keep fighting against a foe who was fully rested and relaxed. And you tell me you have no honor."

    Slowly, Rick tilted his head and looked at her. Tired, worn, and hurt, she sat slumped against the wall with torn clothing and ripped bandages. Her hair was a mess, her skin was dirtied with dried blood and dirt, and her pack was tossed aside. Yet, through all that, Rick was amazed at how beautiful she was. The pink hair, albeit dirty, messy, and bloody, was still there. An odd aura surrounded her; Rick couldn't quite understand what he thought he saw, but there was something about her. He smiled, scooted across the floor, sat up, and wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

    The Clan was gone, but would be avenged. The Chieftain remained, broken, but willing. Swift lived on in one man. Swift would be avenged. Tibaut would fall. Life continued on, the world continued to change.

    But the pink hair was still there, just as it always had been._**

  • ?

    Weeks had passed since the first raid. The Swift Clan tore through the ranks of Ingbal’s finest soldiers. Rick’s brother- and sister-warriors never fell or faltered. Ingbal’s Arm had wanted war, and that is what they received. Their camp now sat on the outskirts of the city of Ingbal’s Arm itself, resting half a league to the north. Rick knew he was close to the end. Rick knew he was triumphant. His scouts had reported no activity around the city. His infiltrators had not yet returned, but based on what information he had, he knew they were lying in wait behind their protective stone walls. They were going to make their last stand.

    Night fell, and he slipped inside the walls of the Swift Clan’s grounds while the guards were changing shifts. No one noticed the faint movement in the shadows, slowly creeping towards the Chieftain’s Tent. Inside the tent slept Rick’s infant child with his favorite doll tucked under his arm. His caretaker slept in the room next to him. The man slipped inside the tent undetected and began his search.

    They had not expected the child, but when Alexis gave birth to Rick’s first son, a surge of pride like none other he felt before rushed through Rick. He was a father. He loved his son from the first time he saw him, and knew that he would grow up to become a Chieftain, just like his father. Rick thought about traveling back to his old home of Narfell, with his son in his arms or tagging along behind him if he was old enough. Rick pictured his son leading the tribe to great prosperity. He wondered what his friends “back home” would think when they saw a Little Rick behind the great Chieftain. His smile grew wider and he kissed Alexis on that proud day.

    The man began looking through the tent trying to find the great Chieftain resting peacefully. He had been sent to get revenge for the attack on Rowandale. Silently he glided from room to room through the enormous tent and came upon Rick’s son resting peacefully in his tiny bed. He smirked behind his dark mask and hood and unsheathed the dagger on his belt.

    Alexis had made the small doll herself and grinned as her son’s eyes lit up at the small toy and reached for it. She handed it to him and he began to giggle and play with the doll. It soon became his favorite, and all his other toys (except for his wooden miniature battleaxe of course) fell into disuse. He carried the doll everywhere he went, tucked lovingly under his arm. The ragged doll traveled everywhere, Alexis had to wash it as much as she did her son. She patched it up numerous times; somehow, the same arm was torn off repeatedly. She smiled each time he brought it back to her, tears running down his cheeks. When she handed it back to him, as good as new, his eyes lit up and he hugged his mother and ran off to play with the doll and the other children in the clan.

    The man’s blade shined in the light of the torch from the hallway of the enormous tent as he lifted it above the sleeping child’s neck and brought it down in one swift, single motion that separated head from body; the child’s blood began to stain the sheets as he began his eternal rest, his doll covered in the red liquid. The man grabbed a small box off the shelf, emptied its contents and grabbed the child’s head and stuffed it inside. He smirked at the doll and tossed it in the box next to the head. The man scribbled a note on a sheet of paper and tossed it on the lifeless body. “Surrender, Barbarian.”

    A package from the homelands arrived the next day for Rick. He tore off the wrapping around it and opened the lid and screamed. Alexis ran over, looked inside the box cried. “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” She screamed over and over, a stream of tears running down her face. Others ran over to see what the commotion was. Faces hardened as they saw Rick’s child. Axes were sharpened.

    The siege of Ingbal’s Arm began the next day.