O
old.SadonTheGrey
Guest
Gelid stared out into the bleak distance from the black walls of Arvakr Faste. A biting wind blew from the harsh north, slicing at his ancient skin. In the distance, he spotted the source of the commotion; a host of rabid Norsemen approached from the east, goading forth stinking trolls like circus animals whilst being skirted by kobold mystics and far seers. He felt a strange sensation course through his body as the chill wind once again ravaged his cragged face. The Norsemen would have to approach through the trees; surely that would buy the defenders time and give them an advantage as the enemy would surely have to slow down when traversing them. Slowly turning round and leaning on his gnarled staff, Gelid beheld the band of defenders that had rushed to the fort after receiving the news of the planned Midgard retake. Gelid himself had been caught in the rush, and had little time to prepare his battle garments; his flowing silk robe betrayed his pitted body. The robe hung off his skeletal shoulders and draped over his thin torso, reaching down to his feet. Clutching to his stave as if it were his remaining lifeline, the swathe of silk, which covered his thin, frail arms, reaching an end at his long, bony fingers. His hair, no longer the glorious white of past years had greyed and renegade wisps tangled around each other, failing to conceal his elderly face.
“Useless,” he croaked as he observed the unorganised fracas below. A few burly highlanders lugged around huge logs of the black wood that grew around the Faste. At the same time, in the shadows he spotted a number of sinuous assassins, applying their deadly lifebane to the cruel blades. A dispute had erupted between two of the commanders; one Laird, a broad shouldered Scot growled orders at an objecting Briton who, evidently, did not relish the idea of scouting the surrounding area to watch Midgard force. The Midgard host was almost upon the keep, yet the siege weapons were not constructed, the archers had yet to choose their bows. The only harmony in the maelstrom of dispute were the few mages who silently observed the disorder. At the other side of the imposing stone wall, Deld was meditating. Gelid remembered his days as a student of liquefaction. The bitter winds of Yggdra Forest acted as a channel of cold which could be harnessed by learned ice mages such as Deld. Gelid’s task would be much more difficult; hurling flaming conflagrations at the enemy was not so easy in this arctic gale where the icy air would not allow conventional flame to do as much as flicker.
The heathen war drums were getting closer; Gelid could feel their vibrations in the floor as they combined with the incessant roaring of trolls to create an imposing barrier of sound. The horde was getting closer. Laird yelled out the official call to arms and the Albion battle horn was blown. A bitter crescendo split the air as the horn battled with the cacophony that was swift approaching the Faste. Suddenly, the courtyard was alive with panic. Archers grabbed as many quivers as they could and darted up the stairs to mount the mighty stone walls. The armsmen and devotees assembled on the floor, preparing their weapons for when the horde inevitably reached the gates. There were literally hundreds of Norsemen, trolls, half-men and kobolds. Their pace had quickened. Now they were but 100 metres from the walls. Gelid observed his fellow elementalists cast their shields of stone and fire.
“Fire at will!” shouted a nearby bowmen. A hail of arrows sung out from the walls and for a moment obscured the pale Sun. Darkness engulfed Gelid for a instant and for a split second his nerve wavered, but quickly returned once he saw the sharp bolts strike true against the horde. Dozens of Norsemen fell. Another volley. The roars of the Norsemen filled the air as finally they charged. The black army crashed against the walls of the Faste as a great shadow, with a regiment of trolls, all bearing the yellow and blue emblem of the Eye of Odin crashed against the gate and battered its oaken surface with their crude, yet devastatingly effective hammers and cleavers. Surveying the horde, Gelid spotted a Kobold seer suppressing the Saracen archers upon the walls with foul magics summoned from another plane. Three archers fell to the ground, clutching ethereal wounds which formed on their skin. Dark blood seeped onto the cold stone as they spasmodically twitched before finally falling silent.
“Give me the blessings of your God, Finnith!” Gelid yelled, gesturing to the tall highlander cleric . Gelid felt a sudden infusion of mystical power course through him as he was blessed with angelic dexterity. He felt his body finally come to life again as his old, haggard skin hardened out, became smooth yet strong. It was time for Gelid to stop the foul shaman, he would not see another of his brothers in arms fall to his putrid magics. Moving into a gap in the crenulations, Gelid singled out his target. It was still chanting, still summoning the heathen God to blight the denizens of Albion. Sweeping his right arm around a full rotation he tore deep into the air that buckled under his mental energy. His finger described a fissure before him from which a storm of infernal heat and mystical energy poured and caressed his hands. Snatching yet more of the mystical energy the flame danced about his hands, a glint of red shot through both eyes and, booming arcane words, his entire torso recoiled as the energy coursed through him, before his shoulders dived forwards, his bony arms shooting forwards and releasing his grip on the arcane energies. The fire leapt from his fingers, forming a spear of flame that travelled through the air and into the horde, carving through the arctic air relentlessly and striking the shaman, engulfing it in a conflagration of heat and arcane energies. Sparks and ash flew as the Norsemen around the kobold darted aside, unable to rescue him from the magical energies which brought his charred body to the ground to meet his God.
