EZ_Pickk Pockkets
12-22-00, 11:26 AM
It was quite obvious that the Ogres were in trouble.
It was to be an easy raid, a late night attack onto the city of Freeport. Kill a few "Humunz", loot their homes, and then head back home. It had been going well for a while, for many human corpses lay littered around the mighty Ogres; until HE showed up, that is.
A dark man, dressed in a glossy, midnight-black armor, wielding a great two-handed sword of Puresilver (Mithril), and nothing of his face showing under his helm, except two firey points of light...
He descended upon the stunned Raiders like a storm in the night, slaying all who stood before him with one single massive strike from his great weapon. A pair of mighty Ogres tried to raise a simple defense against him, attacking from the front and the back, but He was too smart for that. Before they knew what was happening, the Ogre flanking the Man lay gasping for air as the Unholy spell sucked it from his lungs, and the Ogre in front lay dead, his head a scant few inches away. The Man's helm swung from side to side, staring at the piles of corpses for any sign of life, for more victims, for anything, but he found none. Slowly, the sound of dry laughter rattled across the desert lands before Freeport, originating from the shadows of His helm. It was heard in the very city itself, causing nightmares for the sleepers, and shivers for the awake.
Suddenly, the laughter was cut off, as the Sword was swiftly drawn, and He spun around. Standing before him was a figure almost as frightening as himself, with his own, bartone, laughter escaping from his horrid face.
Before the man stood the leader of the Ogres.
Dressed in armor much like the Man's, the Ogre's was a deep crimson, the color of fresh blood. Held in one of his hands was a sword mimicing the mans, exactly, but the Ogre swung it with greater ease than the man ever could, even one handed. The laughter slowed, and finally stopped, as the Ogre appraised his new opponent. Both combatants stood and stared at the other, mirror images of Fear and Death in the night. Suddenly, the Ogre noticed the corpses of his companions, and roared in bestial rage.
Immidiately, the Man dropped to one knee, and brought his blade to bear, like a pike, as the gigantic creature charged forward, powered with his rage, and his own combination of blessings from his great God, Cazic-Thule. Blade of Fear met Blade of Death then, and black and green sparks flew as the two evil forces battled into the night. Blow after blow was met with corrupted Truesilver blade, spells of Fear and spells of Death flew through the night as each of the Dark warriors called upon their gods to help them in their time of need. Those who saw the battle might even swear that the gods themselves were battling, high in the Planes of Power, and that these two were only mirrors of the greater battle.
Eventually, even the great Ogre tired, and the swings came slower and slower, and the time to call upon their dieties became longer, and longer, as the two slowly began to realize they had met their equal. Staring at each other, they pondered what to do. Swiftly, the Man swung his blade again, aiming for the Ogre's neck.
And it hit.
Enraged again, the Ogre stared down at the new dent in his Crimson plate, and roared in the Man's face. Pulling together a trick he used back home in the Feerott, he used his body wieght, and slammed the smaller Human onto the ground. Roaring in triumph, the great Ogre lifted his blade to finish the fight, and the Man's eyes glittered with hatred over his defeater.
Then the Ogre stopped, and cocked his head to the side. Listening for a moment, he gave the prone Human one last kick in the sides (Knocking his wind out), and sheathed his blade. Growling quietly, he wandered off into the night.
Before he could even stand up again, the man knew why the Ogre had so suddenly left his victim behind, as a troup of the imfamous Freeport Militia came storming out of the gates, heading right for the Shadowknight of Death. Cursing under his breath, the man quickly muttered the appropriate incantation, and smiled grimly as he dissapeared into the night.
This was not over....
Pickk Pockkets
Halfling Pocket Examiner
Tallon Zek
It was to be an easy raid, a late night attack onto the city of Freeport. Kill a few "Humunz", loot their homes, and then head back home. It had been going well for a while, for many human corpses lay littered around the mighty Ogres; until HE showed up, that is.
A dark man, dressed in a glossy, midnight-black armor, wielding a great two-handed sword of Puresilver (Mithril), and nothing of his face showing under his helm, except two firey points of light...
He descended upon the stunned Raiders like a storm in the night, slaying all who stood before him with one single massive strike from his great weapon. A pair of mighty Ogres tried to raise a simple defense against him, attacking from the front and the back, but He was too smart for that. Before they knew what was happening, the Ogre flanking the Man lay gasping for air as the Unholy spell sucked it from his lungs, and the Ogre in front lay dead, his head a scant few inches away. The Man's helm swung from side to side, staring at the piles of corpses for any sign of life, for more victims, for anything, but he found none. Slowly, the sound of dry laughter rattled across the desert lands before Freeport, originating from the shadows of His helm. It was heard in the very city itself, causing nightmares for the sleepers, and shivers for the awake.
Suddenly, the laughter was cut off, as the Sword was swiftly drawn, and He spun around. Standing before him was a figure almost as frightening as himself, with his own, bartone, laughter escaping from his horrid face.
Before the man stood the leader of the Ogres.
Dressed in armor much like the Man's, the Ogre's was a deep crimson, the color of fresh blood. Held in one of his hands was a sword mimicing the mans, exactly, but the Ogre swung it with greater ease than the man ever could, even one handed. The laughter slowed, and finally stopped, as the Ogre appraised his new opponent. Both combatants stood and stared at the other, mirror images of Fear and Death in the night. Suddenly, the Ogre noticed the corpses of his companions, and roared in bestial rage.
Immidiately, the Man dropped to one knee, and brought his blade to bear, like a pike, as the gigantic creature charged forward, powered with his rage, and his own combination of blessings from his great God, Cazic-Thule. Blade of Fear met Blade of Death then, and black and green sparks flew as the two evil forces battled into the night. Blow after blow was met with corrupted Truesilver blade, spells of Fear and spells of Death flew through the night as each of the Dark warriors called upon their gods to help them in their time of need. Those who saw the battle might even swear that the gods themselves were battling, high in the Planes of Power, and that these two were only mirrors of the greater battle.
Eventually, even the great Ogre tired, and the swings came slower and slower, and the time to call upon their dieties became longer, and longer, as the two slowly began to realize they had met their equal. Staring at each other, they pondered what to do. Swiftly, the Man swung his blade again, aiming for the Ogre's neck.
And it hit.
Enraged again, the Ogre stared down at the new dent in his Crimson plate, and roared in the Man's face. Pulling together a trick he used back home in the Feerott, he used his body wieght, and slammed the smaller Human onto the ground. Roaring in triumph, the great Ogre lifted his blade to finish the fight, and the Man's eyes glittered with hatred over his defeater.
Then the Ogre stopped, and cocked his head to the side. Listening for a moment, he gave the prone Human one last kick in the sides (Knocking his wind out), and sheathed his blade. Growling quietly, he wandered off into the night.
Before he could even stand up again, the man knew why the Ogre had so suddenly left his victim behind, as a troup of the imfamous Freeport Militia came storming out of the gates, heading right for the Shadowknight of Death. Cursing under his breath, the man quickly muttered the appropriate incantation, and smiled grimly as he dissapeared into the night.
This was not over....
Pickk Pockkets
Halfling Pocket Examiner
Tallon Zek