Deld observed Gelid, and beheld his magnificent flame wrapped form. He was certainly putting on a good show if nothing else. As Gelid sent wave after wave of fiery death into the Midgard horde, Deld spotted a small kobold that was flanking the horde draw his bow. He could hear Gelid’s roaring voice, now at its peak as the ground below split asunder and shook, Norsemen falling to the ground in droves. Gelid’s voice rang out again, another wave of fiery death hurtling into the black horde, another pile of charred torsos shooting into the air before cascading back down to the ground, setting alight the trees around the horde and causing devastation amongst the mass of trolls, the horde reeling and rolling amongst the snow. He had never seen Gelid cause quite so much destruction before; his skills had certainly developed, his mastery of concentration complete as arcane lights stirred about him. Returning his glance to the kobold, Deld noticed a cruel flicker in its repulsive eye and a sneer formed across its face as it released the bowstring and an arrow flew through the ashen air towards Gelid’s silk covered body. In desperation, Deld yelled out; “Geliiiiiiiiiiiiiiidddd!!!” only just realising who the little beast had targeted, but to little effect; the air was a tumult of chanting and Gelid drowned out the warning with his own booming, magically enhanced voice. The arrow struck, Gelid stumbled backwards, the flames that danced about his being quickly flickering out and the rent in the air closing, the arcane energies returning to the plane of magic. Deld ran to grab the wizard but it was too late. Gelid staggered, dropped his stave and clutched the arrow which had struck deep.. As he fell forwards, for the first time in his life, Gelid witnessed the pain of regret. In his haste to devastate the enemy horde, he had abandoned his own defence. The arrow had no argument from any arcane barriers and had easily pierced his silken robes, striking Gelid in the centre of his chest. The twisted stave fell to the floor with a clatter, and suddenly all became silent for the wizard as the pain wracked his body and he stumbled forwards, gasping for breath. Flailing madly to grab any support his fingernails tore at the stone crenulations, tracing an arc of white marks on them but to no avail. Head first, he fell from the wall and into the maelstrom, toppling over into the air, his fragile form twisting in the air as he plummeted to the ground with a harsh crash, landing on his back. Wracked with pain, he looked up and opened his eyes, breathless, only to see the broad head of a vicious hammer crash down towards him.
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In conclsion, I'm leaving the game. Like many people, the only reason I've been returning to the game is the people; there's so many problems with the actual game I'm not going to care to list them all. This isn't to say I didn't enjoy my time here, but the main problem is that I don't have as much playing time as many; it took absolutely ages to level my wizard up, only to gradually see him weakened by patch after patch. Now I just spend my time sitting in my permanent group at APK, ot levelling alts with the guild.
I guess I owe thanks to a lot of people for making this game fun for me and keeping me here, as well as a few guilds who let me harass /gu for a while
The Merry Men
The Dark Wombles
Order of the Knights Templar
The Rigante
Servants of the Lake
Public Enemies :touch:
There's also loads of idiviuals I'd like to thank, but I don't want to list them etc.. you know who you are.
My currentl sub runs out 29th July, I won't be coming back.
Have fun all :>
“Useless,” he croaked as he observed the unorganised fracas below. A few burly highlanders lugged around huge logs of the black wood that grew around the Faste. At the same time, in the shadows he spotted a number of sinuous assassins, applying their deadly lifebane to the cruel blades. A dispute had erupted between two of the commanders; one Laird, a broad shouldered Scot growled orders at an objecting Briton who, evidently, did not relish the idea of scouting the surrounding area to watch Midgard force. The Midgard host was almost upon the keep, yet the siege weapons were not constructed, the archers had yet to choose their bows. The only harmony in the maelstrom of dispute were the few mages who silently observed the disorder. At the other side of the imposing stone wall, Deld was meditating. Gelid remembered his days as a student of liquefaction. The bitter winds of Yggdra Forest acted as a channel of cold which could be harnessed by learned ice mages such as Deld. Gelid’s task would be much more difficult; hurling flaming conflagrations at the enemy was not so easy in this arctic gale where the icy air would not allow conventional flame to do as much as flicker.
The heathen war drums were getting closer; Gelid could feel their vibrations in the floor as they combined with the incessant roaring of trolls to create an imposing barrier of sound. The horde was getting closer. Laird yelled out the official call to arms and the Albion battle horn was blown. A bitter crescendo split the air as the horn battled with the cacophony that was swift approaching the Faste. Suddenly, the courtyard was alive with panic. Archers grabbed as many quivers as they could and darted up the stairs to mount the mighty stone walls. The armsmen and devotees assembled on the floor, preparing their weapons for when the horde inevitably reached the gates. There were literally hundreds of Norsemen, trolls, half-men and kobolds. Their pace had quickened. Now they were but 100 metres from the walls. Gelid observed his fellow elementalists cast their shields of stone and fire.
“Fire at will!” shouted a nearby bowmen. A hail of arrows sung out from the walls and for a moment obscured the pale Sun. Darkness engulfed Gelid for a instant and for a split second his nerve wavered, but quickly returned once he saw the sharp bolts strike true against the horde. Dozens of Norsemen fell. Another volley. The roars of the Norsemen filled the air as finally they charged. The black army crashed against the walls of the Faste as a great shadow, with a regiment of trolls, all bearing the yellow and blue emblem of the Eye of Odin crashed against the gate and battered its oaken surface with their crude, yet devastatingly effective hammers and cleavers. Surveying the horde, Gelid spotted a Kobold seer suppressing the Saracen archers upon the walls with foul magics summoned from another plane. Three archers fell to the ground, clutching ethereal wounds which formed on their skin. Dark blood seeped onto the cold stone as they spasmodically twitched before finally falling silent.
“Give me the blessings of your God, Finnith!” Gelid yelled, gesturing to the tall highlander cleric . Gelid felt a sudden infusion of mystical power course through him as he was blessed with angelic dexterity. He felt his body finally come to life again as his old, haggard skin hardened out, became smooth yet strong. It was time for Gelid to stop the foul shaman, he would not see another of his brothers in arms fall to his putrid magics. Moving into a gap in the crenulations, Gelid singled out his target. It was still chanting, still summoning the heathen God to blight the denizens of Albion. Sweeping his right arm around a full rotation he tore deep into the air that buckled under his mental energy. His finger described a fissure before him from which a storm of infernal heat and mystical energy poured and caressed his hands. Snatching yet more of the mystical energy the flame danced about his hands, a glint of red shot through both eyes and, booming arcane words, his entire torso recoiled as the energy coursed through him, before his shoulders dived forwards, his bony arms shooting forwards and releasing his grip on the arcane energies. The fire leapt from his fingers, forming a spear of flame that travelled through the air and into the horde, carving through the arctic air relentlessly and striking the shaman, engulfing it in a conflagration of heat and arcane energies. Sparks and ash flew as the Norsemen around the kobold darted aside, unable to rescue him from the magical energies which brought his charred body to the ground to meet his God.
Deld observed Gelid, and beheld his magnificent flame wrapped form. He was certainly putting on a good show if nothing else. As Gelid sent wave after wave of fiery death into the Midgard horde, Deld spotted a small kobold that was flanking the horde draw his bow. He could hear Gelid’s roaring voice, now at its peak as the ground below split asunder and shook, Norsemen falling to the ground in droves. Gelid’s voice rang out again, another wave of fiery death hurtling into the black horde, another pile of charred torsos shooting into the air before cascading back down to the ground, setting alight the trees around the horde and causing devastation amongst the mass of trolls, the horde reeling and rolling amongst the snow. He had never seen Gelid cause quite so much destruction before; his skills had certainly developed, his mastery of concentration complete as arcane lights stirred about him. Returning his glance to the kobold, Deld noticed a cruel flicker in its repulsive eye and a sneer formed across its face as it released the bowstring and an arrow flew through the ashen air towards Gelid’s silk covered body. In desperation, Deld yelled out; “Geliiiiiiiiiiiiiiidddd!!!” only just realising who the little beast had targeted, but to little effect; the air was a tumult of chanting and Gelid drowned out the warning with his own booming, magically enhanced voice. The arrow struck, Gelid stumbled backwards, the flames that danced about his being quickly flickering out and the rent in the air closing, the arcane energies returning to the plane of magic. Deld ran to grab the wizard but it was too late. Gelid staggered, dropped his stave and clutched the arrow which had struck deep.. As he fell forwards, for the first time in his life, Gelid witnessed the pain of regret. In his haste to devastate the enemy horde, he had abandoned his own defence. The arrow had no argument from any arcane barriers and had easily pierced his silken robes, striking Gelid in the centre of his chest. The twisted stave fell to the floor with a clatter, and suddenly all became silent for the wizard as the pain wracked his body and he stumbled forwards, gasping for breath. Flailing madly to grab any support his fingernails tore at the stone crenulations, tracing an arc of white marks on them but to no avail. Head first, he fell from the wall and into the maelstrom, toppling over into the air, his fragile form twisting in the air as he plummeted to the ground with a harsh crash, landing on his back. Wracked with pain, he looked up and opened his eyes, breathless, only to see the broad head of a vicious hammer crash down towards him.
---------------------------------------o------------------------------------------
In conclsion, I'm leaving the game. Like many people, the only reason I've been returning to the game is the people; there's so many problems with the actual game I'm not going to care to list them all. This isn't to say I didn't enjoy my time here, but the main problem is that I don't have as much playing time as many; it took absolutely ages to level my wizard up, only to gradually see him weakened by patch after patch. Now I just spend my time sitting in my permanent group at APK, ot levelling alts with the guild.
I guess I owe thanks to a lot of people for making this game fun for me and keeping me here, as well as a few guilds who let me harass /gu for a while
The Merry Men
The Dark Wombles
Order of the Knights Templar
The Rigante
Servants of the Lake
Public Enemies :touch:
There's also loads of idiviuals I'd like to thank, but I don't want to list them etc.. you know who you are.
My currentl sub runs out 29th July, I won't be coming back.
Have fun all :>
